Athletic Support
By Keegan Kennedy
Published by Kennedy-Empire Media
Copyright April 2015
Smashwords Edition
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This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.
The opinions and comments made by the characters are not necessarily indicative of those of the author, Keegan Kennedy, the publisher, Kennedy-Empire Media or the e-Book platform from which this work was published.
Other Titles from Keegan Kennedy
I’d just graduated from college—and at twenty-two—I’d already gotten my first real job.
About a month before my graduation from Queen’s Landing University with a degree in Marketing, I was recruited by a new sporting goods retail chain: Athletic Support. Retail hadn’t been my first choice, second choice, or even a third choice, but I figured the job would be an excellent way to beef up my resume—staying for a year or so, collecting the cash and then moving on to something bigger and better. I was to be the Assistant Manager for the Dothan, Alabama location. I wasn’t sure where the hell Dothan was, but for forty thousand dollars a year, I quickly educated myself.
During high school, in my hometown of Olive Branch, Mississippi, I’d played three out of the four sports that the school had to offer: football, baseball, and rugby. The one I’d excelled at was at rugby. Because of my impressive skills as an Openside Flanker, I received a four-year scholarship playing rugby for Queen’s Landing University. It’d been a great ride, but now, it was time to make some money.
Standing almost five foot, eleven, I was muscular and stout. Unlike leaner bodybuilders, I was built for rugby. Weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds, I had the robust musculature of a rugby player: round, rock-hard calves, powerful quads, massive thighs, and superior upper body strength. With short, wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and a killer face, I lacked neither confidence nor cockiness. And—in contrast to most dudes that attended QLU on sports scholarships, I was a hundred percent into the ladies. Because of my boyish good looks and my five-days-a-week at the gym, I got all the chicks I wanted. I rarely left a bar with less than a dozen phone numbers!
So, the week after graduating college, I moved to Dothan, Alabama. As part of my recruitment, Corporate agreed to pay the rent for my awesome new apartment—a very cool perk that would save me thousands of dollars.
On Monday morning of my very first week, I walked into the store dressed in my best linen Oxford shirt and khaki pants.
There was an undeniable swagger in my step. And my confidence was so high that I expected to rule the whole damn place within a month’s time. After all, I was charismatic, smart, and unlike most of my future employees, a college graduate.
Who was going to stop me?
Passing through the two sliding doors, I looked around the store with the high ceilings, noting the depth of the building appeared comparable to the length of a football field. A boy with a nametag reading “Hunter” greeted me. Oddly, he was dressed, head to toe, in a soccer kit—blue lycra shirt and shorts, soccer cleats and black socks with shin guards underneath. The kid didn’t look a day over sixteen. I figured he was a high school student, working at the store for the summer. “Welcome to Athletic Support! Can I help you find anything?” he asked gleefully.
“Yeah, bro,” I said, towering over him by a couple of inches. “I’m the new assistant manager.”
“Oh, cool,” the boy stated nonchalantly, “I’m Hunter.”
I shook his hand. “I’m Gunner Roth. I’m supposed to report to Briscoe Cooper. Can ya help me find him?”
“Sure,” he replied. “I’ll take you to his office.”
As we walked, I commented as we walked down the center aisle toward the back of the building. “This is a big store.”
“Yeah, it’s huge. Yesterday, I took a wrong turn at the golf section and got lost for half an hour.”
I laughed. “That’s hilarious!”
With pause, he asked. “Why is it funny?”
I looked over at him and saw there was no smile on his face. The kid had been serious. Quickly, I changed my approach. “Uh… I thought you were telling a joke.”
“No, I actually got lost.”
“Oh…” I changed the subject. “So, are ya in high school?”
“Yeah, I’m going into eleventh grade,” the blond-haired boy replied.
“You play sports?”
“I play football and run track.”
“Nice,” I commented. “Back in high school, I did football, baseball, and rugby. So, I gotta ask… What’s the deal with you wearing the soccer uniform?”
“Oh, that’s the way we have to dress.”
“Everyone who works here dresses in soccer gear?” I asked incredulously.
“No,” he chuckled, “the boss makes all front-of-the-store players dress in merchandise that we sell. He says it helps move the clothing.”
“I can see how that would work… How long has this store been open?”
“Just three months,” Hunter responded.
“How’s business?”
“Real good. We did have a Sports Authority down the street, but they closed last month because we kicked their asses.”
“Only the strong survive, Hunter,” I told him. “And it sounds like I’ve joined a strong winning team.”
“That’s a cool way to look at it.”
“How many people work at this location?”
“Over a hundred players, I think,” he replied absently.
“Players means employees, right?”
“Yes.”
Through the Players Only door, Hunter led me into the back of the mega store. There were boxes of inventory everywhere, and dozens of stockers hurrying about like someone had set them on fire. I noted that they were dressed in red shirts and jeans. One of the players was using an extended cargo loader to put a box of merchandise on top of one of the massive piles of boxes.
“Why are these folks running around like someone’s barreling down on them with a chainsaw?” I asked the high school boy.
“Oh, it’s ‘cause of the boss, Mr. Cooper.”
“Are they scared of him or somethin’?”
“Yeah, we all are. If the boss catches us goofing off, coming in late or taking a break when we ain’t supposed to, he’ll drop the hammer and start firing people,” Hunter informed me.
“Is he tough to work for?”
“Yeah, it’s his way or the highway, Mr. Roth.”
“Call me Gunner,” I insisted as we passed skyscrapers of boxed inventory—stacked at least a hundred feet high. “So, what’s the boss’ deal?”
“He’s a hard-ass,” Hunter revealed, lowering his voice as we approached what looked like an office. “He coached football for like twenty years somewhere over in Georgia.” He glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot. “I heard that he lost his job over there for abusive behavior toward one of his students.”
“What did he do?”
“They say he got fired for paddling the guy until the dude’s ass blistered and started bleeding.”
“Holy shit!” I gasped. “That can’t be true.”
“Well, that’s what Tony, the guy who works in the Nike section, said…”
“Wow… Briscoe Cooper,” I paused, “…sounds pretty intense. He must have a temper.”
Hunter continued in a low voice. “If ya do your job and get here on time, the boss usually ignores ya, but if ya do somethin’ wrong, he blows a gasket.”
“He sounds like a hard-ass.”
“You didn’t meet him during the interview?” the boy asked.
“No, I was recruited by Corporate,” I replied. “But something tells me I should’ve come by to check out this place first… I guess it’s too late now.” I looked over at Hunter. “You said he coached football, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I can talk football 24/7, so maybe I can bond with him over sports.”
“Good luck with that,” the kid stated almost sardonically.
On the far side of the humongous stock room, we approached a closed office door.
“That’s his office right there.” He pointed toward the door reading Briscoe Cooper. “I need to get back to straightening the baseball socks. Good luck.”
“See ya,” I replied as he left.
I took a few steps toward the door and inhaled deeply. I hoped that Hunter had been exaggerating things because the last thing I wanted was an asshole boss. I’d always been good at buttering up and winning over parents, teachers, coaches, and pretty much anyone else, so I assumed that Briscoe Cooper would be no different.
So, I took the final plunge and knocked on his office door.
“Yeah! What d’ya want?” a man’s voice yelled from the other side of the closed door.
The irritated greeting was deep and booming, and it sounded like he’d swallowed a five-gallon bucket of gravel, giving him a raspy, gruff voice.
“It’s Gunner Roth.”
“Who?” he asked grumpily.
“I’m the new assistant manager,” I replied through the door.
From behind the door, there was a moment of silence that was followed by, “Come in.”
I opened the door and entered. The air inside was still and warm. My sense of smell was accosted by the manly aroma inside, causing my nose to crinkle from the familiar stench of dude sweat. The scent reminded me of a locker room with bad ventilation and lockers filled with sweaty sports gear, soiled jocks and ripe, discarded socks.
I looked around the small space with no windows, filled with filing cabinets, a paper-cluttered desk, and several monitors playing feeds from cameras all over the store.
“Shut the god-damned door!” my new manager growled, standing up from behind his desk.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, trying to bolster my confidence.
I shut the door, and my gaze turned back to the large man, who was approaching me. With a frown on his face, Briscoe Cooper stood at about six foot four or six foot five. With a black flattop and matching scruff on his face, the guy wasn’t just tall; he was enormous. Since I’d played rugby, I was a big guy, but my new boss was in a far more advanced weight class. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but unlike many men his age, he was built like a machine. Wearing a black Under Armour gym polo, he had on a pair of khaki shorts that rested just above his knees. He was far more muscular than me with broad shoulders and humongous twin pecs. The snug dark shirt also showcased massive biceps and forearms that were covered with black hair. He was also wearing a pair of red and blue Nikes and black no-show socks. With calf muscles the size of coconuts, Briscoe Cooper had powerful, long legs.
Originally, I’d hoped for a mild-mannered, reasonable boss, who would’ve been easy to manipulate and bend to my will, but it was obvious that Briscoe Cooper didn’t take shit from anyone.
“Gunner Roth,” I said, extending my hand with a genial smile on my face.
Looking me up and down, the ex-football coach was sizing me up. After leaving my hand out there for a few seconds too long, he finally shook it. “Briscoe Cooper,” he stated, his grayish eyes locked on mine. “But you’ll call me Mr. Cooper, Boss, or Sir, understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Cooper,” I replied tentatively, averting my eyes.
The grip of his right hand was brutal, and although I had a strong handshake, his almost broke my fingers. Clearly, I’d lost the pissing match between the two of us.
“Nice to meet you, Sir,” I added, wincing from the powerful grip.
“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, releasing my hand. “You’re late!”
“I was here at 9:00am,” I replied defensively.
“Try 9:03, kid!” he said, taking a step closer to me. “I saw you come in on the camera, so don’t lie to me! I thought that the new Assistant Manager would’ve been here earlier to get the lay of the land, but instead, you roll in late on your very first day.”
This wasn’t starting well, so I decided to try to salvage our first meeting if I could. After all, I was stuck with this guy, so I had to make the best of it. “Sorry, Boss,” I offered, forcing a smile. “It won’t happen again.”
“One thing I don’t tolerate, Roth, is tardiness! So, you better watch your ass!” The un-jolly, hairy giant gave me another up and down glare. “And what’s with your clothes?”
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked, looking down at my khaki dress pants, white Oxford, and matching brown dress shoes.
“This ain’t some fraternity party or preppy country club banquet!” he bellowed. “We sell sporting goods! Do ya think my front-of-the-house players run around out there dressed in sports gear for kicks?”
“Well, I don’t know, Sir,” I said with a grin. “I thought it might be a fetish or something.”
I’d tried to be funny, but Briscoe Cooper found no humor in my attempt whatsoever. “What the fuck are ya talkin’ about? Are ya being a smart ass?”
“Never mind, Sir.”
“Good… I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for a whole bunch of shenanigans and foolishness.” He paused. “Ya ever work in retail before, kid?”
I hated being called kid. “No, Sir.”
“Well, that’s just great!” he griped loudly. “So, I’m gonna have to train your pretty-boy ass from the ground up. Who the hell has time for that shit?”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Sorry … uh … Boss.”
“Better!”
The happy momentum I’d met the day with was long gone. I thought I’d left asshole coaches and smarmy professors behind, but now, I found myself stuck with this uptight prick six days a week.
But I’d never met a person that I couldn’t charm, so I changed the subject. “You’re from Georgia, right, Sir?”
“Yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were a Georgia Bulldogs fan,” I replied hopefully.
He narrowed those gray eyes at me. “You’re trying to break the ice by talkin’ football with me?” the boss mused with a sneer. As he stepped closer to me, I had to look up at his imposing frame. “Let’s get some shit straight… I ain’t here to be your friend, kid! I’m here to make sure this business is profitable. Apparently, that job is gonna include molding you into a manager.” He paused, frowning. “I had no idea I was gonna have to wipe your runny nose and change your fuckin’ diapers!”
For a long moment, Briscoe continued standing over me with his intimidating glare. Although I tried to not flinch, I ended up looking away from his dominant gaze. That bugged me because, until that moment, I’d never lost a staring contest.
I finally said. “Well, I’m a real fast learner.”
“That’s what they all say.”
He stepped away from me and pointed to the chair. “Sit! I’m gonna go pick out some merchandise off the rack for you to wear for your first day. I can’t have ya running around looking like a preppy asshole. How do ya expect to sell it when ya ain’t wearing it?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, taking a seat on the old wooden chair in front his desk.
“What size chest?”
“44.”
“Waist?”
“32.”
“Inseam?”
“33.”
“Shoe size?”
“11.”
“Fine, don’t move a muscle. Since I’m taking on an inexperienced child to raise, it looks like I’m gonna have to dress ya too. I’m gonna grab the gear, and in the meantime, don’t move from that chair, boy!” he repeated.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, with a gulp as he opened the door and slammed it behind him.
I was alone in Briscoe Cooper’s stuffy office, thinking about what a disaster my first meeting with my new boss had been.
In all of my life, I couldn’t come up with any other time where I’d bombed so badly. Sure, I’d struck out with chicks before, and I’d even rubbed a teacher the wrong way, but I’d never encountered someone who was wound as tight as him. Everything I’d done and everything I’d said had been wrong.
The unsettling way that he stared at me left me feeling vulnerable somehow. I wasn’t sure what his Alpha Male bullshit was all about, but he’d pulled it off. His piercing eyes were authoritative and unflinching, and under their stare, I’d folded under the pressure like a cheap lawn chair. The man was like every hard-ass teacher and coach I’d had rolled into one person but multiplied by a hundred.
Maybe Hunter is right. Back when he was a football coach, did Briscoe Cooper beat the shit out of one of his players and get drummed out of coaching?
I thought about quitting, a part of me wanting to get up and walk right out of there. I realized I could do it—just pack up my shit and get the fuck out of Dothan, Alabama.
I remembered some of the fine print in my agreement to come work for Athletic Support… If I quit within a year’s time, I’d be contractually obliged to pay back Corporate for the money they’d shelled out for the year’s lease on the apartment. I would also have to pay back the money for my gas, meals, and the moving expenses. In the end, I’d owe them thousands of dollars, and I didn’t have that kind of money. So, it appeared I was stuck with him.
I was also kicking myself for not finding out more about the culture of the sporting goods chain and not checking out my boss.
Suddenly, the door to the office burst open, causing me to jump slightly.
As he slammed the door, my boss laughed. “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Ya a little jumpy?”
Pretty boy? Why does he keep calling me that?
“No, Sir.” I checked out the brown paper bag containing the clothes that he’d picked out for me. “You came in sudden is all.”
“I hope ya ain’t as nervous as a damn woman!” the big guy said, dropping the bag onto my lap. “I’ve been married four times, and I sure don’t wanna take on another nervous woman for a fifth wife!”
I nodded at his joke, or at least I thought it was a joke, and forced a smile. “I could’ve picked all this out myself, Sir.”
“Well, I thought about that, but ya seem like a dumb-ass to me, so I’ll be picking your clothes—every day.”
“But I know what to get. I go to the gym five days a week, and I played football, baseball and rugby,” I defended.
“That’s nice,” he replied dismissively. “Just ‘cause you wear your jockstrap at three different angles don’t mean you’re not a dumbass.”
Shit, this sucks!
I decided to offer another apology in a last ditch effort to smooth things over. “Mr. Cooper, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I promise I won’t be late again, Sir.”
“Well, that would wrap things up in a nice little box of pussy, eh?” he laughed gruffly. “But they say there’s no second chance to make a first impression… Now, go into the bathroom—the door on the right—and change clothes. And I mean everything, boy! You put the clothes ya got on now in the bag. Understand me?”
I gulped. “Yes, Sir… Even my briefs?”
“Yeah, even those tighty whiteys of yours!”
“Okay, I will.”
“Enough of this! Shut-up, kid, and go to the bathroom and change!” He grabbed me by the arm and practically forced me to my feet. “Get a move on!”
I still felt funny about changing underwear. “But, Sir?”
“Are ya deaf? I said everything! Get your fuckin’ ass in there—now! Move! Move!”
The ex-coach had yelled so loud that it seemed to shake the four walls of his office.
Flashing back to being yelled at by more coaches than I could count, I hopped up from the seat, tucked the bag under my arm like a football, and dashed into the private bathroom, closing the door behind me.
Breathing hard, I felt the same nervous tension that I used to feel in the locker room before an important game. I’d known my new boss for less than ten minutes, and he already had me on my toes.
I removed my linen Oxford and stepped out of my brown loafers; I unfastened the belt on my khaki pants, pulled it off, and removed the slacks. As I sat down on the closed toilet lid, I pulled off my dress socks, contemplating how odd it was that I had to dress in clothes that my boss picked out for me. But from what he was wearing, it looked like he could still be on the sidelines of a football game, and the employees I’d noticed had been dressed in a variety of different things. So, maybe this wasn’t too weird.
After taking off my gray boxers, I opened the bag and took out the following items: a black Under Armour compression shirt, a jockstrap, Nike baseball socks, some baseball training shorts and a pair of size 11 baseball cleats. Obviously, my new boss had stopped by the baseball section.
I started with the jockstrap. It was a black with white stitching. I stepped into the small-sized jock and pulled it up my hairy calves and quads. The fit was very snug. I wore a medium-sized jock, but I wasn’t going to complain. Next, I took the white baseball practice shorts and put them on. The size of the shorts was also small and barely contained my basket and the cakes of my ass. They were so tight I hoped they wouldn’t cut off my circulation and leave me sterile. Then, I pulled on the black Under Armour compression shirt—also sized small.
Maybe this asshole doesn’t know how to convert sizes from measurements?
The compression long-sleeve top fit me like a glove, showing every ridge of muscle on my upper body. I sat down on the toilet lid again and pulled on the baseball socks, which were white with red stirrup stripes and came to just below my knees.
There was a sudden bang on the door. “Hurry-the-fuck-up, kid!” my boss yelled. “This ain’t no goddamn fashion show! Get your ass in the gear and get ready for inspection!”
Inspection? Okay, does this guy remember we’re in retail and not about to run onto the field somewhere?
I pulled on the black and red cleats and tied them. Looking at myself in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my wavy brown hair and opened the door.
With his arms folded, Briscoe was waiting there in front of the door. “Spin, boy! Let me see if ya do justice to the uniform!”
Still not a hundred percent signed on to whatever scene this was, I grudgingly moved around to show him the goods.
His gray eyes surveyed me—up and down. “Looks good… You wear the gear well. Even though you’re a dumbass, you’ve got an incredible physique.”
“Thanks, Sir,” I replied to the backhanded compliment. “It’s a little tight, though.”
“Shut-the-fuck-up and quit whining! Ya got a good package, kid. Ya work out, and it shows. And the more people that see how good ya look in the merchandise, the more it’ll sell!”
He did have a point, but the tight fit left little to the imagination.
“Give me the bag of your preppy clothes, pretty boy!” he ordered gruffly.
There he goes calling me pretty boy again. What the hell is up with that?
I handed him the bag, and he took it, putting it in one of his desk drawers. I was even more surprised when he locked it. Again, Briscoe approached me. “Now, get out there and find a little lady by the name of Maria.” He looked down at his watch. “I believe she’ll be in the football section. She’ll give ya an introduction to putting out merchandise and helping customers.” Unexpectedly, he slapped the cheeks of my ass with the palm of his huge hand.
“Owww!” I yelped.
He laughed. “For a cocky pretty boy, you sure are skittish.”
At that moment, I’d had enough of being called a pretty boy. “My name is Gunner, Sir.”
“Come again?” the boss asked, his teeth bared, and eyes suddenly narrowed.
“My name is Gunner,” I repeated. “Feel free to call me that.”
Briscoe Cooper gave me an assessing scowl. “I’ll call ya panty waste if I wanna. Now, get the fuck outta my office! I’ll check on ya later.”
I found Maria just where the boss said she’d be, shelving new football helmets from an open cardboard box.
She, too, was wearing clothes that Athletic Support sold. Her short frame was drowning in an oversized football jersey, loose running shorts and a pair of women’s cross-training shoes. I found it unfair that Maria got to wear baggy clothes while I had to wear the tight stuff.
“Hi Maria,” I said, extending my hand to her. “I’m Gunner Roth.”
She said nothing. Instead, she looked at me like I was crazy.
So, I continued. “Mr. Cooper said you’d train me on shelving stock.”
“If I must…” Maria stated in a resigned voice. “You take stuff and put it on shelf,” Maria advised in a thick Mexican accent with slightly broken English. “You open box and stick here. You do work, and I watch.”
“Sure,” I grumbled. “I do work, and you’ll watch…”
During my time with her, I’d attempted to engage Maria in conversations… I asked about her family life. I asked about her hobbies. I asked about her time at the store. But the small lady with dark hair didn’t answer most of my questions. When she did respond, it was always a one-word answer. So, for three hours, I stocked the shelves as she watched. And it was the most boring and mind-numbing work imaginable.
During a thirty-minute lunch break, I grabbed a sandwich from Subway, next door. At 1:00, a tall black guy, wearing a full golf ensemble, led me to the cash register, where I had my introduction to ringing up customers. The guy, whose name was Trey, was even less talkative than Maria had been, so the time passed slowly.
While running the register, I noticed that both guys and girls stared at me with smirks on their faces. I was uncomfortable with the dudes scoping me out, but girls and women were welcome to stare as much as they wanted. But, there was something different about their stares. I was used to girls flirting with me, but this wasn’t flirting—they were laughing at me. It wasn’t until I went to the bathroom and spotted myself in the mirror that I realized why everyone had been staring at me… The boss had made me wear a black jockstrap under the skin-tight white practice shorts. The straps, waistband and pouch of the dark jock had shown through. It was so obvious I had on the black jock that everyone from Dothan to the Gulf Coast could’ve seen what I was wearing.
As I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, my face reddened with anger because I knew that my asshole boss had set me up. He’d wanted to make a fool out of me.
I can’t work like this. I’ve gotta do something.
As I shoved the swinging door of the employee bathroom open, I decided it was time to escalate things. I’d tell the owner of the store that Briscoe Cooper was playing mind games, hurling expletives and trying to intentionally embarrass me.
I bet he’ll stop that bullshit when I report his ass!
When I walked back on the sales floor, I was highly self-conscious about the outfit I’d been forced to wear. It felt like everyone in the crowded store was smirking at me. As I stormed up the center aisle, I ran into Hunter.
“Hey, man, question.”
“Yeah, Mr. Roth?” the teen asked, still addressing me in a very formal tone. “I was wondering. Who owns this store? Is it corporate? Or a private owner?”
“A private owner,” he reported. “Actually, Mr. Cooper owns this store and five others in Alabama.”
“Shit,” I said under my breath. “That sucks…”
And the realization struck me… There was no one I could go to.
I was stuck…
At seven that evening, I made it back to my apartment, slamming the front door behind me.
The long-ass day had seemed eternal, and I couldn’t remember ever being this angry and frustrated. At least, I was home and away from my control freak boss.
As I tossed my keys onto the small dining table, I realized something that pissed me off even more… This place isn’t really my apartment, is it? The company pays for it, and since Briscoe Cooper owns all five stores in Alabama, I’m living in a place paid for by that sadistic asshole.
Another thing that exacerbated my deteriorating mood was that he’d kept my dress clothes. Instead of giving them back, he’d made me wear the overly-snug ‘work uniform’ home, telling me that I had wear it back the next day.
I’d worn similar gear while playing sports since I was a kid, but I’d never felt objectified like I had been today. Being that exposed in public, where everyone knew that I was wearing a black jockstrap under the white training shorts, had been weirdly emasculating. It was a real fucked-up way to treat a person. Regardless, the Nike baseball cleats were pretty cool, but Briscoe was the last person I’d admit that to.
I took off the tight gear and dressed in a loose-fitting tank top and comfortable shorts. To relieve the stress of the day, I lifted weights at the apartment complex gym. Later, I ordered take-out and went to bed early. Although I was tired, I was still steamed, so sleep didn’t find me for a while.
The next morning, I didn’t want to go back, but I couldn’t see a way out of the sticky spider web that was tightening around me. My parents couldn’t afford to bail me out of this mess, and I didn’t see any other way that I could just skip out on this bullshit.
I arrived at Athletic Support twenty minutes before my scheduled time. When I walked in, I spotted Maria sweeping the concrete floor near the entrance.
“Good morning,” I said, forcing myself to be pleasant.
“Assistant Manager Roth,” she greeted me in her downtrodden voice, “boss say he wants to see you first thing.”
“Thanks,” I replied, feeling my heart sink.
As I traversed swiftly through the store in the same gear that I’d been forced to wear the day before, I wondered what the boss wanted to see me about. I’d arrived before I was scheduled, so I wasn’t late.
With no clue what was coming next, I walked through the humongous stockroom to Briscoe Cooper’s corner office and tapped on the door.
“Enter!” the boss’ gravelly voice yelled from the other side of the closed door.
Despite the fact I wanted to punch his ass out, I forced myself to smile when I entered. The fake smile was so hard to maintain that my face hurt. “Good morning, Sir. Maria said you wanted to see me.”
Getting up from his cluttered desk, the big man surveyed me. “Ya get points for wearing your uniform from yesterday.”
“Thanks, Boss,” I replied as he moved closer, the piney smell of his cologne and the stench of his musky office filling the air around me.
His dark gray eyes studied my face with an invasive gaze, and a smirk came over his lips. I did my best not to flinch from his stare, but after a few seconds, I looked away.
“Just like I thought,” he growled.
The prick was purposely taunting me. My eyes returned to his, an enraged look on my face.
“You got something to say, boy?” he challenged.
I paused, clenching my jaw. But I didn’t bite… “No, Sir.”
The boss grabbed a brown bag from his desk. “Here’s your uniform for today, pretty boy. Get your ass in there and change into everything! Put all the clothes that ya have on now in the bag, and I’ll get ‘em washed so you can wear ‘em again next Monday.” He shoved the bag into my hands. “The items in this bag are gonna be your Tuesday uniform from now on.”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied bitterly.
I removed my clothes and examined the new items that my boss had picked out for me.
Today’s selection included: a matching white Under Armour compression top and shorts, a pair of black Nike training socks, a blue pair of Nike Zoom Hypercross, a white jockstrap, and a hard, plastic cup that was extra small in size.
I snapped the cup into the jockstrap pouch and pulled it up my legs, struggling to squeeze my junk into the tiny cup. With my fingers, I positioned my balls and dick under the painfully tight plastic codpiece. Although the jockstrap was white this time, it was extra-small, causing the plastic cup and straps to stretch across my skin. In fact, it was so tight that I thought it’d pinch off my pecker and nuts.
I put on the remainder of the uniform and looked into the bathroom mirror. The sleeveless white compression shirt and shorts gripped my body like a second skin. The socks and kicks were comfortable enough, but the extra small cup was confining and painful. The shirt and shorts were so snug that I could see the curve of my pecs, including my nipples. As far as the shorts, they were so unyielding that a blind person could’ve seen the straps of the jock and the bulge of the overstuffed cup.
I’d thought the black jock under the white training shorts was embarrassing enough, but this was a whole new level of crazy. With the addition of the cup, I was mortified, my face already red from the stares that I was going to get.
With a hesitation in my step from the cramped under gear, I packed up my Monday uniform and walked back into my boss’ office.
He was standing there waiting for me. “It’s about damn time ya got through primping!”
“Sorry, Sir,” I offered, trying to hold my temper. “I had problems getting on the cup and jock.”
“Your little pecker didn’t fit?”
“I don’t have a little pecker!” I blasted.
“Yeah, whatever, kid,” he scoffed. “It fit, didn’t it?”
“Yes… Can I ask you a question, Sir?”
“This time, yeah—one question.”
“Why are you making me wear a baseball cup where everyone can see it?”
He gave me a menacing smile. “Because it helps advertise the product, boy.”
I’d been called kid and pretty boy. Now, he’d added just boy.
“Why so tight?”
“I said ya got one question, and I already answered it.”
I gritted my teeth and exhaled raggedly.
My boss continued. “I’ll give ya this one… You’re in a tight cup because I wanna keep ya on your toes so you can learn your place!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, outraged.
“Think about it,” he spat. “You’ll figure it out.”
He slapped the cheeks of my ass, his large hand slamming down on my butt stinging me. “Oww!”
Briscoe Cooper grabbed my right arm. “Now, shut-up and get out to the register, because you’ll be ringing people up until lunch. Then, after lunch, you come back to the warehouse, and you’ll be helping out in the stockroom…”
At the front of the huge store, I stood there operating the register; the oval bulge of the cup noticed by every single person that came through my line.
With each customer, I felt utterly humiliated. Although the other players on the salesfloor were wearing off-the-rack clothing, not a single one of them had on something as revealing and unbearably tight as mine—a fact that added more fuel to my fire.
When lunch came, I sent Hunter to Subway to grab me a sandwich that I ate in the employee break room. I reported to the boss’ office at one, and he introduced me to a big guy named Sylvester, who was the back-of-the-house lead—in charge of the stock warehouse.
Since he was a back-of-the-house player, Sylvester wore khakis and a red polo with the store logo on the chest—something I’d be much more comfortable wearing. Because of the difference in attire, I stuck out like a flaming gay guy at a Republican fundraiser.
Sylvester, a portly dude with red hair and a matching beard, gave me a tour of the gigantic warehouse.
“Which leads me to this,” he said, pointing to a crane. “This is the load-lifting machine that we stack the heavier boxes with.”
I nodded my head. “That’s pretty cool.”
“It’s quieter than the ones at a construction site, but it still gets loud. Wanna climb in and we can stack some boxes?”
“Yeah.”
While watching him stacking the boxes of freight—over a hundred feet up from the concrete floor, I finally found the courage to ask: “What happened to the last guy who was the Assistant Manager?”
I’d been wondering about the person I’d replaced. Maybe Briscoe Cooper had terrorized him like he was doing with me.
“I don’t know if I should be talking about other people’s business. Mr. Cooper doesn’t like us to gossip.”
I’d noticed that everyone that worked at the store seemed scared of the manager/owner, but Sylvester’s comment sparked my interest.
“I won’t say anything,” I replied, thinking I was about to find out some vital information.
“Okay. I guess I can say this… The guy was a girl, and she quit after she had her baby,” Sylvester said, shifting a lever with his hand. “The boss got real pissed ‘cause she used this place for insurance and quit her job as soon as it was time for her to come back.”
“Oh,” I replied, disappointed.
It turned out there was no story, after all.
For the rest of the day, I had very little interaction with Briscoe Cooper—which was fine with me.
By the time I got off work, I was sore. Although I was no stranger to wearing an athletic cup, having one on all day had chaffed me. The area where the cup rubbed against the skin surrounding my junk wasn’t bleeding, but it was irritated and itching. So, I couldn’t get out of the baseball uniform fast enough.
I put on my baggier workout clothes and went to the gym, but I was so pissed off about the shitty things that my boss was doing to me, that I couldn’t concentrate. After a dinner of a protein shake, sliced breast of turkey and a salad with low-fat dressing, I decided that I needed a drink, so I walked down to a bar that was located a few blocks from my apartment.
The place, a sports bar, was called Fitzgerald’s. It was a laid-back pub with a sparse crowd and the Atlanta Braves playing on the big screen TV. Only half-way paying attention to the game, I focused on drowning my sorrows. One beer led to another, and another eventually led to six. By ten o’clock, after munching on some hot wings, I ordered my seventh beer, and I noticed a hot girl checking me out.
Sitting with her friends in a booth, she had brown hair, a pretty face, beautiful caramel skin and great tits. We were making some promising eye contact, so I sent her over a drink. It only took a few minutes before I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Thanks for the margarita,” she said to me in a soft voice.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, getting lost for a moment in her gorgeous amber eyes. I motioned to the empty stool beside me at the bar. “Care to join me?”
“I’d love to.” A smile came over her full, pink lips. “I’m Chantal.”
“Chantal,” I mused. “That’s a beautiful name. I’m Gunner—Gunner Roth.”
It turned out Chantal was born in Montreal. The genes from her Quebecois mother and her Kenyan father had made for a dazzling and exquisite package. Smart, fascinating and funny, Chantal and I ended up spending the evening together.
“So, why do you hate your job?” she asked, her fingers touching mine.
“Well, I guess it may sound typical, but my boss is an asshole.”
“You’re right—it does sound typical,” she laughed. “I dislike my boss too.”
“But you said you work for an attorney.”
“Yes.”
“Paralegal?”
“Right again.”
“I’m sure that your boss doesn’t make you walk around the office in skin-tight sports gear.”
“I bet you looked pretty good in those tight uniforms,” she said with a flirty grin as she felt of my right bicep. “But seriously, how tight is tight?”
“Skin tight!” I clarified, sipping on my eighth or ninth beer; I’d lost count at this point. “I’m talking wearing a jockstrap and cup under revealing compression shorts where the whole world can see. And before that, it was wearing a black jockstrap under white shorts.”
“Oh, that sucks. I’ve seen women wear white tops or skirts while having on dark underwear. It definitely catches the eye.”
“Tell me about it,” I sighed.
“So far, I haven’t made that mistake yet, but now that I’ve acknowledged it, I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” she joked.
“I think it’d be hot to know you were wearing black underwear beneath your clothes.”
Chantal smiled. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“Thanks, but I hate it… It feels like he was purposely putting me on display.”
“Interesting,” she mulled aloud. “Women are put on display all the time… Just look at the Miss America Pageant. You dislike being objectified like most girls and women are in today’s society.” She arched an eyebrow. “I guess you know how it feels.”
I’d never thought of that comparison, but it made total sense. “Wow, I guess I do. But in my defense, guys usually don’t have to go through that.”
“And how is that fair?”
I thought about her words. “It’s not.”
“So, this older divorced guy makes you wear revealing baseball and sports gear… Do you think he’s gay?”
“Hell no! He’s not gay. The dude is tough and more muscular than me.”
“My older brother is gay and lives in Atlanta with his partner,” she informed me. “He’s an ex-Marine, and he’s masculine. Sometimes stereotypes aren’t always accurate.”
“I guess you’re right about stereotypes.” I paused. “What if my boss is gay?”
Although Chantal had declined to come home with me, we’d shared an unbelievably hot kiss that kept me warm all night long…
I woke up with the sun shining through the blinds. As my mind and body came to life, I gave props to myself for getting up before my alarm went off. But when I looked over at the clock on my nightstand, it was 10:00am, and I was an hour late for work. I’d forgotten to set my alarm.
I jumped out of bed and into action, squeezing into the same gear that I’d worn the day before: white compression shirt and shorts, the jock/cup, the Nikes and the socks. Without showering or making coffee, I ran out the door and jumped in my car, dreading the wrath of my boss.
By 10:30, I was sitting in the old wooden chair in Briscoe Cooper’s office, and he was pacing the floor behind me.
“Look, Sir, I’m so sorry I overslept. I promise it won’t happen again,” I swore to him.
The older man stepped in between his desk and my chair. Looking down at me, my boss was so enraged that his right eye was twitching. “I can’t believe this shit!” he yelled. “You have the fuckin’ balls to show up almost an hour and a half late on your third day of work! What the fuck happened?”
For a moment, I wanted to shout that it was none of his business, but I held my tongue. “Sir, I forgot to set the alarm on my phone. I never forget to do that.”
“Never, huh?” He sat on the edge of his desk—roughly two feet in front of me. “So, if ya never forget to set your phone, what do ya call today?”
I gulped. “I should’ve said: never, excluding today.”
His gray eyes were narrowed; the lines around them making him appear even meaner. “What time did you get to bed last night, boy?”
Again, I wanted to say it was none of his business, but clearly, I didn’t have the upper hand in this situation. “Ten o’clock,” I lied.
A snort of derision. “Didn’t your momma teach you not to lie to your superiors?”
“I’m not lying!”
“Bullshit!” my boss thundered. “Ya didn’t get home until 1:30 last night, and you were drunk!”
My mouth fell open. “How do you know that?”
He leaned down to where his face was inches from mine. “Everything about you is my business, pretty boy!”
“Are you spying on me?” I asked angrily.
“Call it what ya want, but I keep tabs on you, kid! So, you can shove those lies up that tight little asshole of yours!”
Still digesting the fact that Briscoe Cooper was keeping track of me, I exploded. “Look, dude, I don’t care if I owe ya thousands of dollars for my move here and the apartment, but I’m a grown man, and I won’t let you or anyone else tell me what to do on my own time! No job is worth the shit I’m putting up with around here!” I tried to stand up, but he shoved me back into the chair. Even though my boss was over twenty years older than me, he was much stronger, which caused me to get even more pissed. “Fuck you, man! I quit!”
Unexpectedly, he laughed.
“What?”
“You think you can just walk outta here? I won’t let ya quit, boy!”
“How in the hell are ya gonna stop me?” I challenged, testosterone coursing through my veins. He walked over to the office door and locked it. “Do ya think a flimsy locked door will stop me from leaving? This is a free country, ya asshole!”
“It ain’t a free country … for you!” He moved back to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed something, shoving it in the pocket of his polyester coach’s shorts. “Because of your rebellious streak, I’m gonna have to move up my plans.” He paused. “You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for, and I won’t be letting ya go anywhere.”
“What are you talking about, man? Are you some sort of psycho?”
With a menacing grin on his square face, he growled. “I’m not a head case … I’m just a sadist!”
Suddenly, the big guy was on me. He moved so quickly that my mind and body didn’t react in time. My boss jerked me out of the chair, pulled my arms behind my back, and shoved me down on his desk. By the time I attempted to struggle, he’d slapped metal around my wrists, and with a loud clicking, I was tightly cuffed.
“Hey!” I yelled. “What the fuck are ya doin’?”
“As my granddaddy used to say,” my boss snarled, “to break a colt, ya gotta show him who’s boss. If not, you’ll have to geld him… And I’d rather not have to castrate ya.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. “Let me go!” I jerked my arms, pulling at my cuffed wrists. “Are you some sort of fag? Is that what this is about?”
Grabbing my hair and pulling my head up from the desk, he said. “I ain’t no fag, boy! But when I get finished with you, you’ll be my fag!”
Oh, shit! He’s gonna make me gay?
“Let me go!” I demanded. “Or I’m gonna scream for help!”
As I opened my mouth, Briscoe’s hand covered my lips, and he shoved my upper body back down on the desk. “Not if ya don’t have a chance to scream!”
I’d been so stunned by my boss’ unexpected action that my body took seconds to respond to his aggression. Maybe if I’d had known it was coming, I could’ve done something to prepare. But with my hands cuffed and the weight of him pressing down on the center of my back, this motherfucker had me. Like in football, I’d been totally sacked, and all I could do was panic, adrenaline pumping through me. “Mmmmmmmmppphhhhhhh!” I yelled under the wide hand covering my mouth as I jerked my body, trying to throw his weight off me.
In the main warehouse, the sound of the crane and other machinery drowned out my attempts to call for help.
Despite my best effort, the big guy had me pinned, and there wasn’t shit I could do about it but struggle in vain, which is what I continued to do.
“Looks like I’ve got a bucking bronco that needs to be branded and tamed!” he laughed hoarsely.
“Mmmmmmmmmppphhhhh!” I attempted to scream for help again, but it only came out as a muffled plea; the weight of his body easily held me on the surface of the desk. Underneath him, I pulled at my arms again, but the handcuffs were hardcore and not any sort of toy.
“Now, to keep ya quiet,” he said, swiftly removing his hand from over my mouth.
In a flash, he had a rubber ball shoved in between my open lips before I could call out for help. With two leather straps being tied at the nape of my neck, it was obvious that this wasn’t just a rubber ball—this was a ballgag.
“Mmmmmmmggggghhhhhh!” I wailed, spit already leaking from my mouth.
“Calm down, boy, you’re not going anywhere,” he growled, tightening the straps and causing them to squeeze into the skin of my face.
With his palm pressing against the center of my back, Briscoe stood up behind me to the right of my kicking legs. He reached into one of his drawers and pulled out a serrated knife. Showing it to me, he held it in front of my face. “I hate to ruin good merchandise, but you’re wearing too many clothes for a pussyboy.”
I froze, terrified of my clearly insane boss cutting me or stabbing me.
“Keep still,” he warned, pulling the knife out of my line of sight.
As he began cutting the white compression shirt off my upper body, I tried to wrap my brain around what was happening to me…
What’s he gonna do to me?
Briscoe is some sort of control freak gay dude, and he’s got me right where he wants me.
I gotta call for help! I gotta get out of this!
And what the fuck is a pussyboy?
With precision, he sliced the skin-tight shirt at certain junctures in the stitching. Putting the knife to the side and pulling off the remainder, he said: “Better, but you still got on too many clothes.”
Facedown on his desk, I felt his fingers find the waistband of my compression shorts.
“Mmmmmmmgggghhhhhhh!” I objected with my mouth full, the plastic of the ballgag overwhelming my taste buds.
He yanked the snug shorts over the cheeks of my ass and the uncomfortably small cup that held my dick and balls under the pouch of the jockstrap. He removed the shorts from my untethered legs and tossed them to the side. I found myself wearing only the jockstrap with the tight cup, my up-to-the-calve socks, and my blue Nikes. Briscoe intended to turn me into his fag, so it didn’t take a genius to know what that meant—the older man wanted my ass… And my butt was in a very vulnerable position, and it felt like there was a target resting on top of my muscled cakes. So, I clenched my rock-hard glutes, trying to discourage him from touching or sticking anything into my asshole.
“This is good,” Briscoe commented, one of his hands slapping the cheeks of my butt.
“Mmmmmmm!” I reacted from the slap.
“But you’ve been a bad boy.” He moved to my right side and opened another desk drawer. Removing a paddle, he showed it to me. “I’ve been itching to use this on you from the first moment ya walked into my office, thinking you were going to own this place. Little did ya know, that I’d be the one owning you!”
The paddle was laminated hardwood—I knew this from Shop Class in high school. And it was at least a quarter-inch thick. With worn gray duct tape around the handle, there were holes drilled into it for less resistance. And I knew from being walloped by teachers, principals, coaches and my dad that this paddle was going to hurt like a motherfucker.
Moving behind me, Briscoe lifted his hand from my back, and, at that moment, my adrenaline kicked into overdrive. I leaped up from my boss’ desk, and my Nike-clad feet bolted for the door of his office. I turned back toward him, seeing a stunned look on his face. Despite my cuffed wrists, I used my fingers in an attempt to get a grip on the locked doorknob. Even though I was only in a jockstrap, the cup, my kicks, and socks, I had to escape. The fact that I had a ballgag fastened in my mouth and that my hands were cuffed behind my back didn’t matter either. I had to let someone, anyone know the crazy shit that was about to happen to me. Also, I had enough foresight to know that this was my last chance to escape from Briscoe Cooper before he attempted to own me.
Unfortunately, in the few seconds that my fingers tried to grip the handle, I wasn’t able to twist the lock and make my getaway. In an instant, my boss was at my side and had me by my right bicep. Failure washed over me, and I wanted to scream out from dashed hopes. Jerking me away from the door, he shoved me right back down over the side of his desk.
“Oh, you’ve fucked up now, kid!” my boss roared. “I’m gonna tear your ass up with this paddle!”
“Mmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmgggghhhhhhh!” I screamed into the gag.
Holding me down with the palm of his left hand, Briscoe raised the paddle with his right. “Fuckin’ hot target,” he muttered huskily.
Shaking my head, I was doing whatever I could to plead with him to stop, but it wasn’t happening.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the movement of his arm. Then, the paddle struck both cheeks of my ass with a smack that sounded like the firing of a small pistol. The whack of the paddle echoed against the walls of the private office, and the pain from the impact spread through my globes like lightning. I screamed, spit flying out from around the ball of the gag. The second slap came quickly with just as much force, and I yelped, biting down on the ball shoved in between my teeth.
“Your little prettyboy ass is already gettin’ red!” Briscoe announced.
Three slaps came in rapid succession, setting my exposed cheeks aflame. Smack! Smack! Smack! Searing pain ripped through my body, and I yowled again. “Mmmmmmmgggghhhhhhhh!”
Another five whacks of the paddle came quickly… Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
The sting was becoming unbearable, and tears welled in my eyes. But I swore not to shed any tears. This was a battle for dominance, and although I was clearly losing, Briscoe seeing me cry was not an option.
I struggled to get up from the desk again, but Briscoe’s hand didn’t relent. “Sweet fuckin’ ass, boy!” he grumbled.
Another strike from the paddle made landfall.
Smack!
My ass was scalded; both of my cakes were throbbing and aching. I could tell that he was leaving blisters because I could feel the welts rising on my cheeks. The paddling increased with intensity, and I wanted to explode into tears, but I still didn’t. Instead, I sank my teeth deeper into the ball of the gag. But my nose was running, and slobber was leaking from my mouth. Also, I detected drops of my boss’ sweat falling onto my bare upper legs.
The agony was making me dizzy. Another slam against my seared cheeks came, and I tried to crawl up on the desk away from him, but he laughed and pulled me back toward him.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
The torture was disorienting me to the point that I felt faint. And finally, just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, there came a final slap against my ass.
“Mmmmmrrrrggggghhhhh!” I screamed.
But Briscoe didn’t lift the paddle. Instead, he brushed it against my abused cheeks, the surface causing additional torment to my tender, raw skin. Although I was terrified that he was going to start up again, my body relaxed.
“I got a feeling I’m gonna be paddling you every day!” he laughed mockingly, the palm of his hand slapping against my globes, causing me to yelp into the gag.
But his hand lingered on my stinging skin, and his touch made me even more uncomfortable than being paddled like a schoolboy who’d misbehaved.
“Damn, ya got a hot ass, kid,” he commented in awe. “Perfect amount of muscle and flesh—you’ve worked your glutes a lot at the gym, and it shows.”
He leaned over me, pressing his crotch against my ass. Much to my surprise, Briscoe Cooper was hard, and his meat was sticking straight up in his polyester shorts. The tube of his erection situated in between the cheeks of my blistered butt.
With all of the talk of him owning me and the attention paid to my ass, it didn’t take a genius to know what was up. “Mmmmmmm!” I shook my head, spit flying out from around the sides of the ball shoved in my mouth.
“I bet I could bounce a quarter off the cheeks of your ass, pretty boy,” he whispered in my right ear.
I’d never dreamed that the most severe paddling of my life would come at age twenty-two, but I also hadn’t planned on being handcuffed with a ballgag shoved in my mouth over the edge of my boss’ desk either.
As his calloused hands continued rubbing my ass, his package seemed to swell even bigger in those tight shorts of his. Knowing that Briscoe probably wanted to ram his cock up my ass, I tried to remain calm, but I was at a huge disadvantage.
Then, something unexpected happened… He began to untie the leather straps behind my head to remove the ballgag.
Hope flared inside of me.
This meant that I could reason with him to let me go and not fuck my ass. I’d always been good at manipulating people, and perhaps, I could charm my way out of getting my asshole stuffed.
As the ball came out of my mouth, Briscoe grabbed my right arm and shoved me down on my knees onto the cold concrete floor.
I shifted my mouth in an effort to get over the obtrusive ball that had almost dislocated my jaw. By this time, I was in full-on diplomacy mode. “Sir,” I looked up at him, my boss’ body towering over me, “please let me go. If you stop this now, I won’t say anything…”
Appearing amused, Briscoe arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes, Sir,” I continued. “I won’t tell anyone what you did to me—just don’t play with my ass like it’s a chick’s…” I paused, “…pussy.”
He let out a baleful laugh. “You don’t want me playing with your pussy, huh?” He crouched in front of me, and with his long right arm, he reached around and grabbed the sore cheeks of my ass.
“Dude, get your hand off my ass!” I warned.
“Yeah, what are ya gonna do about it, punk? Your hands are cuffed behind your back!”
“Well, eventually, you’re gonna let me out of here,” I reasoned.
“Never said I’d let you go, boy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, panic starting to rise inside of me.
“What’s to stop me from taking you home and keeping you prisoner in my basement?” the older man asked like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
I didn’t like where this was going. “I… uh… Well, that’s just crazy. You’d be arrested for kidnapping and anything else you were planning.”
“Like using your asshole like a chick’s pussy?” he asked diabolically, repeating my earlier words.
In reaction, my eyes grew wide. “Yes, like that.” I gulped nervously. “Look, I don’t care if you’re gay or whatever, but I ain’t gonna be taking anything up my ass or anywhere else.”
He snorted a laugh. “You’re pretty confident about that, eh?”
“Well, yeah, I am! One word to the cops and you’ll be put away for a long time.”
Briscoe exhaled through his nostrils. “That would wrap it all up in a neat little package, wouldn’t it?” The big guy began to brush my hair with his fingers, and I tried to turn my head from his touch. “Unless, I’d taken measures to make sure that never happens, boy.”
“Measures?”
My boss stood up. “Do you like movies?”
“Yeah, sometimes,” I replied, not sure where this was going. “But what does that have to do with anything?” I jerked my cuffed wrists behind my back.
“Well, you’ll enjoy this,” he said, grabbing a remote from his desk and hitting play. “Look to your right… And see yourself starring in your very own spanking fetish clip.”
I turned toward the monitors across from his desk, and on four screens, I saw myself cuffed, gagged and taking a paddling in my jock and the cup. Seeing myself in such a submissive position was disturbing as hell. As a straight dude, I was supposed to be the one to call the shots and be in charge, but seeing my vulnerable ass getting beaten like I was a bitch in some kinky web clip rocked me to my inner core.
I couldn’t watch the nocuous sight any longer. With my lips quivering, I looked up at Briscoe. “You taped it?”
A malignant smile grew across his scruffy face. “Of course, pretty boy.”
“But…” I paused. “But, that’s evidence that the cops could use against you for assaulting me!” My voice was quivering. “What did you think you’d accomplish taping it?”
“Blackmail.”
“Blackmail?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” Briscoe began, “it’d sure be a shame if folks saw this video… It does implicate me, but imagine what people would think of you if this tape went public.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I mumbled numbly.
“Ya don’t get shit outta life if ya don’t take risks,” my boss said, squatting down in front of me again. “You keep talking about the police arresting me, but imagine, during the big trial when this video was played, how embarrassed you’d be?”
I averted my eyes from his. “Yeah, I would, but I’d have to tough it out.”
His fingers grabbed my chin, and he forced my gaze. “Or even worse… What if your fraternity brothers saw this?”
Feeling my heart sink, I was trembling. “No!”
“I did my homework before you came to work in my store, boy. I know you were in Beta-Sigma Fraternity at QLU, and it just so happens that I have a detailed list of your eighty-eight frat brothers, including their addresses, phone numbers, and email addresses.”
My mouth was ajar. I was stupefied.
“Or better yet… What if I sent this to your family in Olive Branch, Mississippi?” Briscoe’s thick fingers started stroking my hair again. “What would they say?” He paused deliberately. “What would your father say about seeing his only son, dominated and paddled like the little bitch that he is?” he concluded through his teeth.
“You wouldn’t!” I protested, jerking at my cuffs.
He stood up. “To get what I want, I’d go to any length.”
For a long moment, I was silent.
This can’t be happening! This just can’t be! This crazy fucker is blackmailing me! But what if he showed my dad? My friends? My fraternity brothers?
I hardly registered the sound from the descending zipper of his training shorts. “What is it that you want, Sir?” I asked desperately.
“I want you,” he growled. “I want to break you and turn you into my own jock pussyboy.”
I looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t do this to me!” I begged.
Reaching into his open zipper, he began fishing out his prick. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, boy. Because I’m gonna fuck with your head so bad that eventually you’ll be craving this huge cock of mine!”
He pulled it out, and I gasped at the biggest cock I’d ever seen, now floating just above my face. Mine was a solid, thick eight inches, but Briscoe’s tool was something out of that movie Jurassic Park. Surrounded by an unruly thatch of black hair, the wooly mammoth was uncut with a sheathed knob that was the size of a tennis ball. The pole of his meat was as thick as a baseball bat, and the length—it had to be at least a foot long. The musky, heady scent of my boss’ crotch drifted up my nostrils, and it was the most potent and ripe smell that I’d ever encountered. I’d been in a lot of locker rooms during my life, but the odor of his junk was stronger than any stench I’d detected from funky armpits, grungy socks, or soiled jocks combined.
Peeping out like a hiding turtle, the head of the beast was surrounded by long foreskin and the tip was glistening with flowing precum. A drop of the dew landed on my right cheek, the splatter of his ooze warmed the spot on my skin. Disgusted, I turned my head to try to steer clear of more of it, but he held me in place so that my head remained directly underneath the behemoth. Hanging below was a massive sack, containing two egg-sized nuts that were forested with black hair.
“What in the hell are ya gonna do with that mutant?” I asked caustically.
“Gonna shove it in your mouth, bitch,” Briscoe deadpanned, driving his hips forward. “All thirteen inches!”
“Thirteen inches?” I shouted.
“You’ll get used to it because it’s gonna go in both of your holes as often as I wanna fill ya!” He grabbed the base of his cock.
I knew it was coming, so I closed my mouth, locking my teeth.
“Open your fuckin’ mouth, boy!” he ordered, stabbing the drooling tip at my lips.
The hot sticky ooze coated my lips like messy Chapstick, and the smell emanating from his pubes was even more nauseating the closer it got. My stomach gnarled in revulsion, but he wasn’t going to be deterred.
“Come on!” he growled through his teeth. “Open up and swallow it!”
Shaking my head and holding my breath, I kept trying to turn my head, but his grip wouldn’t allow it. When I continued to resist, his hand released my hair, and his fingers pinched my nostrils.
“I can keep this up all day! Can you?”
Twisting my arms in the cuffs, I tried to pull away from him, but he was using the pinching of my nose to keep my head in place. With my lips and nostrils closed, I was running out of air fast, and the fact that my heart was racing wasn’t helping matters. The relentless force of the tip of his cock against my lips was working against me too.
Removing his right hand from the base of his prick, he slapped my face—hard. The blow broke my concentration, and I opened my mouth to yell. Briscoe took the opportunity, pushing the first inch or two of his dick past my lips.
“If ya bite my hog, I’ll cut your fuckin’ pretty boy face!” he roared, one of his hands moving to the back of my head. “Do ya hear me, kid?”
With my eyes about to pop out of my head, I nodded, my gaze fixed on the remainder of the cock waiting to impale my mouth.
The taste of his acrid precum and his brackish, meaty popsicle exploded in my mouth. The foreskin pulled back, and the unprotected crown was now sitting on my tongue. The head of his porker seemed to be burning my tongue. I’d eaten plenty of pussy in my time, but having a dude’s cock in my mouth was humiliating and repugnant.
As Briscoe shifted his hips forward, his colossal cock forged ahead, sliding in between my lips. When I heard a click from overhead, I looked up to see that he was taking shots of his cock in my mouth.
“Never hurts to have more blackmail ammunition,” he stated coldly.
Helpless, I protested with a whimper.
Pushing more of his meat into my mouth, my boss turned his phone and showed me the picture. My blue eyes were as wide as saucers, and my lips were stretched apart with his rod docking in my oral port. The close-up shot was focused on just my face and his dick, so my cuffed wrists weren’t visible at all. The angle made it look like I was sucking my boss’ cock willingly.
Things just kept getting worse…
He pulled my face toward his pelvis, causing more of his pipe to enter my mouth. “Feels good, boy!” He shifted his hips back, and the leaking tip was on my tongue again. The reverse movement caused his whopper to slide back into its hood. “Stick out your tongue and clean under the foreskin!”
I didn’t know much about uncut guys—much less sucked a dick before, so I was leery.
“Remember, if ya keep your mouth shut and do as I say, the footage of me spanking your ass, these pictures of you sucking my cock, and, of course, the hot footage that I’m taping now will stay between us.” He laughed. “So, I’ve got you, faggot! You’re gonna be my pussyboy!”
Tears of desperation pooled in my eyes, but I fought them again. Despite the fucked-up shit that was happening, I swore to not let him see me cry.
Slowly, I extended my tongue, and it slid under his foreskin. As I reluctantly lapped at the rich tastes deep within the recesses of his sheath, a small amount of soft goo that savored of a tangy sharpness was mined out by my tongue, adding to the funky taste of Briscoe’s cock in my mouth. The addition of the gooey matter from under the folds almost made me almost throw up.
“Feels so good, cocksucker,” he groaned. “Yeah, clean out that cheese, kid! I’ve been waiting for a pretty boy like you to find and wash my dick with his wet mouth!”
Holding back the urge to puke, I continued to twirl my tongue under his foreskin and around the head. He was getting off on it because his breath quickened, and his chest heaved under the black Under Armour training shirt he was wearing.
He pulled my face down his hard, throbbing shaft to where it hit the back of my throat. With both of his hands locked in my hair, he thrusted forward pushing the bloated crown against my gag reflex. I fought back choking, and my eyes watered from the building pressure. I felt a gagging cough building, and when I opened my mouth to release it, Briscoe used that moment to push his dick into my throat.
“Yeah, bitch, deepthroat my cock!”
As his erection slid down my throat, my eyes opened wide, the humongous shaft cutting off the air to my body. My face reddened, and it felt like the huge tongue depressor was going to induce vomiting. Somehow, and I’m still not sure how, Briscoe managed to stuff all thirteen inches into my mouth and throat. My nose nestled in those wild, dark pubes, and the raunchy smell of his junk filled my nostrils. Miserable and trying desperately to breathe, I tried to pull my head away from his cock, but I couldn’t.
He gave me a couple of seconds before he started sliding his prick in and out. His balls slapped against my chin, and I did my best to do a good job, telling myself that the quicker he came—the quicker this would be over.
“Doin’ so good, boy!”
Briscoe’s moans became louder, and he brutally fucked my face, causing air and spit to blast from my mouth each time that he pulled out of my throat.
After shifting his cock from the depths of my throat, my boss rapidly impaled my mouth with the first couple of inches of his dick. Although I hadn’t deepthroated him too long, I was relieved to be able to breathe, but I knew that something else was about to happen…
Moaning steadily, Briscoe pistoned in and out of my mouth. “Fuck, yeah! Gonna give ya my load, cocksucker!” Slamming my lips, he let out a growl. “Ohhhhh, fuck!”
The first wad fired from the head of his cock and landed on the back of my tongue. The taste of Briscoe’s cum impregnated my mouth. The ultra-salty flavor was strong and pungent, and I almost gagged again. As the upper portion of his shaft buzzed my lips, he fired more and more of his jizz into my mouth.
“Swallow it, bitch!”
I gulped, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of his gooey porridge. Shooting more, my boss slapped the back of my head. “Keep gobbling my load! Yeah…” he shot another thick gob, “…that’s it!”
Because the taste was overwhelming, I drank all of his spooge as quick as I could.
His thrusting pelvis slowed, and I detected his monster dick starting to soften and shrink. I tried to pull my head away, but he forced me to keep my mouth around it.
“Not so fast!”
I looked up at him with confused eyes.
“I’m sure after that salty breakfast it’d be good to have something to wash it down with.”
Momentarily, I was puzzled. My sociopath of a boss had just raped my mouth, and now he was offering me some sort of liquid refreshment? I doubted very much that he was going to serve me some bottled water or a cold beer, so I knew that he had something crazy in mind.
And when the stream of his hot, salty piss began to flow from the head of his dick, I screamed, almost drowning in the torrent of urine filling my mouth.
“Drink it!” he thundered.
Panicked, I tried pulling my head away again, but it was no use.
“Swallow it!” he repeated.
With my mouth filling up with the big man’s urine, I had no choice, so I gulped and gulped, drinking his piss.
“Yeah, love making ya drink from the hose, boy!”
“Mmmmmmmmpphhhh!” I objected, still swallowing the salty, bitter liquid that seemed to be filling my mouth faster than I could gulp it down. So, I did my damndest to drink his piss in fear of it going down the wrong pipe and drowning me.
“You’re gonna be my urinal, faggot!” With his gray eyes locked on me, I realized that this was even more humiliating and degrading than being tied up and paddled or being forced to give him head.
Finally, the flow of his urine waned, and the remainder of my boss’ piss flowed down my throat…
As soon as Briscoe had pulled his cock from in between my lips, he shoved the ballgag back into my mouth and tied it sadistically tight behind my head.
Doing my best to plead with him to free me, I made garbled sounds around the rubber ball while slobber ran down my chin. When I’d heard the rip of the duct tape, I froze.
He wrapped the gray adhesive around my already gagged mouth. He stretched the tape over my open lips and under my left ear. Then, he continued by sealing the duct tape around the nape of my neck and under my right ear. Completing the circle, Briscoe covered the ball in between my teeth again. With the loud ripping of the tape off the roll, he continued covering the same area of my face at least half a dozen times. Finally, he tore the tape behind my head and patted it down, silencing me with this super double gag.
He yanked me up from the floor and forced me back over his desk. My abdomen hit the side so hard that it momentarily knocked the air out of my lungs, dazing me. By the time I could think clearly again, I felt him removing my Nikes.
“You sure look damn good tied up and helpless, kid,” he said gruffly as he took my right, socked ankle and taped it leg of his desk.
“Mmmmmmmmm!” I protested, shaking my head but making less noise than I’d been able to before. With my ass in the air, it was obvious what was coming next. But as the tape fastened my ankle to the right leg of the desk, I realized he was gaining even more control over me.
“After my fourth divorce and…” he paused, “…the incident, I tried fucking short skinny boys, but their asses weren’t deep enough to take my thirteen inches.” He grabbed my left ankle and stretched it to the other leg of his desk. “So I decided I needed a taller, muscular boy like you to be my bitch because you’re gonna have a deep ass and be able to take more punishment.”
Shaking my head, I tried to pull my ankle out of his hand, but he slapped my blistered ass. “Stop struggling! You’re gonna be funneling this big cock, regardless of how much ya wiggle and try to kick.” Stretching my legs ever farther apart, Briscoe taped my left ankle to the desk.
When he stood up, my boss’ fingertip grazed my asshole, causing me to shudder. “Ya got a fine pink hole, kid,” he grumbled. “There’s some hair in the crack, but we’re gonna do something about that later.”
“Mmmmmmm!” I protested softly as his finger circled around my ring.
Surprisingly, the stimulation of just his finger and the feel of my boss’ hot breath on my open crack felt good. Despite myself, my dick began to stir in the extra-small cup that was snapped into my jock, but stirring was all I could do because the athletic support codpiece was preventing me from getting an erection. Instead, my dick swelled in the cup, twisting into an uncomfortable knot.
Suddenly, he spit on my butthole, and his finger spread his saliva, pushing the spit into my nervously quivering ass.
“Mmmmppphhhhh!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he muttered, spitting again and pushing his finger deeper into my chute. “Ya got a tight cherry, boy!”
I could hardly believe this… Just a week ago, I’d been a college graduate, looking forward to a new career and maybe finding a girlfriend. Now, I was cuffed and taped to a crazy man’s desk with my butt in the air while he played with my asshole like a girl’s pussy. And I was about to be fucked like a bitch across my boss’ desk by his thirteen-inch cock. As he spit again and slid his finger in and out of my exit pipe, I couldn’t wrap my mind around how I’d gotten myself into this.
“This’ll make a hot video to show at Christmas parties and during employee meetings, huh?” he mused, withdrawing his finger from my asshole.
“Nnnnnnnmmmmmmpppppphhhhh!” I objected, shaking my head.
He opened a drawer and took out a bottle of generic hand lotion. Squirting a huge gob onto the palm of his hand, he rubbed it on my ring, saying: “If ya don’t do everything I tell ya from now on and obey my every command, everyone you’ve ever known will get copies of all these hot pictures and clips.” He shoved two fingers into my tunnel, causing me to scream into the gag. As he fingered my ass, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. “So, don’t go crying to anyone, boy!” he growled.
I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. Instead, I focused on the pain of his two thick fingers stretching my butthole open, making it wetter and looser. But I was sure that no amount of lotion or fingers would ease the pain of being hammered by that monster schlong between Briscoe’s legs.
Withdrawing his fingers and releasing my hair, my boss moved behind me. I heard the cap to the hand lotion snap and detected what sounded like him applying the makeshift lube to his rod.
I felt the swollen, round head at the entrance to my asshole. Applying some force, he grabbed my hips and shoved the tennis-ball-sized head into my hole.
“Arrrrmmmmmmmmmmmggghhhhhhh!” I yelled as the crown stretched my ass open.
“Know this,” Briscoe snarled, the excruciating pain of his forced entry filling me, “I’m gonna wreck your virgin cunt with my big meat, and soon you’ll be begging to have my cock in your pussy all the fuckin’ time!”
As his words washed over me like a toxic tide, he plunged all thirteen of those inches into my ass.
I raised my upper body up from the desk, squealing like a pig into the gag. But my boss forced me back down. “Relax, ya stupid fuck!” he spat. “It’s gonna hurt, but you’ll get plenty of chances to get used to it.”
Whimpering underneath him, I thought I’d been stabbed with some medieval weapon. It felt like some maniac in a horror movie had used a sharp axe on my ass and scrotum. The entry of his longsword was traumatizing, the ripping burning sensation setting my tunnel on fire. I was so blown away by the agony that I was temporarily paralyzed.
“Shit!” he grunted. “You’re asshole is tighter than I ever thought!”
When he shifted his weight, slowly pulling his prick toward the exit of my chute, I thought that most of my internal organs were going to be pulled out along with it. But just before the rotund head escaped my stretched hole, Briscoe sank all of his length back into my ass.
“Mmmmmmmmmm!” I yelled, finally realizing why he’d used two gags on me.
“Take my cock!”
He slid his massive meat in and out of my asshole. Each time that the gigantic crown almost escaped my exit, I had this odd feeling of both physical anguish and pleasure. It was the craziest thing—the overwhelming feeling of being fucked up the ass was intense as hell, and I couldn’t tell if I was gonna to piss or cum…
“Yeah,” he groaned. “Relax that butthole.”
But to my surprise, this wild sensation built behind my balls, and as he drilled my ass, my semi-erect dick continued to twist into a tighter pretzel. The internal pressure of my boss’ pounding kept this painful yet sensual feeling going. I started breathing heavy, and I realized that I was cumming—sort of. I wasn’t shooting a regular load, but my contorted cock was oozing a steady flow of cum from my balls, soaking the fabric of the jock pouch and filling the cup with my jizz.
“I feel that tight cunt, boy!” my boss said into my ear as his body weighed on top of my back. He reached his hand under me and found the wet spot leaking from the side of the baseball cup. “You just had an assgasm.”
An assgasm? What the hell?
Continuously pounding me while I kept slowly leaking cum, he clarified: “Pussyboys like you call it an assgasm when they cum without touching their little dicks. This is what it’s like to be claimed by a real man like me.”
Whimpering and breathing hard through my nostrils, the assgasm, or whatever it was called, kept going. Biting into my neck, Briscoe fucked me like a predatory animal; the sound of his hips slamming against my splayed cheeks made a loud, continuous smack.
“Hell, yeah!” Sweat was seeping from him, causing a wet bond between the skin of his hairy chest and my smooth back. “Fuckin’ hot ass!”
Like a pork wiener in boiling water, his hot dog swelled inside my buns, causing me to leak even more cum.
“Mmmmmmmmmm!” I released a muffled scream from the additional stretching.
Briscoe leaned up and pummeled my butthole harder. Suddenly, he groaned loudly, and the first wad of his cum fired deep inside of my ass. “Take my cum, boy! Knockin’ ya up with my seed!”
I whimpered beneath the thrusting giant, and he unloaded, dumping his DNA into my ass and coating my insides with the burning heat of his seed…
Sitting up in the uncomfortable wooden chair, I was sore all over.
My asshole was stretched and leaking my boss’ cum. The cheeks of my ass were blistered, and the skin there was throbbing from the earlier brutal paddling. My twisted and contorted dick was sore because of the extra-small cup I was being forced to wear. My wrists were chaffing from the handcuffs that kept my arms secured behind my back, and my shoulders were aching from being stretched behind my body. My jaw was sore from the ball in between my teeth, and the duct tape wrapped around my head was pulling the hair on the back of my neck.
After Briscoe had stolen my ass, he’d cut my ankles free of the desk and forced me to sit in the rickety chair. Then, he’d shoved me and the chair into the tiny closet across from his desk.
With my left foot pulled back to where only my socked toes were touching the concrete floor, my boss wrapped rope around my ankle. “Ya might as well get comfortable, boy.” He pulled the rope and secured it with a tight knot to the back leg of the seat, just like he had with my right foot. “It’s a good eight hours or so until the store closes, and I’m gonna be busy all day.” He looked up at me, a wicked smile coming over his face. “I reckon you’ll be tied up all day too.”
Although I was weak and exhausted, the thought of being held captive by my deranged boss in a locked closet was disturbing. “Mmmmmmmmm!” I protested.
Once my feet were secure, my boss stood up and slapped my face playfully. “And this is only the start of what I have planned for you, pretty boy.”
Although I wanted to remain strong and fearless, I whimpered into the gag.
Briscoe grabbed a long piece of rope off the floor and began lashing my chest and upper body to the chair. “Ya see, I don’t want a willing cocksucker.” His eyes locked with mine. “I wanna conquer an unwilling boy like you. And then, wipe your slate clean, forcing ya to become exactly what I want.”
Behind the chair, he pulled and tightened the rope. “I guess you could say I get off on a challenge.” He moved back in front of me. “And I bet you’re asking yourself why me, huh?”
Embarrassed and breached, I could hardly maintain eye contact with him.
“Well, I’ll tell ya anyway… Because you strutted into my door, full of cockiness and bravado—a younger Alpha Male in the making… But ya stumbled into my territory, boy. And little did ya know that you were ripe for the picking…” He paused, running his hand over the bulging crotch of his coach’s shorts. “Gets me hard just thinking about it.”
“Mmmmmmm,” I moaned into the gag, digesting his words.
He turned off the interior light and put his hand on the doorknob. “You’ll have plenty of time to think about it, boy… Because your captivity is permanent… So, get plenty of rest ‘cause you’re gonna need it.”
As I wiggled wildly in the chair, Briscoe shut and locked the door.
In the blackness, the only light was from the crack under the door.
But the battle wasn’t over… He hadn’t made me cry or lose my shit, but I’d come damn close so many times.
I’d been had. I’d been abused. I’d been used.
And I was powerless to do anything about it, especially tied up, gagged and stashed in my boss’ office closet. At his mercy, I had no clue what he was going to do next or if he’d successfully break me like he planned. Even if I escaped from this situation and didn’t have all the blackmail material exposed to the world, the sadistic asshole hadn’t left me unscathed. I was changed…
I definitely wasn’t gay, but I couldn’t claim I was a hundred percent straight any longer. And the bizarre assgasm that I’d experienced, while he fucked my ass, wasn’t helping me sort anything out.
Briscoe Collins had forcibly taken my heterosexuality from me, folded it up and put it in his back pocket as a souvenir. And all I could do was wait to see what would come next.
But for now, I was his prisoner, and I was in the dark…
###
Other Titles from Keegan Kennedy
Ganymede 4
When a Terran Empire starship is pulled into a wormhole and crashes on an unknown and uncharted distant planet, the survivors of the ill-fated ship struggle to adjust to this world full of dangers and secrets while holding out a hope that they can escape their new home. Star-crossed former lovers, Burke Wolfhampton and Sitka Drakos, lead the sexually-charged group in an effort to build a new life on a hostile world that will defy their understanding of biology, family, sex and gender.
Erotic titles from Keegan Kennedy…
Half Past Midnight
So far, it’s been a long summer for Parker Wells. Working the graveyard shift at a gas station in a rural Mississippi town, Parker is saving for college and looking forward to his freshman year at Queen’s Landing University. But the young jock’s world is forever changed when a mysterious midnight shopper turns out to be a criminal who wants more than just the gas station’s safe…
Captivated
From the stimulatingly outlandish mind of Keegan Kennedy comes an unorthodox romance… A freshman in college, Ian Proctor has been living with handsome German billionaire, Braun Richter, since the death of his mother, a former Canadian pop singer, actress and socialite. Not only does Ian wait on his Braun hand and foot, he is also head over heels in love with, and fixated on, pleasing the six-foot, five-inch blonde giant.
Unbeknownst to Ian, his obsession for his mother’s former husband is nothing compared to the obsession that Braun has for him. On the day of his nineteenth birthday, Ian receives a surprise gift from Braun that will change their lives forever…
Homecoming
Erotica title… Lucas Hudson has six weeks remaining before leaving his small town for college, but first, he must adjust to the return of his new stepbrother, Dane Bolton, from the Marine Corps. Although initially reluctant about the return of the local hero and former football jock, who had been three years ahead of him in high school, Lucas develops an instant crush on his new roomie. 21-year-old, Dane Bolton is a dominant Marine with a kinky side and has secretly been fixated on Lucas long before they were related by marriage. Dane quickly becomes controlling and starts to take over Lucas’ life. With a deep and mostly untouched submissive nature, Lucas is ripe for the picking and falls completely under the spell of the dynamic Alpha Male. Dane, who will stop at nothing to possess the object of his longtime fantasy, spins Lucas into his web and attempts to take control of the young blonde, and demands nothing less than Lucas’ complete and total submission. In this erotic novel filled with love, possession and obsession, Dane and Lucas struggle to overcome many obstacles on their way to happiness, which, most importantly, includes their respective parents.
Magnificent Pretense
Having received a full baseball scholarship to college, Ryder Conrad is a few weeks shy of his high school graduation. As a condition of the scholarship, the eighteen-year-old jock must undergo a complete medical examination performed by Dr. Kirk Livingston. Not only is Dr. Livingston his family’s doctor, but the handsome, muscular doctor is also the best friend of Ryder’s father. Unbeknownst to anyone, Ryder has been desperately in love with “Uncle Kirk” since the age of five. With a yearning to be submissive to the rugged and divorced physician, Ryder decides to turn up the heat on the good doctor and see if their already close relationship can become more intense. Will Ryder’s boyhood fantasies about Dr. Livingston finally come true or will the physical exam lead to the biggest scandal that the small town of Westport has ever seen?
Taken
One thing leads to another, and things are not as they appear… In this story of dominance, submission and the supernatural, Ryan Hobbs couldn’t take any more. With four weeks left before his high school graduation, Ryan’s ultra-religious father grounds him for coming home five hours past curfew. The dumb baseball jock vows not to miss out on the rite-of-passage festivities and decides that it’s time to assert his dominance. As revenge on his dad and crazy stepmother, Ryan hatches a runaway hoax to mess with their minds and show them that he is his own man. Unfortunately for the Ryan, his fake plot leads him to an unexpected and fearful destination. When Ryan gets stranded on the side of the California highway, the jock turns to a friendly trucker, Jeb. Seemingly a southern rube, Jeb is actually a sadistic and cunning dominant as well as a sociopath. With insidious intent, Jeb hijacks Ryan and forever changes the course of his life.
Author of Homecoming: #1 in four countries: The United States, United Kingdom, Germany and Canada. (April 2013)
Author of The Substitute Wife: #1 (May 2012)
Also author of top tens: My Boss' Son, The Substitute Wife Part Two, The Substitute Wife Part Three, My Lifeguard, The Nine-Inch Cure for the Blues, The Interview, Dude, The Coach Wants to See You, Man of the House, Who Wears the Pants in the Family?, Crossroads and The Christmas Bottom (2012, 2013, 2014).
Currently, Keegan lives in Memphis, TN, and is happily single. He enjoys hearing from his readers, so feel free to drop him a line and let him know if you enjoyed Athletic Support at wolfjock@gmail.com.
Be sure to “Like” me on Facebook to keep up with my new releases:
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“I want to sincerely thank all of my readers! Because of you, I have made many new friends from across the globe on every continent, with the exception of Antarctica––to my knowledge. Your kind words and encouragement have meant the world to me. I answer all emails, so feel free to contact me.” - Love, Keegan