On Mr. Jones' Desk

We call ourselves admins, but most people call us secretaries. Trust me, as a male admin I had heard every joke. I worked in an ad firm, and while the Mad Men days were long gone, it still attracted a lot of rowdy bros. I had about three years of experience, enough to shake off my naiveté and develop a thick skin.

Very few things could shake me. I had been working for the VP of finance for almost three years, when it was discovered she had steered printing work to her husband's company, who may, or may not, have been wildly overcharging our firm. She had been allowed to resign in lieu of being fired.

I had nothing to do with that, as far as the company knew, but many saw me as guilty by association. I was reassigned to work the front desk, a humiliating step down. Since then, I spent my days getting coffee for vendors and clients, ordering lunches and tidying up the conference rooms. I had the feeling they wanted me to quit, but my stubbornness ran deep. It was almost five o'clock, when one of the what we, admins, referred to as, Brossociates came strolling by on their way out.

"Most firms have a hot piece of ass working the front desk. Instead, we have you," an associate named Kyle said, as he passed the desk. "What do you think that says?"

I had long ago learned not to engage every idiot who wanted to bait me. I could hear the footsteps of a man in dress shoes as someone exited the elevator.

"Kyle, did I hear you disparaging another employee? Because we don't do that here. We respect every person that shows up to work."

"Yes, Mr. Jones, I mean, no sir, I wasn't, it was a misunderstanding," Kyle stammered out.

"Good to hear. Are you headed home already? It's barely five PM."

"Oh, uh, just checking on something before heading back to my desk," Kyle said, looking around for an excuse and not finding one.

"Here's that document you printed, Kyle," I said, handing him some meaningless papers from my desk. He grabbed them, nodded, and went back the way he came.

Mr. Jones came to a stop in front of my desk. A little over six feet tall and clean-shaven, he was immaculately dressed in grey pants, a sport coat with button down, no tie and dark brown dress shoes. Just a hint of grey speckling his luscious head of hair as it parted down the middle.

"You didn't need to do that for me," I said.

"And you didn't need to help him out with those papers. Why did you do that? He was being an ass," Mr. Jones asked, with a curious look.

"I've been banished to the front desk. I can't afford to make enemies," I said.

"Shrewd move. You were Trish's admin, right?"

"Yes, sir. And no sir, I wasn't involved in her misappropriation, since that's everyone else's second question," I said, having been through this a few times.

"I'm not everyone else. You don't strike me as the kind of man to get involved in that. But you're also not stupid enough to have been completely unaware either," he said, his blue-green eyes assessing me. "Why did you keep her secret?"

I stared back at him, motionless for a moment. I had known, and I warned Trish, begged her to stop, told her she was going to get caught, but she never listened. "She was my boss. And she was good to me. I had to choose between her and a faceless company. I chose her."

"Do you regret that decision, now that you're here?" he asked, with genuine curiosity.

"The smart answer is yes," I said. "But the honest answer is no."

He stared at me a moment longer, then turned and continued on his way. I assumed this was the end of my employment here. Mr. Jones wielded a lot of power in the company, and I'd just told him I failed to report fraud. When an email from my boss cc'ing HR landed in my inbox, I had already packed most of my things in anticipation. But upon opening it, I was surprised.

The next day around seven-thirty, I got off on the eighth floor carrying my box of belongings. Down the hall, I found a large corner office with a desk out front and ROBERT JONES - EVP stenciled on the glass. I placed my box on the desk and began unpacking. I could hear the distinctive clack of Mr. Jones' shoes coming down the hall, and I was glad to be so early.

"Good morning, Devon, good to see you settling in. Join me in my office for a moment."

I nodded, grabbed a notebook and pen, in case there were tasks to be assigned, and followed him in.

"Do you know why I requested you as my personal admin, Devon?"

I took a minute to think. This was clearly a test, and I didn't want to lose this position before I even got settled.

"Loyalty," I said, after a moment. There was the slightest curve of a smile at the edge of his mouth.

"That's correct. Ancient Roman soldiers had a term called sacramentum, or loyalty unto death. You were loyal, even at great personal risk, and that is a quality I require. The second quality is discretion. I am a very private person, and you're an intuitive man. I'll never put you in the position that Trish did, where your job is in jeopardy. That was disrespectful of her. Trust needs to go both ways. But I do expect that what happens here stays between us."

"Of course, sir. I wanted to say that I am extremely grateful for this opportunity. I honestly thought my career was over, and you've given me a second chance. I am in your debt," I said, feeling confident it was true.

The hint of a smile grew ever so slightly before fading quickly. He was clearly practiced at keeping his emotions in check. "Let's start with the basics, then," he said, and began to walk me through his routine, his expectations, and his upcoming calendar. I took furious notes on everything. He told me who the power brokers in the company were, how they operated, and what their strengths and weaknesses were. More importantly, what they wanted from him and how he planned to navigate the situation to his benefit. I was fascinated by him.

It was as if he were a great general, not merely thinking through a single battle, but preparing for an entire campaign, willing to lose in certain places to ensure victory in the war.

When it came to a natural conclusion he said, "Any questions?"

"How do you take your coffee?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood a little from this onslaught of information.

"I take tea, oolong, hot with two sugars," he said, completely deadpan.

"Of course. Noted." I said, all hint of playfulness gone.

To be honest, I struggled a little at first. It was a demanding job. When I would get something wrong or make a mistake, he would tell me it was part of the learning process and was a complete professional about it. But there was something else there. I could sense he was holding back, controlling himself. I was beginning to pick up on his tendencies, trying to get a deeper understanding of this man I was spending most of my time with.

I began to get adept at not just recognizing his moods, but at anticipating them as well. And that was why I started making connections in my head. Simple ones, at first-- his mood changes after meeting with certain company officers became predictable, and I rearranged his schedule accordingly. Every time he met with our marketing department, I made sure it was before his scheduled lunch so he could recompose. I put finance first in his day, so that they had ample time to respond to his numerous requests.

I began to notice that he grew increasingly frustrated through the week, but he had an off-the-books meeting on Wednesday afternoons. He would leave the office around four in the afternoon, and be gone for exactly an hour before returning in a much better mood. Then, he would slowly grow increasingly impatient until the following week and the cycle would repeat. It was impossible not to be curious. I thought about asking him, but the word 'discretion' popped into my brain. Whatever this was, it was private, and it was none of my business.

A few months went by, and we had fallen into a rhythm together. I rarely, if ever, saw his repressed disappointment directed at me, but I could spot it coming before it even happened in others. It occurred to me that I was the only one who even noticed. If you didn't spend months shadowing him, you'd never notice the slight twitch on the corners of his lips, or the furrowed brow when he was calculating all the possible outcomes of a decision, or the flared nostrils when he was surprised, something I had only seen a few few times in my six months in this man's shadow.

It was a Tuesday, sometime in September, and I was busy preparing some documents when I saw the regular Wednesday invite disappear from his calendar. Oh no, I thought to myself. I knew better than to ask him, so I stayed silent and watched. He grew increasingly irritated through the week and into the following. I was looking forward to Wednesday again, so that it might help regulate his emotions, but once more, the appointment disappeared. Worse, the standing invite disappeared as well. Whatever it was that gave this great man the self-control he needed was gone. It was weeks before anyone other than me noticed he had changed, but eventually they started to. Heather, one of the other admins, asked me if he was having marital troubles.

"He's a very private man, he wouldn't want us discussing this," I said.

"Jeez, Devon, loosen up, it's just us. You know you're starting to sound a lot like him, right?"

"It's called discretion. It's part of your job, too," I said, a bit more harshly than I intended. Her eyes went wide and she backed off, never mentioning it again.

But something was wrong, and problem-solving was part of my nature. Things were going to keep getting worse, I could see that. I didn't want to let my general down. It was clear he needed something, and there was unfortunately only one way to find out what it was. I took a deep breath, and for the third time in a year, wondered if I was about to be fired. Either way, I felt compelled. I waited 'til Wednesday at four o'clock, and I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to steel myself for what was to come. I entered his office.

I immediately saw the displeasure on his face. If this was a mistake, I had already made it, no point in going back now, I thought. "Mr. Jones, I have some concerns I wanted to discuss with you."

"Did we have a meeting?" he asked, barely covering the irritation in his voice.

"No, sir. I thought a meeting on your calendar might raise questions and I wanted to be discreet," I said, noticing he wasn't surprised by this approach. Maybe he'd been expecting it? "I noticed that your mood has been... inconsistent lately. Ever since your Wednesday afternoon meetings were cancelled. I don't want to intrude, I know you are a very private man and I respect that. But at the same time, I feel compelled to inform you that the change in your behavior has been noticed, and it is affecting others' perception of you. I know that is important to you, and I wanted to offer my services to resolve this issue if I can."

"You can't," he said, matter of factly. "You don't even know what you are suggesting."

"You're right. But I do know that you are not the stone-cold executive you present to the world. I know you spend a lot of energy controlling those emotions, tailoring that presentation, from your clothes, to your work, to the way you carry yourself. I know whatever you were doing every Wednesday gave you the ability to be the best version of the man you are. And... I know it inspired me," I said, not realizing it was true until after I said it. I could see his nostrils flare.

"So, you need to pull yourself together, and let me help you."

His brow furrowed and we stared at one another for what felt like an eternity.

"I..." he started, but paused.

I could tell this was difficult for him. Spending so much time hiding who you are made it near impossible to be open with another person. I knew the feeling well.

"I had an arrangement. With... a young man named Jason. He would..." he paused again.

I opened my mouth to speak, about to tell him I didn't care if he was gay, but he raised a finger.

"Let me finish. I had an arrangement where I could gratify myself by controlling and dominating another person." His words were then coming faster, like a dam had given way and there was nothing left to hold them back.

"I would force him to his knees. I would make him submit to me, sexually, completely and fully. If he made a mistake, I would strike him. I had complete and total control over him. I enjoyed it... immensely. But..."

He paused again before continuing, "I didn't realize until now, it also gave me control over myself. We had to end it, and I'm struggling."

There was a long pause. Mr. Jones was breathing heavily, as if the effort of opening up had physically stressed him.

I sat there in silence not sure what to say.

"You can go now."

I stood up, walked to the door. I took a deep breath, and I locked it. I turned around to genuine, unrestrained surprise on Mr. Jones' face.

"If you'll have me, I want to do this for you," I said, walking over to stand right in front of him. "But you may need to teach me."

I looked into his eyes and saw genuine affection there for a moment, before his demeanor changed entirely, and he suddenly stood up.

"You think you can help me? The boy I pulled off the front desk out of pity?" he said, with a sneer.

I was taken aback. I froze in place as this man towered over me. I honestly thought about running but my feet wouldn't move.

"You don't help me. Ever. You. My secretary? You were made to serve," he finished, his face inches from my own. "So serve."

He placed his hands firmly on my shoulders and pushed me down to my knees. My heart was pounding in my chest. I didn't know if he wanted to fuck me or fight me or maybe both.

"Take off your shirt."

I did as I was told and removed my button-down and undershirt and tossed it to the side.

He slapped me lightly across the face. "Does that look neat and proper to you? Does that look like you have respect for my office?"

"No," I said, and another small slap, just enough to sting, came from the other side.

"You will address me as sir, or Mr. Jones."

"Yes, Mr. Jones," I said, feeling a flush in my cheeks that was either from his hands, or the adrenaline I felt coursing through my veins. I picked my shirt up, neatly folded it, and placed it on the desk.

"That's better. Stand up and remove your pants and shoes as well."

I took off my shoes, placed them together, folded my socks on top and then removed my pants. I hadn't even realized until I saw it that my dick had gone rigid. It was sticking straight out in front of me. I could feel my cheeks go another shade darker. I knew to place everything in a tidy, folded pile as if I were doing laundry, but my dick kept getting in the way, putting creases in my pants and boxers as I folded them. It took me three tries to get it right.

"Look at you, standing stiff as a board in your boss's office. Hoping to suck a promotion out of my cock, Devon?" he asked.

The coarse language from a man who was a consummate professional shocked me.

"No... sir."

"Tell me why you're so hard," he said, a hint of threat in his voice.

"I... am excited. To serve you. Mr. Jones," I said, stumbling through each word.

What was worse was-- I really was. My dick wasn't just hard, it was sculpted marble. I felt a passion I didn't know existed surging through me. I wanted this man to take me, and I wanted him to know it.

"I had a feeling you'd be a quick learner. Prepare me as you did yourself," he said.

I felt my heart jump at the praise. Pleasing this man was pleasing myself. I stood and unbuttoned his shirt carefully, sliding it off his arms. He learned forward slightly so I could remove it from his back. I reached down and untucked his under shirt, pulling it over his head. His chest was surprisingly smooth, only a hint of dark brown body hair in the center. His pecs were well defined, but not muscular. He had a slight tan that uniformly presented across his entire body.

I thought, not for the first time, that this man took great care to mold every part of himself. I folded and placed everything on the desk, before returning to a kneeling position in front of him.

He smiled, not the repressed hidden smile I saw in the office, but one unfiltered by his careful persona. "Very good. But that was the easy part. Remove my pants and shoes."

I removed his shoes and socks, placing them next to mine. I deftly unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops before tightly winding it, and putting it on his desk. I made direct eye contact with him, as I undid the buttons on his fly and began to remove his pants. He was wearing black briefs and there was a pronounced bulge, even though I could tell he wasn't hard yet.

I put two fingers under the waistband on either side, and he shifted in the chair to give me the room to slide them off, before placing them as I had the others. His cock was halfway to hard and already seven inches, circumcised with a bulbous purple/brown purple-brown head. It looked downright regal. I leaned forward and then stopped myself and looked him in the eyes.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked.

I flashed back to being tested on my first day in his office. "Permission, sir," I said. His smile widened and he seemed genuinely pleased for the first time since I met him.

"Well done. Now, you are going to get me hard. You are going to get me wet, and when I'm ready, you are going to submit your ass to me," he said.

A shadow passed over the frost glass of his office, someone walking by, and my eyes followed it, terrified of being discovered. He gripped my jaw in his hands and turned my attention back to him.

"Look at me," Mr. Jones said.

I stared at him, praying not to hear someone testing the door lock. Fortunately, it never came. The near-miss had my blood boiling-- I was excited, hard, scared, embarrassed, and horny beyond belief all at once. I tried to keep my composure as he held my face still.

"You belong to me. If someone walks in here and finds you with my cock in your ass, you say 'be with you in a moment' and finish your task. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I said, realizing that my cock was already leaking even though I hadn't touched it.

He released my face with a slight push to the side to show his displeasure. I noticed his cock had grown harder while he was chastising me, and filed that away in my mind. I reached out to gently lift it, rubbing my hand along the bottom of the shaft, feeling the soft skin stiffen to my touch.

He was fully erect by then, as my fingers glanced along the head, and I took the shaft in my other hand. I began to stroke with one hand and polish the tip with my other. When I looked up, those intense eyes were staring down at me. I kept eye contact as I opened my mouth and swallowed as much of him as I could. I felt him hit the back of my throat before I could get to the base and had to pull back before I gagged.

"That won't do," he said, removing himself from my mouth and me staring up.

He gripped my hair and pulled my head back hard. I opened my mouth and he roughly slid back in, driving straight past my mouth and into my throat. He began to thrust, fucking my mouth with strength and passion. I was just hanging on for dear life trying to breathe through my nose when I could. It was violent, invasive, and I could feel tears welling up in my closed eyes from the overwhelming sensation to gag that I was suppressing.

He was using me like an object, a Fleshlight, for his personal amusement, and something deep inside me stirred and strained. I pulled myself together, opened my eyes, and looked up at him. I tried to say with my eyes what I couldn't with my mouth, 'I'm yours. Use me.' He smiled, never easing up, continuing to invade my throat until he stopped, and slid out leaving a string of saliva hanging from my lips. I breathed deeply and tried to regain my composure. My knees were beginning to hurt, my jaw ached, and it took me a minute to clear the tears from my eyes. But I stayed in my position, waiting for instructions I was excited for.

"Stand up," he growled. "Over the desk, legs spread, and open up those ass cheeks so I can get a good look."

I moved the papers and clothing from his desk, placing them aside. I bent myself slowly over the desk, savoring the thought that he was watching me. I spread my ass cheeks with my hands, exposing my hole to the cold air.

I felt his hand strike my ass, hard, and he said, "Wider."

I pulled as hard as I could, now fully exposing myself to him. He leaned over me, I could feel his cock pressing against my back as his chin brushed my ear.

"It took me years to get Jason this far. You were made to be fucked," he whispered in my ear, as if it were too private to say aloud.

"I was made to be dominated, Mr. Jones."

"You have no idea how right you are. That pain you're feeling in your jaw, on your cheeks? That isn't pain," he said, spitting on my asshole. He grabbed my hip with one hand, and lined up his dick with the other.

"Let me show you true submission," he said, at the same moment he pressed into my asshole.

As turned on as I was, with only spit as lube, it hurt. I found myself wincing and holding my breath.

"How does it feel, having me stretch that asshole?"

"I'm glad I can please you, Mr. Jones," I said, through clenched teeth.

He picked up the pace quickly, slamming deep into me. It took a few minutes before I was able to adjust and could breathe again. I was starting to enjoy myself, and felt a low moan escape my lips. Mr. Jones must have heard my pleasure, because I felt a stinging slap on my ass.

"Turn over, on your back on the desk," he said, sliding out of me.

I repositioned myself, lifting my legs to get them out of his way. He pushed back into me with one smooth motion. As if pressed out of me, a thick bead of pre-cum appeared on my cock. He resumed fucking my hole with the same fervor, only this time, he took a firm grip on my cock as well. I felt his balls hitting my ass. He was really pounding into me now, grunting loudly with each thrust. I wanted to please him, I wanted to be everything he needed.

"I want you to cum inside me, sir. You own this ass, Mr. Jones."

He gave my dick a slap sideways, and a delicious mix of pain and pleasure overloaded my senses. I was really close to coming. I tried to remind myself I was here for him, but it was becoming hard to differentiate where his pleasure ended and mine began.

I started to moan. I completely forgot where I was, as the feeling in my ass drove me wild and my moans grew.

"This is a place of business," he said, as he grabbed his folded socks from the desk and shoved them into my mouth to stifle my moaning.

The humiliation only spurred me on. I did everything I could to tighten my ass on his cock. He was grunting then, his manhood tensing. He squeezed my dick hard and began to pump furiously.

I was already so worked up, it didn't take much to push me over the edge. I felt the first jet of hot semen land on my stomach, followed by another and another. My ass clamped down on him and he slammed into me. His body stiffened and then went still, unloading deep inside me. He took one more thrust, pressing his seed further into my ass. He held himself there, softening inside me until he slipped out.

I stayed motionless, waiting for permission to move. I could feel his cum leaking from my ass. I heard the sounds of him picking up his clothes, getting dressed and buckling his belt.

"You may stand up now and remove the gag," he said, in the steely voice I was familiar with.

I slid off the desk and straightened myself. He was fixing his hair and sitting down. If it weren't for the sweat on his brow, you might never have known he had been railing me moments ago. I stood there, arms clasped behind my back, both sets of cheeks bright red, and a long thread of cum hanging from my soft cock.

"That was... acceptable. For me. You can clean yourself and my desk up and then you can go," he said, turning his chair to face his computer.

I grabbed a few tissues from his desk and wiped up the cum stains from the desk and floor. I dressed myself in total silence, my mind still processing what had happened.

Once I put my shoes back on, I straightened my shirt and said, "Will there be anything else, Mr. Jones?"

"That will be all," he said, dismissively.

But when I reached the door to unlock it, he said, "Thank you... Devon."

"Of course, Mr. Jones," I replied, and left his office.

The next day, he was his normal self. His interactions with me were brusque but professional. His calm, calculating demeanor seemed to have returned. He did not speak of what had happened, and although I spent every night that week jerking off to the memory, I didn't have the courage to say anything.

A week went by with no change. At exactly four o'clock on Wednesday, I entered Mr. Jones' office and placed his mug on his desk.

He looked displeased and said, "Coffee?"

"Oops, I appear to have made a mistake," I said.

"You most certainly have," Mr. Jones replied, as I locked the door behind me.