Monday, 6 January 2014

Story: Workie (Part 1)

Author's note:
Thanks for all your feedback.  I’m always pleased to receive e-mails, SMS text, Tweets from readers email: fiction at bear-cop dot com Tweet @Bear_Cop or SMS text me to (UK Mobile) +447942999885.  This text can be freely printed or re-produced provided this original paragraph is included.

Workie 1

Sometimes, the richness and co-incidence of life surprises you.

I’d been hired for three months by a manufacturing company to do some consultancy in their factory – efficiency and cost saving. It suited; was less than an hour travelling time from home, and so far the summer had been good – ideal for taking the bike. It was easy to change out of leathers into suit for the work day, even if I would have preferred to keep them on. The factory had a shared break room, used by both the production and management staff – which is where I first noticed him.

Factory staff wore a workwear uniform of a grey polo shirt, green Dickies Grafter work pants, and black leather ankle high work boots. I knew the pants as Dickies from past playmates into workwear, and the conspicuous red label. Something about the shiny beaver nylon was made to wick away stains and dirt was always horny, as well as the types of men that normally wore them; no bullshit manual labourers, road and factory workers. The cut of these pants also seemed to enhance the look of a man’s ass and they were always tight across the crotch. 

The previous evening, I’d been working late preparing a report. The next morning I was tired, and needed plenty of extra caffeine. I was still in the factory by 8am, and changed out of the two piece black leathers I was wearing. I’m not a fan of coloured leathers - for me it has to be black - and I regularly clean and oil my leathers to keep them conditioned, shiny and it also keeps them smelling of leather. I’d got into a habit of always hanging my leathers on a coat hook in the break room.

I worked hard in the gym in my early 30s, and as I hit 40, tried to maintain my power and strength. My hairy chest was still 48 inch, with large biceps, and well toned legs, washboard abs and tatts across my torso. Shaven headed, my square jaw was enhanced by my dark goatee, still causing an imposing presence of masculinity – a natural leader.
After sliding off the two piece, black leather boots and putting the suit on, I hung up my leathers at the side of the break room and headed to get caffeine.

In the kitchen in front of me was a worker from the factory, his back to me, making his own refreshments. Waiting, I scanned him top to bottom free from other prying eyes. Regulation safety footwear, about 6 feet tall, dark hair, shaven short at the rear leading to a neat crop on top. I took the image in further; a broad back, tribal tattoos down the backs of his arms, regulation Dickies and a pair of tight ass cheeks. It was the type of butt I salivated over abusing; he either worked out or had great genes. Nice eye candy for the beginning of the day at least.

“Perfect from behind” I thought to myself; and allowed myself a quick fantasy of those cheeks struggling spread-eagled to my bondage table… but the urge for caffeine was stronger, for now… and we all know that seldom is the view from both sides as good.

I purposely cleared my throat; he noticed me, turning around to reveal handsome features, and the brightest blue eyes I’d seen for a good long while. He flashed me a smile, “I’ll just be a second boss.”. “No problem” I replied; besides, it would give me a few more moments to take in the contours of his ass.

A few seconds later he was done, and turned round to face me; I noticed unlike the other workies I’d seen around, his boots were polished to a shine. He smiled again and dropped his eye line, making him look very submissive – picked up his coffee and left.  Well, at least there was some nice eye candy around to look at during the rest of this job, even if it was a case of look don’t touch.

I’d invested in my fetish lifestyle; and my success allowing me the luxury of building my own house on a large plot of land once owned by a farmer. It suited my needs of size, being quiet yet close to everything I needed. In addition to the main house, there were several old farm buildings which I'd kept, to use for my “special purposes”.

The main out building was solid and across two floors; a basement, ground floor and roof space for storage. Once inside the building, a concrete staircase went down into my play space.  Being an ex-cop, I knew just where the government surplus auctions were to equip my building. 

I’d obtained a cell door and bed which I’d concreted into a lockable cell to hold suitable willing victims. With being underground and having no windows, it was very safe and secure, and no amount of noise would escape. It was perfect for prison and jail scenes (think like a version of the Academy Training Center), which I loved. 

Four point humane restraints were strapped to the bed for asylum and medical scenes. I could vary the lighting levels, either harsh overhead strip lighting, or complete darkness. I’d also concreted heavy metal rings into the floor and wall which I could use as attachment points.

In addition to the dark cell, there was another cell containing no bed with a single barred front, more like an Alcatraz prison cell from the 30s and 40s, once again with plenty of metal rings for attachment.

An 18ft corridor led into main playroom; which included bondage board and bed (a particular favourite), small and a large cage, a fucking bench, and two bondage chairs. In addition I’d well equipped the playspace with various leather and rubber sleepsacks, hoods, ass toys, chastity, electro and leather/rubber restraints, and endless amounts of boots and uniforms. Over the years, I'd built up quite a collection.

So where was I.... back at work... 

The rest of the morning in the office was mundane and involved far more caffeine, and a visit to the factory floor. Down there, I noticed the workie from earlier on one of the machines. Again, he noticed me, nodded, and flashed me a smile. Two smiles in one day, must be the sort of guy who smiles at everyone. 

Before long it was mid afternoon. In the factory kitchen I heated up some food, and noticed the workie meat standing next to my hanging leathers with a protein shaker in his hand, alone. This time, I flashed a smile straight across to him, he noticed, looked almost embarrassed and looked down at the floor.

I finished my food and cleared up, the workie now standing washing his shaker. I struck up a conversation after I noticed the brand name... 

“Myprotein does some good supplements”. 

“yeah, have been using their stuff for a while now”.

“good results then?”

“yeah, gotta keep training to try and look good”

It just slipped out, perhaps it was wishful thinking; perhaps it was subconscious “You shouldn’t worry boy, you look fine anyway”. I heard myself say it and thought “oh well, that’s another piece of eye candy who won’t chat again”. It wasn’t the looking fine comment I was worried about, but why the hell did I call him boy? There was a brief pause which probably felt longer than it was.

“Sir, that’s appreciated Sir”. His eyes dropped again. 

I thought about his submissive reaction; my first thought is that he was ex-military and was falling back to old habits (which also might explain the well polished boots), but a small part of me wondered if it was more. 

Break time was over and there was work to be done; and I wanted to leave him guessing, so smiled, and walked out to return to work in a happier mood.

The rest of the day was mundane, and end of the day eventually came. 

I took my leathers into the large mens/changing room, took off my suit shirt and pants, and slid my legs into the cool, pungent smelling leather. I let my mind wander; it was a shame to not be sliding them on over a leather jock or nothing; but perhaps not at work. I put my compression top on; it keeps me cool when riding and also I like the way it accentuates my chest.

I sat on a bench and started pulling on my boots when the door opened; workie from earlier walked in. I flashed a smile and he went to the urinal, affording me a view of his sweet butt again out the corner of my eye. I pulled my second boot and started fastening the straps. When done, I stood back up, and checked my appearance in the full length mirror on the wall. The workie walked past me to wash up “Looking good, boss”. This time the comment was too deliberate to resist. 

“Thanks boy”

“Sir, you need someone to look after those boots Sir”

“Could be boy”

“Boss, have seen your profile on Recon Sir, and wondered if you might consider training me Sir”

All suddenly became clearer, but I was still in disbelief. This boy had been giving me the eye since I started and was now offering himself. My cock instantly reacted and was swelling to its full size inside my leathers and was straining for some release.

“I’d like that boy. What would you be willing to offer?”

“Sir, my body and mind Sir, for Sir’s use and pleasure, a fuck hole for complete ownership and use”.

At this response, the first thing I wanted to do was bend his stud over the desk now and force deep inside his hole, but a work restroom was hardly an appropriate place.

Instead, I reached forward and cupped my hand round his crotch and squeezed. I could feel he was already hard the tight material of his workwear was straining. I slid my fingers down his shaft, across the shiny material and then flicked his nuts with my fingertips. He let out a grunt, and I stood to his side to inspect him further. 

I ran my fingers up his chest, and grabbed at one of his tits, squeezing hard through his shirt to which he closed his eyes, and let out a moan. When I released the pressure, he barked back at me "Sir, thank you Sir".

Then I ran my fingers over his shoulder, down the middle of his back, and round his tight ass cheeks under his uniform tight. I played with them for moment or two before taking my fingers and tracing the crease of his ass, pushing hard on his hole. Again, another moan and he pushed into my fingers.

What started as a bad day had suddenly turned around on its head. Here I was, a boy offering himself completely to all the fantasies I had been considering only a few hours earlier. He was going to be tied spread-eagled before long after all.

I heard the outer door of the washroom open and took my hands off him, and picked up my jacket.

Before the other user of the men’s room walked in, I told this new potential.. 

“Here, 10am, tomorrow, jock under uniform”. I slid on my jacket, and walked out to head home with a smile on my face. I was excited, but tiredness won, and I hit the sack right after getting home.
The next morning arrived quicker than I’d expected.

The next day was a Thursday, and once again, I headed into work in full leather on the bike. 10am arrived quickly before I knew it. Expecting my new trainee may have had second thoughts, and to raise the anticipation, I went into the changing room purposely late at 10:05. 

There he was, sitting on one of the benches in the empty room. Upon noticing me, he stood to attention and barked back "Good morning Sir". A large room, the changing area was perhaps 30 ft, with stalls half way down one wall, ending with a large disabled stall suitable for wheelchair users on one wall. I pointed to the stall "in there, boy", and followed him in. At least it provided a little privacy and room in case someone entered.

"Shirt off boy", and he dutifully lifted his polo shirt above his head, and dropped it on the floor. His torso was fit; muscular shoulders and biceps, defined chest and covered in brown hair, leading down to his belt line. "Show me more boy". He undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and dropped them to his ankles.

As requested, he was wearing a black NYPD logoed jock, his uncut cock already straining inside its confines which showed me he was getting off from the treatment so far. Standing in front of him, I took a tit in each hand and started twisting, pinching and squeezing. He moaned and put both hands instinctively behind his back. After playing a little more, his cock head sprung out the top of the jock.

I reached down to his cock head, and ran my finger across the moist head, which was now oozing precum. I wiped the precum onto my finger, and raised it to his mouth, and he licked dutifully.

"Good boy. Last chance to back out if you want to now boy, and no more will be said".

"Sir, no Sir, complete ownership".

Right answer; and better than I’d ever imagined. “Kneel".

Still with his pants around his ankles, he knelt down, his face level with my crotch. I unzipped my dark coloured business suit and pulled out my cock which was now hard at the thought of abusing this boy. He looked up flashing those bright blue eyes at me, and opened his mouth tongue out, ready for servicing it, but I was going to make him work for it.

"No boy, you haven't earned that yet, but this is now your focus".

"Sir, Yes Sir!". It was a good job the rest room was empty. 

I kept my cock head about an inch from his lips, I could see him salivating in anticipation. I put myself away, and zipped back up, and reached in my pocket, and took out a heavy chain and metal padlock (I’d come prepared). I reached down and put the chain around his neck, and clicked the padlock shut. If questioned, he’d just have to tell his colleagues he was owned property. 

From my other I took out a metal chastity cage and small brass padlock. At this point, he was far too hard to be locked in, so I ordered him to put his polo back on, and pull up and fasten his pants, and kneel again until he’d gone soft. I always think a boy should be locked away so he can’t play with himself – keeps the mind focused and the sex drive on maximum. Boys serve better that way. 

"Tell me when you're ready for it boy". It took about five minutes of him kneeling, but before long I heard "Sir, ready Sir". From what I’d seen, I knew I had to work quickly, so reached down, took a hold of his nuts and cock, and forced his again growing cock into the chastity cage. He looked a good 9 inches hard, so it was going to keep him well under frustrated control. I closed the metal ring, snapped the metal tube through the hole, and clipped the padlock closed before he got any harder.

Securely locked away, I could see his cock filling the cage, and pushing against its metal confines. I grabbed the chastity cage and gave it a twist… “Nicely controlled boy”.

“Sir, Yes Sir, Thank you Sir, feels good Sir”. 4 uses of the word Sir in one sentence – I think this boy was going to be a good playmate. 

"From this point on, I own you. Go back to work boy and send me a message on recon to arrange your training". He slid his now locked up cock back inside his jock, and fastened his workwear again, now even tighter across his crotch. 

"Thank you Sir, I'll message you tonight". He unlocked the door and adjusted himself before walking out the rest room. The keys were back in the playroom. 

Author's note:

Thanks for all your feedback.  I’m always pleased to receive e-mails, SMS text, Tweets from readers email: fiction at bear-cop dot com Tweet @Bear_Cop or SMS text me to (UK Mobile) +447942999885.  This text can be freely printed or re-produced provided this original paragraph is included.