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Employee of the Month, Day 11: (new post 20/JUL)


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How do folks feel about spanking here? Next chapter is all about ass, but could go a couple different ways.

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3 hours ago, Broody said:

How do folks feel about spanking here? Next chapter is all about ass, but could go a couple different ways.

My feeling in general is that writers should write about whatever they think is hot rather than trying to cater to the tastes of readers.  I believe it produces higher quality stories because the writer is more invested.  No matter what you depict, some readers will love it and others will be disappointed.  

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6 hours ago, FallenAway said:

My feeling in general is that writers should write about whatever they think is hot rather than trying to cater to the tastes of readers.  I believe it produces higher quality stories because the writer is more invested.  No matter what you depict, some readers will love it and others will be disappointed.

That is something I really need to internalize because I still have that voice in my head, that goes like: "But what if they don’t like it?"

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8 hours ago, FallenAway said:

My feeling in general is that writers should write about whatever they think is hot rather than trying to cater to the tastes of readers.  I believe it produces higher quality stories because the writer is more invested. 

Oh I don't think I could spend time on a story if I didn't think it was hot. So of that you can be sure! I don't mind a little audience participation though.  This story is very freewheeling and has far too many characters, so some idea of which ones have resonated with you all is cool. 

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2 hours ago, DawnFire98 said:

That is something I really need to internalize because I still have that voice in my head, that goes like: "But what if they don’t like it?"

Pleasing others is its own fetish, lol!

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Wednesday June 10: Hump Day

“My Humps” by the Black-eyed Peas played over the speakers as I stood in the dressing room of Butch in the Streets, the menswear store located smack in the center of the gay village. I checked out my ass. The slim-fit camel chinos I chose must have had some primo butt-lifting technology because my “humps” were stacked.

“Sold!” I said to the handsome, well-dressed man in the mirror (me!). Paired with a navy blue blazer and a white dress shirt, the pants completed a classic ensemble that should stand out in an office of jocks like TopSports. I looked at my watch to see that I had fifteen minutes left on my lunch break. Then I unstrapped the timepiece, which was ten years old and boring. Accessories!

I could have had more time to shop if I’d waited ‘til after work, but I was driven to distraction this morning by Hamza, the jacked, uncannily sexy junior accountant in our office who was my latest obsession. While I was furiously typing to complete another report for my boss in my cubicle, I could hear Hamza’s resonant baritone all around me as he went in and out of the supervisors’ offices on the periphery. I couldn’t make out the details but several times he would comment on their “rear-end” and by lunchtime I was insane with envy. Hamza had as much as admitted he was the office bisexual dom top in the conversation I overheard in the break room and now I was convinced he was fucking everyone but me. Didn’t he know I was Employee of the Month? During Pride Month? When was he going to throw me a bone? Preferably his!

I decided to wear my purchases back to the office, so as I was totaling up with the clerk, I fished my lanyard and ID badge out of the pocket of my old jacket. His eyes lit up as he saw it.

“Ooh! Do you work at that big office tower? It’s on my walk to work and I always see lots of hunky men going in and out.”

“Yes. They all work on my floor.” It was true, my office was an extreme outlier in the hunk department.

“Oh my!” He stuffed a dozen cards in my new jacket pocket while I was looking at the watches. I pointed at a gold-colored watch with a matching band. “I’ll take that.”

“Excellent choice! A little flash is always welcome in this world. Take some handkerchiefs, on me. A gentleman should never be caught without one,” he winked. I took the handkerchiefs/cumrags and my receipt and turned to leave, now worried I’d be late for my meeting with Gary, the facilities lead. The clerk called after me: “And don’t forget to tell your handsome colleagues about our Pride Month sale! Ten percent off with the card.”

As I rushed through the sparkly, rainbow-colored spectacle of the Pride clothing section on my way out, I thought to myself. Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.

In my Uber on the way back, I got a text from Brian:

“Mr S read the new report. Honey, listen. You’ve got to stop being so good or he is only going to hire average-looking gays from now on. I’ve only stayed in this job for the himbo eye candy!”

“Bitch!” I replied. “I’ll have you know I just bought a new outfit and I am looking fly.”

“Nobody says ‘fly’ anymore. Is your outfit also from the nineties?”

I started typing a clever rebuttal when he interrupted:

“Anyway, look: We’ll be delayed returning. S’s mother caught something and he wants to hang around another few days to make sure it’s not serious. Probably won’t be back until the weekend.”

“I’m so sorry, please tell Mr S I wish his mother well.” Secretly I was thrilled. Another Frat Boy Friday!

“Now you want me to do your sucking up for you, Teacher’s Pet?”

“Come on!”

“Sorry. I’m just annoyed that I’m missing Hamza-fest.”


“What’s Hamza-fest?” I trembled as I typed.

“Oh that’s right, you’re new you wouldn’t have experienced it.”

Oh my God, Hamza was fucking everyone but me! 

I flushed as I waited on the pulsing text ellipsis.

“Hamza-fest, bringing joy every year to little office gay boys! So you know June 15 is our business year-end. The week before, Hamza always prowls the floor like a predator looking for prey: stragglers on the year-end financials. Each day as the deadline approaches he undoes another button on his shirt, gradually mindfucking and out-manning them with his delicious hairy chest and huge pecs, the alpha dom energy radiating from him like the sun. Last year the head of corporate branding finally gave him the numbers after multiple soul-destroying visits from the Hamza-nator. When he begged him to come to his house and fuck his wife, Hamza laughed in his face. This man burst into tears in the middle of the conference room. Just wretched sobs. He was so despondent he quit the next day. It’s rumored he hasn’t worked since. He just sits at home and writes cuckold porn all day.”

Wow. That was a lot. I didn’t know whether to be turned on or to feel dumb as hell that I had thought he was saying ‘rear-end’ in all these misheard conversations. If blunt, sexy Hamza was going to comment on your ass, he would call it ‘ass’. Or ‘hole’. Or maybe ‘boy pussy’?

Okay now I was definitely turned on.

Brian texted again: “Wait, it's June 10 today, there’s already been two days of Hamza-fest. How is it possible you haven’t seen this?”

“Because I’ve been writing that report for S for the past two days! Damn it! Why must I be so competent!”

“That’s the spirit! TTFN!”

I rushed from the Uber into the building and just made it to the floor in time to drop off my bag at my cubicle and hoof it to Gary’s office only a couple of minutes late. I entered without knocking: “Sorry, Gary, I—”

The look on his face startled me. He was petrified. Then I saw who was sitting opposite him.

“Close the door,” said Hamza.

He did nothing else to acknowledge me, his dark gaze locked as it was on Gary, who broke out in a flop sweat as he spoke: “But… I’ve still got three days left til the year-end, Hamza…” 

The accountant raised a single black eyebrow, his brutally handsome face, with its immaculately groomed beard, was otherwise stoic.

“...Don’t I?” Gary squeaked. He was plain, but with an athletic build, though next to Hamza he looked like a scrawny teenager.

Hamza stood, rising to his full 6’2”. He wore an impeccably tailored oxblood three-piece suit with a peaked lapel and scoop-front double-breasted waistcoat. His crisp white dress shirt had five buttons undone, revealing a chasm of dense black chest hair trimmed just enough that you could see the powerful bands of his pecs beneath. A thick, braided sterling silver chain undulated over the furry muscular terrain as it rippled, dipping into his inches-deep pec cleft before coming out the other side like a rope thrown to a tiny climber trapped there.

Hamza walked the few steps to Gary’s desk in his size 16 patent leather oxfords and then sat on the edge. The desk creaked ominously under his 260 lbs as Hamza loomed over him to speak.

“Let me see if I understand correctly. You—” he stabbed at Gary’s sternum with an index finger the size of a gun barrel “—think you should be able to take your sweet time getting me my numbers even though you do nothing around here but be bossy to the janitors. And you think that I—” he tacked his thumb back at himself, his biceps nearly flexing out of his sleeve “—will then spend my whole weekend working because of lazy shitbags like you. That’s what you think?”

“N-n-no Hamza!”

“Don’t I have better things to do on my weekend than to work at my desk because of lazy shitbags like you?”

“Y-yes, Hamza. Much better things.”

“Like what?”


Hamza leaned closer, his big hairy pecs practically spilling out of his shirt, and enunciated like he was talking to a child. “Describe for me these things you imagine I could be doing with my time this weekend if I didn’t have to spend it at my desk because of lazy shitbags like you.”

Gary racked his brains. “You could be… working out?”

Hamza nodded. “I do like to work out.” He fully flexed his massive arm and I think I heard a seam pop. “I could be at the gym pumping up these 22 inch guns. How big are yours, Gary?”

“Uh, 19?”

Hamza scoffed. “Centimeters, maybe. You can’t fool an accountant. Stand up, shitbag.”

When Gary moved too slowly, the big man picked him up with one huge hand and plopped him on the desk. Then Hamza sat heavily in Gary’s chair and spread his 32 inch thighs wide, his merino wool suit pants clinging tightly to his massive bulge. Gary eyed both with envy and fear.

“Now listen closely, shitbag. You are going to stay at this desk all day and all night until I have those numbers.”

“But I'm having dinner tonight with Amanda. My wife!”

“Where and when?”

“Café Boulevard at 7”

“I’ll say again, you are going to stay at this desk all day and all night until I have those numbers.”

Gary summoned his last iota of courage: “You can’t order me around. You’re the junior accountant. I’m a department head!”

The room went silent with a pregnant pause. Hamza slowly stood and removed his jacket. 

His dress shirt was expensive, made with French cuffs and some kind of cotton/lycra blend that clung in an alluring way to his bulging biceps, triceps and delts.

“You.” He said, holding the jacket out to me. I dove forward to take the huge garment and drape it over my arm. He smirked down at me and held out his cuffs. I removed his silver cufflinks as expertly as a valet on Downton Abbey.

Hamza continued to hold a paralyzing grip on Gary with just his gaze while he slowly rolled up his sleeves, smoothing out each roll as he went until they reached his elbow. I tried to maintain my cool while watching the reveal of his powerful 18 inch hairy forearms, but it was getting… harder. Hamza noticed. 

“What’re you doing?” Gary gasped, already regretting his words.

“Testing your theory that I am the junior individual in this room.” The muscles of his forearms rippled as he undid the last shirt button before the top hem of his low waistcoat, which allowed a peek of how his chest pelt narrowed into a midline treasure trail over abs the size of bricks. “Take off your belt.”

“What? No!”

In a flash, Hamza unbuckled Gary's cheap leather belt and pulled it out of the loops in a single tug that cracked it like a whip and spun Gary 360 degrees. With a plop, his baggy dress pants fell to his ankles.

“Your belt should never hold up your pants. It means your pants don’t fit. Now see. I just taught you something. Junior.”

Gary was now trembling. 

“It seems I’ve got something else to teach you. Respect.”

Hamza sat back in the chair, and inclined his head, indicating his lap.

“Noooo…” Gary moaned.

“Come now Gar-gar, you don’t want Jeffy to see how tiny your little hard-on is do you?”

Gary looked down at his loose hanging briefs. “I’m not hard!” He protested.

It was true, if anything it looked like his genitals had shriveled.

“Not yet.” Hamza said, then he licked his lips, leaned in and spoke wetly into Gary’s ear.

“Café Boulevard. Fancy place. Your wife wearing something nice out tonight?”

Gary shivered and then seemed to fractionally relax. There was a little movement in the pouch of his briefs.

“Yeah. She’s got a new dress.”

Hamza’s whole demeanour changed and he smiled with white, perfectly even teeth. He gently put his hands on either side of Gary’s body and guided him to his right, beside his big thigh.

“A new dress? What’s it look like, Gar-gar?” He placed his big hand on the small of his back.

“It’s… red.”

“What else?”

“Fitted…” Gary whispered in a daze. “Around the hips.”

“Bold choice,” Hamza purred. “She sounds like a woman who knows what she wants.” He put some pressure on Gary’s back, so that he leaned over Hamza’s lap, propping his arms on his opposite thigh. “What else?”

Gary hesitated, but started to slide his arms over the other side. “It’s… low cut.”

“Hmmm… oh yeah. She got big tits?” Now Gary was lying flat over Hamza’s lap.

“Yeah. Big tits.”

Hamza pulled down Gary’s briefs, and placed his huge right hand on his small pert ass. I spurted some pre into my shorts as I saw how he could cup both cheeks easily.

“I like big tits, Gary. And a nice juicy ass. A man like me needs some big tits and some junk in the trunk for these big hands.”

“Big tits. Big hands” Gary droned.

“You’ve been a bad little boy, haven’t you, Gar-gar?” Hamza kneaded that ass with his strong fingers.

“I’ve been… bad.”

“You need to be punished.”

“I need… to be punished.”

“And how do we punish bad little boys?”

“Are you— are you going to fuck my wife?”

“I said punish, Gar-gar, not reward. From the little poke of your tiny hard prick, I think you want me to fuck your wife.”


“Oh yes, I think so. Try again.”

“Bad little boys… get spanked.”

SMACK! Hamza’s big hairy hand whacked Gary’s tiny snow-white ass.

“Owww!” Gary whined.

Hamza rubbed his butt some more as he leaned down and growled in Gary’s ear.

“How many spanks should little Gary get from Big Bad Hamza before he learns his lesson, I wonder?”

“T-t-two?” Gary stuttered.


“Is that so, little Gar? Just two spanks? Tell me. If I showed up at Café Boulevard and met Amanda with the big tits. What do you think she would think of me?”

Gary was now crying openly. “She would…”

SMACK! “Yes, little Gary? If I sat down across from your pretty wife in her low-cut red dress and reached across the table with these big hands that spanked her tiny-dicked husband. What would she do?”

“She would…”


‘CUM IN HER PANTIES! SHE WOULD CUM IN HER PANTIES!” Gary yelled, delirious with pain and lust as he convulsed in a fit.

“Gross, dude.” Hamza broke the spell as he reverted to his usual bro-speak. He picked Gary up by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off his lap, holding his pathetic form like a ragdoll in mid-air. He looked down at the tiny wet spot on his thigh. “The dry cleaning bill for this stain is coming right to your box.” He squinted. “That’s if they can find it. Hell, Gary.”

He stood up and dumped the head of facilities in his chair like a used condom. He put his huge hand on my shoulder and led me to the door. “All day, all night, Gar-gar.”

Gary just gurgled in response. As he shut the door behind us, I whipped out a handkerchief and dropped to my knees, dabbing at the stain. A flutter of cards popped out of my pocket like confetti. Just at that moment, Banner walked by.

“Hamz. Jeffy. What’s this?” He leaned over and picked up the cards. “Butch in the Streets, huh Jeffy? Sounds like just the place. Gotta keep up with this stud in the fashion department.”

“You could try, bro.” Hamza smiled. He was like a completely different person with Banner, who kept going on his way. I watched his muscled ass wobble in his jeans as he did.

I turned to Hamza. “You really going to fuck Gary’s wife?”

Hamza scoffed. “Naw man, I got someone else in mind.” He picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder. “After all, Hump Day ain’t even half over.”




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This is one of my fave chapters.

I.love how he excerts his dominance. Hazam knows he is an alpha and its not afraid to show it.

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5 hours ago, Ro20316 said:

This is one of my fave chapters.

I.love how he excerts his dominance. Hazam knows he is an alpha and its not afraid to show it.

Alpha accountant in da house!

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Jeepers, that was hot!  Before I read this, I would have said spanking scenes don't float my boat.  Then this high tide came in!  Maybe it's because Gary truly deserved to be punished for not getting his year-end numbers in earlier.  That is so inconsiderate!  But something tells me he has been spanked before and he held back his numbers on purpose.  If that's what it takes to get a visit from Hamza, well . . .

Why is it that this alpha-dom character is so much hotter because he's an accountant?  Because it's not expected?  I don't know, but it definitely works.  In each chapter the new character is hotter than the last one.  I've forgotten all about - what's his name? - the keyboard guy.  I have no need to see him again.  Unless Hamza is going to fuck him.

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