I'm Fabian. As in Fabian Copeland. Yes.That
Fabian Copeland. He of the countless divorces, bottomless bank balances and endless romping.
But despite what's splashed across what are jokingly referred to as 'the society pages', there's a few things that nobody sees. Yes, I'm on wife number four … well, okay, here's a scoop for you – I'm actually on divorce number four. And I have a mistress – can one have a mistress without a wife? But as much as I love women – and I really do love women – their company can get tiresome after a while, and its at those times when I search out the company of men.
I say 'search out' like its some sort of trial. Generally I'm surrounded by people who can't wait to throw themselves onto my dick. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I'm a pretty good judge of who's just after a fuck-and-tell story and who might be in it for a long haul. Well, a longer haul, anyway.
Today, however, I decided to spend the day in the office. You may be wondering what it is, actually, that I get paid to do. For the most part, as far as I can gather, its simply to be Fabian Copeland. Perpetuate the myth, share the legend. That's about the long and the short of it. Its not how I made my money, though. And it is my money. There's a glimmer of pride to be wafted around that I didn't come from grandeur. No silver spoons.
But that's not the point, is it?
I throw myself down into the chair that sits behind my wide mahogany desk, the Corinthian leather giving a reassuring squeak as I settle into it. I remember screwing in this chair, the leather cold against my naked flesh. Its been a while, though, since that little slut. Christ, I can't sit here all day with a hard on. I do actually have work to do.
Putting away thoughts of fucking, I log into my system and start reviewing email. After a few minutes I hear a small knock at my office door. I give a half smile. My assistant, Grace, even manages to knock genteelly. I wonder, as I always do, what she would do if I didn't invite her in. But I call to her and she enters, striding across the room toward the desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Copeland.”
“Hi Gracie. How are you? How's Max?”
She purses her lips and looks to the floor, and I see a small blush creep up her cheek. I wonder who she's caught him screwing this time.
“I have your post, Mr. Copeland.”
, Mr. Copeland.”
I move my eyes from her face to her outstretched hand and take the small pile of envelopes and packages as well as her unspoken hint.
“Anything I need to know?”
She gives a small shrug, elegant underneath her peach-coloured twin-set. “We lost Madeleine.”
“How careless of you.”
Another pursing of the lips.
“We had to, uh, let her go. Gross misconduct.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”
“Has she been replaced?” If I was honest, I couldn't remember which of the girls that Grace managed was Madeleine. I had an image of a large-breasted, large-eyed brunette. Pretty sure that I never saw her naked.
She nodded. “Adam Templer.”
“Gracie! A man?! I'm shocked.”
“A boy, Mr. Copeland. I don't think he's even twenty five years old.”
“Just keep him out of mischief, Gracie.”
“I can but try, Mr. Copeland.”
We smiled at each other. Grace took the hint and turned to leave. As she reached the door I spoke without looking up.
“Gracie, if you want anything – anything at all – just ask.”
The door opened and closed silently.
The rest of the morning passed without interruption. Whether Grace was screening my calls or it was just quiet, I didn't know – I was thankful for the peace.
It was whilst I was reading Grace's summary of a chain of incredibly dull – but oh-so important – emails that I started to think of this new 'boy' that she'd employed. I dialled her number …
“Gracie, send Adam in, will you?”
“I'd like to meet him, that's all.”
I closed the line before she could say anything else and returned to my email. In possibly less than a minute there came a small knock at my door.
I didn't look up as I heard the door open and close. I heard shoes making a sort of soft scuff as they crossed the deep carpet and cease as they reached my desk. I gave him a few moments as I finished reading something or other – actually, nothing at all, I just like being a shit. I finally raised my head and tried not to gasp. I did, however, let out a broad smile. Gracie, you dog …
He was stood, not exactly cocky as I could tell that he wasn't relaxed, but neither was he debasing himself in front of the boss. Dressed in the lower half of a silver grey suit, the white shirt hugged his torso and arms gently. The pink tie was a cheeky nod to what was no doubt a bit of a wide boy outside the office, and the square stud in his ear seemed to echo that. His dark hair was trimmed neatly, however, and his green eyes seemed to flash.
“Good morning. Well, just about. You're Mr. Templer, are you?”
“Adam, Sir. Mr. Templer's my dad.” He stepped forward with a smile, extending a hand for me to shake. I obliged.
“Please, sit. How are you getting on, Adam? Gracie treating you okay?”
“Uh, yes, sir. Finding my feet a bit, but I think I'm winning.”
“Oh I'm sure that you won't be discombobulated for long.” I watched as he smiled, transfixed.
“No, sir. I rarely am.”
I allowed myself a smile. This boy was going to cut a swathe through the female portion of my office if I wasn't careful.
“Glad to hear it. I need some help with a project and could do with a fresh perspective. Do you think you're up for it?”
“I'll give it my best shot, sir.”
“That's all I ever ask of people, Adam. There's a folder on the table behind you. Take a look at it and give me your thoughts. Say, by about two this afternoon?”
I watched as he nodded, stood up and turned toward the table. Oh. Yeah. He was definitely going to be leaving a trail of broken hearts and moist panties wherever he went. As he leaned over the table to grab the folder I could already feel my own reaction increasing. What an ass … Great legs too.
He walked back over and went to hand me the folder. It was then that I noticed the silver band on his right hand.
“No, you review it. Two pm. And you're married?”
A faint pink blossomed on his cheeks. “Uh, Nicky and I have been married a couple of years now, yeah.”
“Congratulations. If I ever try to give you marriage advice, ignore it.” I gave him a wry smile.
“Ha – thanks for the warning. I'll, uh, I'll get cracking with this.”
He turned to leave and, again, I let me eyes rove across his rear view. Down boy.
I forced myself to ignore thoughts of Adam, but my mind kept circling back to him sitting at his desk outside. Eventually I couldn't take it any longer. With an hour and a half until he was due to report back to me, I decided to go out to lunch. Out of sight, out of mind … Or so I hoped.
Lunch was uneventful, and I was back in the building by one thirty. As I walked toward my office, Adam looked up. I hadn't realised that I was looking at him, but his eyes flashed and he smiled. I felt my lips turn up in response, automatically, without thinking. Realising, I broke the gaze and my smile, shrugged my shoulders and continued my stride until I reached my chair.
I tried not to clock watch, but when there was a knock at my door I knew that he was exactly on time. Not a minute too early and not a minute too late. I wondered if he'd been stood there, fist poised, waiting for his watch to tick down the seconds. Or maybe that was just me.
I sat there, listening to his proposals for which of the slated building projects he'd recommend, with pros and cons for all of them. I listened with one ear. Okay, I wasn't really paying much attention to his words. I was too busy looking at his eyes, the way his mouth moved; attention caught and held by his hands moving as he emphasised a point here or an argument there.
I realised there was silence. He'd finished speaking. Shit. How had he ended?
“That's a great piece of work, Adam, thank you. Do you have the figures in there for the proposed leasing arrangements for each site?”
“Uh, yes, Mr. Copeland. Right here.”
I gestured for him to stand next to me behind the desk and I peered at the paper he laid in front of me. In his earnest desire to impress, or perhaps he was actually duly interested and wanted to help, he leant over slightly, his weight held via his knuckles planted on my desk top. I felt my attention drift to the figure beside me. I could smell his aftershave and it fired neurons of desire through my brain, that alone causing surges of heat to swamp my limbs. A flick of my eyes and there was the marvellous curve of his buttocks, pressed tight against the black of his trousers.
I hardly knew that I'd whispered his name out loud, but he turned slightly to face back at me and I realised what I'd done. However, his moving also thrust his body backwards, and his ass to push back and into the hand that I'd almost certainly raised without thinking.
I heard him gasp, but neither of us moved. My palm stayed connected, feeling the warmth of him soak into me. Our eyes met again and I felt my fingers curve around the peach of him. I watched as his eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds and heard another breath escape his lips.
My hand shifted, from one cheek to the other, down to each hard thigh. As I pressed harder into his flesh, his legs shifted slightly, moved apart. An invitation, subconsciously directed or not, was not something that I ever ignored.
I slipped my hand between his legs then, curving upwards and cupping first the mound of his balls and then up, up until I found the swollen length of him thats's fully extended to the right of his trousers . My fingers gripped, then slid over the cottoned surface of his trousers, feeling each inch.
Glancing back at him, he hadn't moved a muscle, his head was still twisted back to face me, but now his eyes were fully closed, his upper teeth biting into the flesh of his lower lip.
“Adam ...” I whispered again, a sense of urgency in my voice.
I heard – and felt – as he shifted his weight slightly. A rustle of fabric, movement of his hand until the fabric under my touch felt somewhat looser. Pushing my arm further I reached upward and found the limp leather of his belt as it hung free of its buckle. My fingers probed and found also that the buttoned waistband was also free.
In silence I grasped the zip between thumb and forefinger and slid it down, gently and softly, until his trousers were fully open. I inhaled a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest, and exhaled gently, hoping that the butterflies in my stomach would somehow be silenced and be still.
With a small tug his trousers slipped from his hips, down over his still jutting out ass and fell to his knees. The hem of Adam's shirt hung down over the waistband of the small white boxers that he wore, but the angle of his body pulled the majority of the fabric to the front, leaving the dangerous curve of his butt exposed.
The fingers of my left hand idly flicked and stroked his hardness. My right hand, which had so far remained flat on my desk, reached out and took its own turn at caressing Adam's flesh. Up, down, across, over it roamed, sliding up under his shirt to feel the silken skin of his back before tumbling back down. Occasionally I allowed my fingertips to catch the waistband of those boxers, wishing that I was in a position to enjoy the softness of his skin fully, to have him strip fully and lay, naked and exposed, upon the softest of white sheets, whilst I gorge myself on his youth and beauty.
My left hand gripped his cock harder now, tugging and squeezing through the thin material of his underwear. Another gasp comes from his lips, this time sounding more like a groan. I look down and notice the tension in his hands, his long fingers flexing against the dark wood.
I continue with my rubbing, watching his fingers move in the rhythm that I've created. Forward, back; forward, back; forward, back. I shift my hand forward again, this time encasing the very swollen tip of him. I feel the sticky patch of his precum that's soaked through, and wish that I could gently suck the liquid from his boxers, but I can't. Not here, not now.
“Adam ...” I mutter for a third time and start to release the pressure of my fingers, to draw my hand away from him. I watch his hand fly from my desk and feel his palm press into my wrist, forcing me back onto him.
I smile. He wants his release – and I desperately want mine – and I feel a tremor ripple through his body. He wants it because its so damn near. With a smile I decide to give it to him, and squeeze his cock to let him know. His hand returns to the desk, and he breathes out, readying himself.
I yank down the front of his boxers, exposing his cock to the office, letting it sit under his balls, pushing them up and out. I still can't see it, hidden behind his body and the hanging of his shirt, but I can feel it fully now, that silken hard softness.
I begin to rub my hand up and down, recreating the rhythm that I'd started earlier. I hear his breathing sharpen, the catch in his throat; feel the tension mount in his thighs, the tightening of his ass muscles as his body tells him to pump faster, thrust harder. His cock begins to slip through my fingers quicker now, my movements supplemented by his own.
Another gasp, a drawn out moan, and I know that he's mere seconds away. I grip harder now, another few strokes and his moan stops, replaced only by a quick inhalation and a throaty groan as his cock thickens slightly and he lets his cum fly over my desk. Some of it lands the other side, the sound as it hits the carpet masked completely by the second, the third, the fourth volley spattering across the papers.
His body sags next to mine, relaxed following his release. My left hand is covered in his hot white cream and I bring it back to my body, wiping it on a tissue grabbed by my free hand. I feel and hear him pull up his boxers and trousers, zipping, buttoning and reclasping his belt.
He meets my eye and I grin. “I bet your wife won't hear about this.”
I watch his own smile broaden, making his eyes sparkle. “Wife? No, Mr. Copeland, Nicky's a guy … and he'll definitely be hearing about this.”
He points to the bulge in my own suit. “Do you, uh, want a hand with that?”
Before I could answer, my phone rang. Glancing automatically at the display I could see that it was my assistant. I depressed the button. “Yes, Gracie?”
“Mr. Copeland, sir, your next appointment is here.”
“Rob Garretty. Shall I send him in, or wait until you've finished Adam?”
I glanced up at the boy next to me who was trying not to laugh. I had no doubt that Gracie knew exactly what she was doing when she employed Adam, and what was bound to happen when I invited to do some extra work for me. But now that Rob was here …
“No, Gracie, send him in. I think that he'll be interested in what Adam has to say on some of the proposals.”
Her sigh was audible. “Yes, sir. I'll send him in.”
“Oh, Gracie, tell everyone that they can have the afternoon off.”
“I want this office clear in fifteen minutes. Nothing's so important that it can't wait until tomorrow.”
“Right. No problem. I'll see to it. Mr. Garretty's on his way.”
With a click she disconnected before I could respond. As disapproving as she ever got.
“Adam, you'll like Rob. I know for sure that he'll fucking love you.” I wasn't certain that I'd got the words in that sentence quite the right way round, but I know for sure that the three of us were going to have one hell of an afternoon ...
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/gay-male/the-boss-the-office-boy.aspx">The Boss The Office Boy</a>