Character

This is my reality. One of my coworkers is a complete and utter bastard. I’ve hated him ever since he was hired almost two years ago. He’s twenty-two years old and cocky as hell. His cockiness comes from the fact that he’s sexy as fuck. He’s also lazy, stupid and a poor worker. They won’t fire him though. The previous branch manager, the one who hired him, wouldn’t fire him, despite having many reasons to do so. The current manager won’t fire him either, even though he’s a constant source of exasperation. We work in a bank and he treats his job like it was a high school summer job at a fast food joint. His customer service skills are good one minute, poor the next. The tension between him and me sometimes feels like it never ends. He knows I despise him. He doesn’t know that I also lust after him.

This is my fantasy. One day he comes up to me on a quiet afternoon and says, “Hey man, you got a minute?” “Sure,” I say. He appears uncomfortable and he looks at the floor while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Finally he looks at me and says, “I need a really big favor man.” I give him a cool stare and ask, “What do you need?” “Well,” he says, “you know I want to get a job with the police department right?” “No, I didn’t know,” I say. “Yeah man, I’ve wanted to be a cop forever and I’m finally going for it,” he says. “Good,” I say, thinking that finally he’ll be gone if he gets accepted, though the thought of him armed and loose on the streets of Dallas scares the shit out of me. “So anyway,” he continues, “I’ve gone through the application process, done the drug test, background check, all that. I just need to provide them with a character reference from my current job.” He looks at me with a hopeful expression and I stare back with a disbelieving look on my face. “Forget it,” I say, “get someone else.” “Nobody else will,” he says, his voice with an edge of desperation, “everyone here hates me, you know that.” “I hate you,” I say, “and you know that, so why ask me?” “Because you’re the smartest, most educated person working here,” he says, “and I know you could write a great reference.” He pauses and then says, “Please man, I gotta get out of this dead end job and finally pursue my dream. I’ll do anything you want man.” He pointedly looks me up and down and says again, “anything.” I think to myself, here’s your chance to satisfy your lust and finally be rid of him. “Okay,” I say to him, “I’ll write it tonight. Tomorrow night you can come by my place and we’ll see if you’re willing to do anything for it.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it with gratitude, saying, “Thanks man, I really owe you big for this.” You have no idea, I say to myself.

I think he deliberately wears his shirts a size too small so that his muscles show. I can see his gorgeous biceps and chest; his pants show off his sexy ass. He’s a typical sexy, young Latin devil. Lust and hate are all I ever feel for him, though hate usually wins out. I’m old enough to be his father and I have a strong work ethic. He has none. I actually try to help him be a better worker by offering advice on occasion, but all he does is question what I say or argue with me to the point where I just give up and let him do what he wants even though I know his actions will harm our branch. He never hesitates to ask me for help when he fucks up though and needs my expertise to get him out of trouble. I have to help him when that happens, again for the good of the branch. And the arrogant shit knows that.

He shows up at my apartment at the agreed upon time, wearing a skin tight t-shirt that shows off his well-muscled physique to great advantage. “Come in,” I say, “make yourself comfortable.” I point to the sofa and he sits down, a nervous expression on his boyishly handsome face. “Did you write it?” he asks. “Yeah, it’s on my laptop,” I say, bringing it over to the sofa. I sit next to him, close enough so that our bodies are touching; he squirms a little, then sits still while I turn on the laptop. I bring up the document and let him read it. When he finishes, he’s clearly overwhelmed. “Wow,” he says, “that’s perfect. I mean, the way you write, you make me seem like the greatest coworker you’ve ever worked with. Honest, professional, great team player; this is really awesome man. And just in time too; my final interview is tomorrow. Thanks man, if this doesn’t get me the job, nothing will.” I take back the laptop, close the document and turn off the machine. An uncomfortable silence follows while I just stare at him with a slight smile. “I guess I owe you something for this, huh?” he asks. I just nod and say, “Yup.” “So I’m guessing you just want to suck my dick right?” he asks. I laugh harshly and say, “You dumb fuck, I do you the best favor of your life and you think my reward should be to suck your dick?” I glare at him with the full force of my hatred. “Get up,” I order him.

I started to dislike him over the tie problem, back when he first started working for the bank. Men have to wear ties at work so we look professional. He would come to work without his tie on, claiming he didn’t know how to tie one. So I tried to help him by finding a YouTube video that would show him how so he could practice and learn.  I emailed it to him one day, fully expecting him to be wearing his tie, properly tied, when he came to work the next day. He showed up carrying it in his hand instead of around his neck, again. Fucking lazy is what he was. Exasperated, I took him into the break room and tied it for him, so he wouldn’t get into trouble, which meant I had to get close to him. He paid me back by telling my colleagues that I had made him uncomfortable by touching him while tying it for him. They all knew it was bullshit of course, but it angered me nonetheless. Especially, because I really did want to touch him, to rub and caress his muscular body. I figured with an attitude like his, he wouldn’t last long working for the bank. That was two years ago.

He gets to his feet. “Stand over there,” I say, “in the middle of the living room.” He does so, looking nervous and uncertain, which is just what I want. “Strip,” I tell him, “down to your bare ass.” He hesitates, then kicks off his shoes, pulls his shirt off, then unzips and removes his jeans. His incredibly sexy body is on display; pumped up arms and chest, perfect six pack abs and powerful, slightly hairy legs. He stands there in his Calvin Klein briefs, standard underwear for wannabe metrosexuals. “I said bare ass, now take off your underwear,” I growl at him, “if you still want that character reference.” I can see fear in his eyes, but he takes off his underwear and stands with his hands covering his cock and balls. “Move your hands,” I say, “so I can see what you’re packing.” He rolls his eyes in disgust, but does as he’s told. His cock is small, limp and shriveled, no doubt due to discomfort at his situation. I laugh at him, saying, “Pretty pathetic for a pumped up muscle stud.” His face goes crimson with embarrassment and humiliation, but then he glares at me and says, “Come on man, just tell me what you want from me okay?” I smile and say, “Turn around so I can see your ass. He does so immediately, glad, I’m sure, that I can’t see his cock anymore. His ass is slightly hairy too, like his legs, but his arms and torso are mostly hairless. He looks a like a satyr. His ass is perfectly round and bigger than what I normally find sexy, but gorgeously muscled. “Wow,” I say, “I am definitely going to enjoy that ass.” His head jerks around to stare at me. “Say what?” he asks.

He’s just a part-time teller, on the bottom rung of the branch hierarchy. And yet he feels like he has the right to question everything he’s told to do. Why can’t someone else do it, is a constant refrain of his. He never reads his emails, even though he’s been told repeatedly to check them every morning and periodically throughout the day. He misses online training deadlines and always has an excuse as to why. We’re all supposed to be working constantly between customers, but he always sits on his ass and watches videos on his iPhone. He’s disrespectful to those of us who have been working there much longer than he has. If he doesn’t know the answer to a customer’s question, he just makes something up. And then one of us has to correct and fix his mess. Mostly though, everyone one of us hates him because he’s flat out dumb as hell. I think my current manager has reached the end of his rope with him; I’ve heard the boss talk sharply to him a number of times recently. Damn, I wish I could fuck him though.

“Come with me,” I say and direct him to my bedroom, making him go in front of me down the hallway so I can see the motion of his ass as he walks. As I follow him into the bedroom, I tell him to get on the bed. He turns around to face me, his face aghast as he realizes what I want from him. He shakes his head, saying, “No man, please, not this. I can’t let you fuck me in the ass. Anything else, but not that. I’ll suck your dick if you want. You can even cum in my mouth and I’ll swallow it. But not this man please!” I give the most savage, twisted grin I can muster and say, “You know it’s only a matter of time before you get fired from the bank. Imagine what the police department would do if they found that out. The boss doesn’t like you one bit. He’s just waiting to get the approval from HR so he can cut you loose.” “You’re lying,” he says, but I see the fear in his eyes. “Give me your ass for one time only,” I say, “and you get that glowing referral, a new job and a new life. I’ll even convince the boss to hold off on firing you. Refuse me and once you lose your job at the bank, you can go back to working retail at the mall. Or better yet, at the food court.” I move up to him so that my face is right in his own. “You choose,” I say. I see his face suffuse with anger, humiliation and finally defeat. “Fine,” he says and slowly gets into my bed. “On your hands and knees please,” I say.

To be fair, there are days when he’s somewhat agreeable. Even he can’t be an asshole constantly. Sometimes he tries too hard to be my friend; probably because he knows I despise him. And I can’t really hate him constantly, though I’ve tried. A gym rat himself, he often asks me how my workouts are going and even offers advice, which I ignore. One time, a few months ago, he showed me pictures of one of his gym buddies on his phone and asked me what I thought about the guy’s physique. I told him that pumped up dudes weren’t really my thing. As he scrolled through more pictures of his other gym friends, he showed me several of himself, shirtless. “Wow,” I said, “is that really you?” “Yeah man,” he said, thinking that I was merely admiring his well-developed body, when in reality I was lusting after it. “I look good, don’t I?” he said in his usual self-confident tone. “Yeah, you do,” I said in the most neutral tone I could muster. I kept my face neutral also, but inside I was thinking about how I wanted to slobber all over those gorgeous pecs, lick and suck those nipples, kiss those incredible abs, then rip his shorts off and viciously fuck him in the ass. Why the fuck was he showing me those pics of himself half naked anyway? Smug bastard.

I strip off my clothes as rapidly as possible, making sure he can see my thick, hard, seven inch cock when it springs free from my underwear. “Oh fuck.” I hear him whisper as he looks at it, then at me. I take my bottle of lube from the bedside table and get on the bed behind him. I run my hands over his beautiful ass cheeks, loving how muscular they look and feel. Time to prep that hole. I squirt a small amount of lube on his hole and push at it with my index finger; he’s tight as hell, from nervous tension no doubt. I push harder, but his hole remains clenched up. I tell him, “I suggest you take a few deep breaths and relax your ass or it’s really going to hurt when I fuck you.” He mutters something hostile, then does what I ask; my finger suddenly goes right in and I can hear him wince a little. I put more lube on my hand and press two fingers in him, then three; his breathing becomes labored due to the pain, but he says nothing. Enough I say to myself. I slick my cock up with a generous amount of lube and slowly press the head into his hole until I feel it pop inside him and hear him audibly gasp. I decide to show him some mercy, so rather than slam him, I slide my cock in slowly until I’m all the way inside him; god his hole feels good. “How’s that feel?” I ask. He says through clenched teeth, “Just do it and get it over with.” I lean forward and whisper in his ear, “Whatever you say.”

One day last year he managed to lock his branch keys in the bathroom. When I went to go take a piss, he asked me to retrieve them. Sure, I said. I went in and there they were on top of the toilet tank. After I was done, I took his keys and rubbed them around my cock and under my balls, getting as much of my sweaty groin funk on them as I could. I walked back to the work area and handed them to him. Thanks man, he said. No problem, I replied. If he ever noticed that his keys smelled funny, he never said anything to me. I felt a perverse sense of satisfaction, however petty that might have been. It was as close as I could get to having him touch my junk.

I start to slowly pump my cock in and out of his ass. It’s as heavenly as I’d imagined. My first straight guy and my first virgin ass, in one muscular, sexy package. I hear him grunting and groaning, but from pain, not pleasure. That’s fine by me. This is definitely a hate fuck; also another first for me. I continue to fuck him slowly. I want to cause him temporary pain, not permanent harm. Don’t want to jeopardize his chances of getting rejected by the force due to injury. His hole is one of the smoothest and certainly the tightest I’ve ever fucked. His flesh covers every inch of my tool in an exquisite, warm embrace. I looked down at my cock going in and out of him and I can see how stretched out his hole is. It’s fucking amazing to watch. I start to pick up the pace of my fucking; not yet pounding him, but no longer a gentle fuck. I slide in and out of him with a steady rhythm, my cock throbbing with pleasure. I reach around and under him to feel his cock and it’s still limp. “Too bad you’re not enjoying this,” I say, “you’re getting fucked by one of the best.” “Go to hell,” he growls, his jaw still clenched tight from the pain, then he says, “I don’t understand how you faggots enjoy this.” I stop pumping and ask, “What the fuck did you just say?”

He readily admits that he’s not good at reading. Which would explain why he never reads his emails. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s asked me to explain something that he could easily find out on his own by just reading about it. I’ll tell him where to go on our internal website to read about policy updates and his response is always, “Well can’t you just tell me?” He’s lazy and he’s a fucking idiot. I wonder sometimes if he’s not only young and dumb, but also full of cum. I’ll never find that out though. It’s a shame really because if I fucked him, then at least he’d be good for something.

I feel my usual rage and hatred for him build within me. “You worthless bastard,” I say as I slowly pull my cock out of him. “Wait man, I’m sorry,” he says desperately, “I didn’t mean it,” and I power slam my cock back into him and he screams, “Owww fuck man, that hurts!” and I start to seriously power fuck his ass, pounding him like a savage. Now I really want to hurt him. I fuck him like a jackhammer, driving the full length of my cock in and out of his hole so he can feel every inch invading him. I’m tearing his ass up now, his muscles gripping my cock and giving me intense pleasure. I hear him whispering to himself, “Oh fuck, it hurts, damn I can’t fucking take it, it hurts so bad, can’t anymore, can’t, oh please end it man,” and hearing those words, those expressions of pain, makes my cock even harder, throb more intensely. I look down at my cock fucking and stretching his hole and I see blood, not much, just a little and I think, fuck yeah this is payback for all the shit I’ve put up with from you for the last two years and I feel my orgasm building and I try to hold off so I can keep fucking him because it feels so good, but I’m too turned on by what I’m doing to him, so I let loose with a torrent of cum in his battered hole and it’s the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had and I say to him, “Fuck yeah, I’m cumming in your ass you hateful piece of shit,” and I’m shooting load after load in him, my cock pulsing with each one and I make sure his asshole gets every fucking drop of cum I have to give.

All of us who work there have resigned ourselves to the fact that we’re stuck with him. We’ve talked with each other about what he would have to do, how bad he would have to fuck up to finally get fired. We all agree that for whatever reason, he appears to be untouchable for now. We don’t know why and most of us have stopped caring. We find ways to deal with him and we move on with our jobs.

My cock has softened and slipped out of his hole. I still see blood, but not enough to worry about. He’ll be fine. He’s lying there in a daze, seemingly unable to move. I leave him there in my bed and go to the bathroom to clean off my dick. I go back out to the living room, pick up my laptop and take it to the spare bedroom where I have my office. I print out two copies of the character reference, sign them both, put them in a manila envelope and go back to the bedroom. I toss the envelope on the bed next to where his head is resting. “We’re done here,” I say, “so you can take this and leave. Now.” He slides painfully off the bed and dresses quickly, his hate-filled gaze focused on me as he does so. I don’t care. I got what I wanted and so did he. He finishes dressing, grabs the envelope and storms out of my apartment, slamming the door behind him. I hear the screeching sound of burning rubber as he tears out of the parking lot. One week later, he tells me that he got the job. Congratulations I say.

A few days ago, we were enjoying a relatively quiet day at the branch. He was actually being quite agreeable; one might even say pleasant. There were four of us in the drive-up area, just chatting and relishing a brief respite from our crazy customers. I saw what looked like a workbook on his station next to his phone. “What is that?” I asked him. He held it up so I could see; it was a study guide for the Dallas Police Department entrance exam. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a cop,” I said. “Yeah man, I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said, “and I decided to finally go for it.” “I hope you make it,” I said. “I hope so too,” he said. “Hey,” I said, “if you need a character reference, let me know. I’ll write you a good one.” “Wow, thanks man,” he said. “that would be awesome. I would owe you big time.” “No problem,” I said.