Daddy Arbitrator v. Cocky Younger Alpha Male

“Do you know the phrase, a ‘smoking gun,’ Mr. Johnson”?

“Smoking gun?” the witness asked.  “Yes, I guess, from TV shows.”

“And a smoking gun is damning proof of a party’s guilt, correct?”

"Uh, yes, I think so.”

“Take a look at the engineering report in your hands, Mr. Johnson.  Could you read the second paragraph to the arbitration tribunal?”

“The second paragraph,” the witness asked and adjusted his glasses.  “The jet engines are not built to withstand wind forces at high altitudes over time.  Maybe not now but in the next ten years an airplane equipped with our engines will surely crash due to massive engine failure.  We all know we invested in cheap materials.”

“That was your warning as an engineer to upper management?”

The witness hesitated.  Sweat was apparent on his brow.  “Uh, yes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.  No more questions,” Jay Pritchard said with a slight smirk.  He didn’t want to project too much cockiness to the tribunal, but it was in his nature.  He walked from the podium to his chair—aware all eyes in the hearing room followed him.  His gray suit fitted his muscular body perfectly.  He slowly waved his left hand across his wavy blonde hair and sat down.

The silver-haired chairman of the tribunal arched an eyebrow.  The lawyer was smug if not arrogant.  Still, he had been impressed by the younger man’s cross-examination.  It was direct, pointed and didn’t waste the arbitrators’ time.  And Pritchard wasn’t hard on the eyes.  He wished the gray suit jacket didn’t hide what must be an amazing ass.  The chairman looked at the arbitrators on his left and right.  “Any questions, gentlemen?” asked Bartholomew Williams.

Jeff Kennedy on his left nodded that he had one.  Kennedy was the arbitrator appointed by the respondent jet engine manufacturer.  He was supposed to be impartial and independent.  Right.  He wore his longish ginger hair behind his ears.  Taking his own glasses off, Kennedy leaned forward.

“Mr. Johnson,” he said, “What was the response of your upper management to your warning?”

“They took it seriously, sir.  They initiated an internal investigation.  Spent millions of dollars on a fix, as I testified earlier.  We solved the problem.”

The chairman looked at Jay Pritchard.  He thought he saw the handsome lawyer wince but knew Pritchard was trying to appear confident and show no vulnerability.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” said the satisfied Kennedy as he looked at the chairman.  “No more questions, Mr. Chairman.”

“Thank you Mr. Kennedy,” responded Williams.  “Mr. Pritchard?”

Pritchard smiled and rose to his feet.  He walked to the lectern.  The chairman watched the younger attorney’s swagger.  He thought he saw the outline of a decently sized cock in the bulge of the lawyer’s slacks.  Was he showing off?  The sight made Williams’s 8” cut cock take notice.  There was no denying the counsel’s hotness.

“Mr. Johnson, could I ask you to turn to page 3 of Exhibit 36 in the notebook before you,” Pritchards asked.  

“Okay, got it,” said the witness after taking a moment to find the page in question.

“Could you read aloud the third paragraph of your internal email to the tribunal?”

“Uh, okay…are you sure?”

“I am Mr. Johnson.”

“Shit,” slipped from Johnson’s lips.  “Uh, well, here goes, ‘Management has ignored my warnings about the defective materials used in our jet engines.  Worse, Brody M., the Senior Vice President of Engineering has tried to shut me up and promised to advance me if I submit to his sexual desires.  I’m a proud gay man but no fucking way will I agree to sexual harassment in any form.’”

“Were those true statements when you made them?”

Pause.  “Yes.”

“‘Management has ignored my warnings about the defective materials used in our jet engines’—those were your words?” Pritchard asked for emphasis.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” the brash counsel said.  “Brody McNair is the dark-haired man in the pin-striped suit in the back of this conference room?”  All heads turned to the 40-something male stud sitting in the back row of the room.

Hesitation but then, “Yes, that’s him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson, I’m guessing you’re still employed because they needed you to try to explain away your smoking gun memos and emails?”

Counsel for the respondent manufacturer erupted in full-throated objections to the gratuitous comments of the cocky counsel.

Bartholomew Williams leaned forward “Enough gentlemen, I think we understand the evidence.”  He gave Pritchard his best disapproving look.  The handsome younger stud managed to smile and nod his understanding at once.

The manufacturer’s appointed arbitrator Jeff Kennedy leaned close to the chairman, “I’m sure there’s an explanation for the inconsistency we’ll hear tomorrow.”

*     *     *     *     *

Bart Williams laid back on the gym bench.  He inhaled sharply then lifted the two 50 pound dumbbells above his chest.  This was the best way to blow off steam after a day sitting in a hotel conference room listening to lawyers and witnesses drone on.  He was proud of his physique at age 50.  With short silver hair and piercing blue eyes, Williams was 6’3” and weighed 195 pounds.  His 46” chest was smooth and defined with nicely-shaped brown nipples.  He had 17” biceps.  His armpit hair was black.  He kept his core in shape, refusing to give up on his six pack.  His waist was a trim 32” and his toned quads were 33”.

“12, 13, 14, 15.” Williams counted the last of the bench press reps and dropped the dumbbells.  He sat up on the bench and took a moment to admire his chest and biceps in the nearby mirror.  His muscular body filled out his tight white tank top.

The door to the hotel gym opened, and Jay Pritchard walked in.  He glanced at the arbitrator and grinned.  “Mr. Chairman,” he said with a nod.  “Mr. Pritchard, you don’t have to be so formal after hours.  Call me Bart.”  Williams’s gaze lingered on the blonde male who was handsome enough to be a fitness model.  The lawyer wore a light blue tank top and gray gym shorts.  The shorts were only about 6” long.  Pritchard’s quads looked to be almost 34”.  If Williams had to guess, Pritchard was about 35.  It looked like he stood an imposing 6’4” and weighed about 210 pounds.  “Bart,” said Pritchard.  He raised his left arm above his head and stretched to his right.  The arbitrator caught a glimpse of his light brown pit hair.  It appeared to be cropped.  Williams felt his cock begin to swell.  He looked down at his dumbbells and picked them up before lying back on the bench.  

Pritchard raised his right arm above his head and stretched to the left.  He watched Jones begin a set of bench presses—impressed the older man could handle the 50 pound dumbbells.  Then he saw Williams’s thick cock pressing against the pouch of his blue gym shorts.  It was semi-hard.  He could tell it was cut.  Maybe as big as eight inches.  The lawyer forced himself to look away.  He picked up a rope and started to jump rope before the full length mirror to get his heart rate up before his weight lifting routine.  He noticed his own 7.5” dick bouncing up and down every time he jumped off the ground.  Williams didn’t appear to be watching as he focused on his bench press reps.

Just as the arbitrator finished his 15th rep, Pritchard stopped jumping and put down the rope.  “Want me to spot you on your third set, Bart?” the lawyer asked.  “Yes, Jay, that would be great.  I’m going to switch to a barbell and go for about eight reps of 200 pounds.”  “Wow, I’m impressed,” said Jay, as he stared at the fit and handsome arbitrator, “I can’t do a lot more than 225 myself.”

Williams stood up and went to the bench where a barbell was racked.  He put two 45 pound weights on one side as Pritchard put two on the other side.  Adding in the weight of the barbell, he’d be lifting closer to 220 pounds.  Williams found himself admiring the counsel’s sculpted glutes, which had been hidden in the hearing room by his suit jacket.  The chairman knew he was getting horny.  Pritchard felt the arbitrator’s gaze upon him.  He noticed Williams’s thick cock was still semi-hard in his gym shorts.  He looked down and saw the outline of his own cock head and shaft.  The two men’s eyes locked together for a moment.

“Well,” said Bart, “Here goes.”  He laid down on the bench and Jay moved into position almost straddling the arbitrator’s face to spot him.  Williams looked up to the barbell but his eyes were immediately transfixed on the leg holes of the lawyer’s gym shorts.  The chairman almost gulped when he realized Jay was commando.  Bart could see his dangling smooth balls and the mushroom head of his 7.5” cock.  Above it were cropped light brown pubes.  The lawyer’s manly scent wafted down.  Bart felt his semi-hard cock become fully erect.  

He tried to act nonchalantly.  He placed his hands on the barbell, checked their position, then lifted the barbell upwards.  “1….2….3….4….5…” counted Pritchard.  Williams found himself grunting a bit louder with each rep.  You can do it Bart,” said Jay calmly, then resumed counting “6….7….8!”  Jay immediately reached for the barbell and replaced it back on the rack.

“Nice job!” he said, then absentmindedly reached inside his gym shorts and adjusted his cock, which had bolted upright at the sight of the older man’s chest muscles flexing and his manhood tenting during the bench presses.  It was then he realized the chairman was staring upwards and quite literally gawking.  Jay smirked “Like what you see, Daddy?”  He thought he heard Bart sigh.  Or was it a low growl.  The lawyer looked down at the arbitrator’s impressive bulge and saw a small wet spot on the fabric of his gym shorts.  “Looks like it,” Pritchard said with a cocky grin.  “It’s a lot to handle, Bart.”

(To be continued.)