Foreman

His job was to tell me I got the job because I was qualified, not to just sit there and look like a blubbering idiot.

My boss, Mr. Gorham, unlike me, was the product of nepotism gone awry. His great grandfather was the first black man to ever work for the company. His grandfather was the first black man to hold a position of substance within the company. And his father, after getting his doctorate degree was the first black man to become its CEO. I have no doubt these men worked extremely hard to get to where they got in the company paving the way for me and several other workers of color to even work here. But the buck stopped with them. Gorham was given his job out of sheer pity, dropping out of prep school and failing out of the Ivy League university his father bribed to get him in. It was his father who used his influence on his climb up the corporate ladder to get Gorham his management position on the loading docks. It was a very meager position by standards on the totem pole. Nevertheless, it was still on the totem pole regardless of the fact it was sub-ground, it was still a title. Gorham would’ve happily flipped the company off made his folks rich and rode off into the sunset a long time ago if he wasn’t such a typical upper middle class cliché: a tragic third-generation mulatto forced to marry some pasty face no-ass debutant to breed more crumsnatchers into their social class.

“You know you’re one of my outstanding employees, Mr. Wright. Outstanding.”

“I try sir.” I said spreading my legs just to see if he saw anything of interest to him.

He tried to front, like he hadn’t accidentally looked.

Gorham was frustrated yet had to maintain some decorum.

“Monkeys try, Mr. Wright. I need you to do more than try if you want this job. There are others out on the docks that are willing to try.”

 

Cut the bullshit. I am either a contender for the position or not because nobody else will dance with your corny ass.

I knew he was being condescending because I was finally getting under his skin. His body language and his cracking voice told it all. Yet, there was a split between cold sweat scared and five-seconds-from-orgasm turned on.

If it wasn’t for my ‘outstanding’ record of showing up on time, everyday, to do the job I was hired to do, half the crew and I would be walking the line. Not for the obvious, obviously, but simply for trying to bring down the atmosphere of the company. It was sort of his double edge sword to let us know that though he was a highly confused moron he was still in charge and that he hated being black, or rather the side of his race that was generally negatively stereotyped.

Unfortunately, when a man like Gorham worked in the slums, he thoroughly believed the stereotypes were alive and well with every other word laced in expletives to certain crew members swimming in and out of San Quentin to men that kept girlfriends and baby mama drama going with the occasional impromptu party with the frequent bouts of violent outbursts that succeeded some kind of horseplay.

Gorham hated me most of all. I didn’t play into any demeaning stereotypes. I was just a guy that did my thing with a little swagger in my step while I did it. He didn’t like me because he knew he had one good time to come at me wrong before he got his ass whupped. I wasn’t going to go out like a punk and never show my face again. He knew I had the cajones to show up the following day like nothing ever happened. He knew if he stayed on my good side and didn’t fuck with me while I worked we were cool. That didn’t change his small minded view of me. I was still this lowlife to him because I was darker than an Arabian night and used both my brains and brawn to do my job well. Though it was quite funny that his wife stopped by the job just to watch this lowlife get shirtless and dirty each and every day. And no matter what I did and how I did it, I always kept the whole crew and his refuse-to-stay-at-home wife on my side. I knew this was the backing I needed to make me a good foreman.

Because of the promotion was solely in his hands, the indicators were supposed to have been against me for this job. Somewhere along the way, Gorham started humming a different tune several weeks before the position was to become available. At one time, it seemed every word out of his mouth was “Jimmie, Jimmie, Jimmie” and “Jimmie, please” with a huge Kool-Aid smile stamped across his face. Gorham was on a good little streak with it. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with all this new attention from him, a bit dubious even, but I was smart enough to take it all in stride for whatever the reason.

The second I let my guard down to this sudden burst of attention did the bastard start to recoil. Rumors were flying about him peering through the blinds and jacking off while we worked out on the docks, with me being the main focus of his fantasy always shirtless, muscled and tatted up–the classic forbidden fruit of his corporate-climbing family.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. His wife was vying for my attention, and he wanted to be me for her. But as the old saying goes, if you can’t beat them, join them. He knew better than to come outright with it. There were too many complications involved with everything working in my favor.

“No one is willing to do it harder than I am,” I said from across his desk, closing my legs and popping a piece of candy from on top of his desk into my mouth. “I think we both know what’s up?”

“What?” Gorham shook nervously, like I had uncovered his secret.

“We both know I got this shit because the only way you’re about to show you’re face at corporate every quarter is because I do a damn good job at keeping those knuckleheads in line, including your last three foremen. Plus, I got the qualifications for the job that no other guy out there got!”

“Oh really?” Gorham choked.

“The thing is though you want to see how bad I want this job. How far I’m willing to go for it?” I sprawled out in the chair. “I don’t give two shits about the job as I do the pay. Even with that said, I won’t sit here and beg for your amusement. I won’t stroke your ego because you suffer from a severe case of Little Dick Syndrome.”

“Mr. Wright!” Gorham hissed, his face turning red.

I stood up, never taking my eyes away from his, and added, “Mr. Wright, what, fuck?”

“Mr. Wright!” Gorham jumped up like he knew how to get squirrelly. “I can have your ass out of here by the count of ten if you don’t watch your tone!”

“Bitch-ass punk, I can have your ass right now.”

Gorham froze. I saw a twitch of fear in him, in his eyes, in his face, throughout his body.

“Mr. Wright,” he mustered, still trembling at the erotic thought.

“That’s Mr. Wright, Sir. Learn some fucking manners!”

“Mr. Wright, I think you should get the hell out of my office. You blew any chance of you getting this job. You should be grateful I’m even thinking about letting you keep your old one.”

“You’ll be lucky if I accept this job with or without you slobbing on my knob.”

He swallowed hard.

“I knew your sweet ass had an asking price with your little dick over there pressed against your pants. Now what? Pussy cat got your tongue?”

“Mr. Wright, please.” Gorham antagonized more reserved.

“Please, can I have a piece of your dick? Bitch, I told you it was ‘Mr. Wright, Sir.’ I know you play with yourself thinking about me and my dick out there working up a hard funky sweat. I thought about fucking your wife. Maybe you’d take the time to eat her out more if you knew I left some dying sperm in her womb for you to lick clean.”

I reached inside my pants and pulled out my hardened dick.

“Mr. Wright, this is highly inappropriate.”

“You forgot the ‘Sir’ again. This is simply a part of the negotiation process. What I think is inappropriate is to bring in a middleman for something your bitch-ass can get straight from the tap.

Gorham didn’t hear anything else as he floated over from across his desk with his mouth wide open trying to take it all in at once. The more my inches ballooned in his mouth, the less he dick he could take in there. He went from sniffing around my musky dick to licking my musty balls clean steadily working the head against his tongue.

“There you go,” I grinned, feeling a twinge of regret I didn’t make him beg for it a bit longer.

He sucked my dick like a dope fiend, slurping loudly with spit slathered across the crease of his mouth and a huge wet spot down the front of his blue shirt. Trying once again to take it all in, relaxing his throat. He was doing a good job of it too, wedging his tongue with what was left of my foreskin and tenderly fondling my balls before popping them one in a time in his fruity mouth.

Gorham licked his way back up the underside of my dick, taking me back into his mouth. This time I didn’t let him run the show. I grabbed him by his ears and started fucking his mouth with slow and steady strokes that opened up his tight throat even more–or so I thought. I was grunting and groaning my way to a powerful load, keeping in mind that there might be some nosey bastards at the door listening. So I clenched my teeth and shot a heavy load into his tightening mouth, which he gagged on and spat back up on my steel-toes.

“Lick it up.” I demanded.

He looked up at me like the words were branded new to his lobes. When he saw I wasn’t playing with his corny ass, he slowly snaked down to the floor and licked my boots where the dollops of man-milk fell.

“And don’t think you’re just going to work over that spot either. I want my boots spit-shined from heel to toe, top to bottom.”

He didn’t seem to be pleased with the request, only that I had to remind him that it wasn’t a friendly appeal but a demand. He naturally assumed I was talking about beating his ass, when in fact I was talking about the huge sexual harassment suit I had on my hands against him and the company, spinning it that he was using his power and family influence to coax me into ‘unnatural’ acts.

I propped my boot onto the desk. While his face expressed reluctance, his tongue gave my boots a good tongue bath with one encouraging coat after another before switching boots and allowing him to tongue, soak, and repeat on that one as well. I sat back down in the chair, the heels of my boots propped up on the desk as he took swabs at the bottoms, tasting the concrete and other foul things found at the bottom of my boots.

Gorham found great passion in this. I told him that my new position as foreman would give him the pleasure of me being his eye candy on the docks and his dick provider during the many special meetings we were bound to have. It didn’t hurt either it was going to come with a complimentary boot cleaning whenever I decided.

Watching him go at my boots like he did made my nature rise once more. But I would be damn if I let him touch my dick again without some mouthwash and the adjoining forms that came with my new promotion.

Gorham eagerly retrieved both.