“I Just Want to See His Face”
I could probably have called and told him, but...it wouldn’t be the same. After all these months of putting up with his arrogant, smug, overbearing, condescending, patronizing, too many nasty synonyms popping up in my head at once for “jerk who’s not actually impolite but who acts as though they’re naturally the authority figure in any situation and anyone they’re talking to is sweet, but needs to be told what to do and how to do it even though they’ve got a Master’s degree in the subject” and my rant just dissolves into a momentary flash of rage that feels like it’s setting fire to my face...
After all that, I just want to see his face when I tell him. I want to see the look on his face when I finally drop the bomb I’ve been waiting all weekend to unload on him. An email just wouldn’t give me the same satisfaction. I need to see the look on his face when he finally hears that I’m not going to be his stupid sidekick anymore, that I’m done with this weird teacher/student relationship that he thought we had when we never really did, I was hired to the same job he was, not to “learn the ropes” or be “mentored” or any of the other goddamn wrong ways he described it during his endless fucking periods of droning on and on like he was doing his best Ben Stein-in-Ferris Bueller impersonation.
That’s the problem with guys like that. They get settled into a job, something that’s a little esoteric and technical, and they decide to spend their every waking moment making it even more esoteric and technical until before anyone really realizes what’s going on, they’re the only person at the company who knows how something really vital works and nobody can challenge them on any of their methods or procedures. And of course they huff and puff and groan about never getting a vacation, but you know they secretly love being able to do whatever the fuck they want because if they get fired, nobody’s going to be able to fix things when they break.
That’s why he acts that way around me, always cutting off my sentences and correcting me on obscure little details just to remind me that he knows everything and futzing with my computer and changing all the settings to the way he likes it because he thinks it’ll ‘help me work’. It’s because he feels threatened by me. He knows that I’m just as smart as he is, he knows I’m an expert in his field, he knows that I know that there’s not really even enough work for one full-time person in the department let alone two, he knows that I’m younger than he is...oh, damn, this is gonna be sweet. I’ve been fantasizing about this all weekend.
I mean, I’m not a vindictive person. I really don’t like being nasty, and I hate office politics. But at the same time, I can’t keep working like this. I can’t keep dealing with someone that I know is an equal who thinks they’re my boss on the Magical Org Chart Inside Their Head, and he had to know that. Sooner or later something had to give, and it finally gave, that’s all. The fact that I’m going to take immense, personal, practically goddamn sexual satisfaction in telling him that live and in person is just...well, I don’t think it makes me a bad person.
I mean, if he was getting fired and I was this excited about it, maybe it would. I don’t hate him or anything, I just can’t stand his attitude. I don’t...actively wish ill will on him, apart from a couple of little rage-flashes here and there that I’d probably feel terribly guilty about if he actually got attacked by rabid bears after being hit by an out-of-control tanker truck full of acid. I just need this whole Tech Alpha Male thing he’s got going put behind me once and for all. And it is definitely, gloriously going to be behind me after today.
I’m just glad I get to be the one to tell him. I mean, I’ve earned that, haven’t I? I have put up with all of his condescending pats on the shoulder, I’ve played nice while he showed me all his stupid 80s desk toys (a Newton’s cradle? A plasma ball? A fucking drinking bird for fucksake? Yes, because watching something bobbing up and down for a fucking hour is a fascinating way to spend our time while code compiles!) I have dealt with all of his subtle digs, his blatant flaunting of his seniority, and all the other little ways he metaphorically waves his goddamn dick in my face every day. I damn well should get to tell him that today’s the day his metaphorical dick-waving fucking ends.
It’s almost startling when I realize that I’m pulling into the parking lot—I’ve spent the whole drive to work thinking about how good this is going to feel that I pretty much did my commute on auto-pilot. But really, I don’t think anyone would blame me. I spent the whole weekend stopping myself from picking up the phone and calling his home number (and oh fucking god, the day he gave that to me because even though I was the on-call tech for the weekend, he wanted to make sure I could reach him “in case you have anything you can’t handle”...GRRRR...) just to let him know right away, but something told me I needed to be right there when I told him. I needed to see him squirm. I need to see him fucking squirm. I get out of my car and bounce my way up the steps to the corporate campus building, and it’s like my heart is singing with every stride closer to the moment I’ve been dreaming about.
Literally. I have fucking woken up from dreams about this exact moment, vivid and recurring ones, to the point where I almost wonder if I’m still asleep as I slide my card through the security gate and walk through into the lobby. I have to bite the inside of my cheek for a second to make sure this isn’t all just some wonderful dream, but...no. This is real. It’s all really happening. This is the happiest day of my life.
I take the elevator down two floors—I always wondered if he made sure that they put his office in the deepest, furthest corner of the building to keep people from visiting him, or if he just liked hiding in basements—and wind my way through the maze of hallways and server rooms and backup generator rooms, remembering how he met me in the lobby every day for the first two weeks to “make sure I could find our office.” The first couple of days, I was grateful. By the second week, I felt like it was a metaphor for our entire working relationship. He doesn’t want a co-worker, he wants someone to worship him and tell him how great he is. I’m pretty sure that’s not what I signed on for.
I finally get to the office, and of course he’s already there. I sometimes imagine that one of the reasons why he’s such a passive-aggressive jerk to me is that I’m the reason he had to get an apartment instead of treating the bottom floor of the office building like his personal crash space. He still has a habit of leaving parts of his rock collection on my desk ‘accidentally’, as though we don’t both know that leaving great big geodes sitting next to my computer is just his way of reminding me that this used to all be his space until I came along. But we’re done with all that petty bullshit, we’re done with all the tapdancing around everything. Today’s the day I make it clear to him who’s really in charge around here.
I lock the office door behind me—not that we ever see anyone down here, but I don’t want this moment interrupted. God, it’s going to be so good. I just want to see the look on his face, that’s all. I want this moment to be just him and just me.
“Hey, kiddo!” he says, leaning back in his chair and fixing me with that big, smug, condescending grin of his. I don’t even know if he bothered learning my real name—he sure as hell never uses it. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. What’s up?”
I dump my stuff in my chair and walk right around his desk with a confident swagger in my stride. I know exactly what I’m going to say, and exactly what’s going to happen after I say it. The whole moment freezes in crystalline perfection, my memory inscribing every instant of it so that I can replay it over and over in my head all day and every night.
“I’m your perfect, obedient little cocksucker, sir,” I say, with the biggest smile I’ve ever had on my face.
The look on his face is everything I hoped it would be. His smile softens into a curled smirk of aroused confidence, and his eyes light up with a spark of pure sexual excitement. He says, “Now aren’t you a smart one, learning your lessons so perfectly?” He unbuckles his pants and undoes his fly, letting his already-stiffening cock out to sway back and forth in the stuffy air. “Tell me, when did you first realize it?”
I drop to my knees, my mouth already watering as I stare at his hardening cock. It gives me a sense of purpose, watching it grow fully erect and imagining my mouth opening wide to take it all in just like in my dreams. Like I finally understand my role here—on my knees, at his feet, open wide for his cock. I’m ready to give him a perfect blowjob, the first of so many, and it makes everything just fall right into place for the first time in weeks. I’m not questioning my skills, I’m not constantly fighting his dominance, I’m not struggling to make him accept my abilities. I’m his perfect, obedient little cocksucker, and I know just how to do that now.
I almost forget he asked the question, I’m so fixated on his long, stiff cock as it literally waves in front of my face, but something tugs at the back of my mind until I answer him. “Friday night, Master,” I say, a trickle of drool escaping my lips as I speak. “I was working from home, and when I remoted into my computer, I found myself just staring at the screen. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t...couldn’t think. Every time I tried, the words, ‘I’m a perfect, obedient little cocksucker’ popped into my head and...I pictured your cock. Every time.”
It looks just like I imagined it would. Just like in my dreams. Just exactly like I always pictured it, when I slept and my mind went back into that same vivid reverie that seemed so completely real, watching the bird’s head bobbing up and down and seeing his perfect cock out of the corner of my eye. Moaning with arousal as I begged and begged to suck it, and he teased me over and over with the promise that someday, I would. Someday, all my resistance would collapse and I would be his perfect, obedient little cocksucker. All those hot fantasies would come true.
And now they are. He holds his cock at the base with his thumb and forefinger, running it over my face, slapping it gently against my cheeks as I whimper with anticipation. “That was your subconscious talking, pet,” he says. “Telling you that it was time to quit pretending that you were my co-worker. That would mean you were my equal, and that’s just silly, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Master,” I say, trying to kiss his cock with every word. I know I’m not allowed to suck him, not without permission, but I want to taste his slick flesh so bad that I can’t help nuzzling him while I speak. His precum smears across my face as I whisper, “It’s silly to think that I’m your equal. My place is at your feet, sucking your cock. I...” I feel a surge of arousal so strong that it’s almost dizzying, and it takes a seeming eternity to get the last few words out. “I’m a perfect, obedient little cocksucker.”
“That’s my good pet,” he husks out, before his self-control finally breaks and he pushes me down onto his cock.
It’s so easy to take it all in. It slides into my mouth, down my throat, and my gulp turns into an endless swallow as I press myself all the way down to nuzzle his balls with my lips. I’ve never done anything like this before—all the jokes about sexless computer geeks were perfectly true in my case—but he’s been training me for months, and blowjobs come to me now as easily as breathing. My tongue works at the underside of his shaft, desperate to tease out the delicious spurts of cum that I suddenly crave more than anything else in the world.
His breathing quickens. He grabs my head, thrusting powerfully back and forth in long strokes as he fucks my face. I feel deliciously helpless, nothing more than a plaything in the hands of a strong and dominant male figure as my lips wrap around the swelling purple head with every stroke out before swallowing him all the way down to the base of his shaft again with every stroke in. I know I’m pleasing him, and that feels even better than sex ever could. I’m a perfect, obedient little cocksucker. I realize I’m moaning the words around his cock, buzzing them into his skin as sensation, and that makes it all feel even better. My eyes roll back in my head with pure, mindless delight.
But I still manage to look up, as his thrusts become irregular and erratic, as I feel him twitching and pulsing in my mouth and his precum drizzles thickly onto my tongue. I stare reverently up at my new Master as he finally lets out a strained grunt and I feel him shoot jet after jet of thick, pearly cum into my mouth, dribbling out of my lips despite my best efforts to swallow every drop I can. I gaze up at him at the moment of his climax.
I know that in this instant, his cock has taken control of my mind once and for all. But I want to see how much I’ve pleased him. I want to see the bliss overwhelming him as my mouth brings him to climax. In this first moment of perfect pleasure...I just want to see his face.