Working Late

by Sean <>

Mark arrived for his night job at about 9:45. He had been turned on to it by a good friend who had gotten him hired.

"It's just the right job for a student," Frank had told him. "You have eight hours to just empty trash cans and fill up the water coolers ... that sort of thing. They give you five floors in this hi-rise. Doesn't take me more than four or five hours to do it all, and they don't care if you spend the rest of the rest of the night studying or goofing off, just as long as you have your beeper on. It's really cool!"

So, Mark worked three nights a week in the Campden Office Towers, for the next six months. He usually studied on Monday and Wednesday nights, but he took it easy on Fridays, when he would have rather been out having fun. He changed out of his jeans and shirt into a pair of red jumpsuit. They fit too tightly for him to wear over his clothes. Anyway, the company provided them and they were really comfortable. He loaded his cart with the materials he would need and took the service elevator to the 36th floor: Mark had the top five floors in the glass-and-steel building.

Fridays were always easy nights. Mark finished by 2:45. He had finished on the 40th floor, the offices of Clayton Enterprises, a company that did internet advertising and computer networking. As these were the corporate offices, no-one was around at night, which was just fine with Mark, as the CEO's office was his favorite break spot. He turned the passkey in the door and went into the spacious room. The lights were off, and he ate his sandwich and drank his Yoo-Hoo sitting on the huge leather sofa with the panoramic view of city lights spread out below him. Usually, he took a nap, afterwards, after setting his watch for 6 a. m., but tonight, Mark had some fun in mind.

The CEO of Clayton Enterprises, a surprisingly young-looking man, whose portrait hung in the foyer, really knew how to live: his office contained a state-of-the-art audio / visual system with the biggest projection TV screen that Mark had ever seen. Mark had figured out how to work it on previous visits. He knew that the rules expressly forbade him from touching anything in the offices except those things that had to do with his job, but, he also knew how unlikely it was that anyone else would walk in on him: almost all of the other workers in the building at night were students, too, and they would all be either studying or relaxing by now.

Mark removed the video he had rented for the occasion. It had come highly recommended by several friends, a gay porno video entitled: The Pizza Boy Delivers . He popped the cassette into the player, switched on the A/V system and, slipping his shoes off, reclined comfortably on the soft leather sofa, remote in hand.

The plot was easy to figure out: the hot young pizza boy delivered a lot more than pizza to his equally gorgeous male customers. After a few minutes of hot action, there was a definite bulge in the crotch of Mark's jumpsuit. Fortunately, the makers of the garment had provided two pocket holes in the sides of the uniform, one of which, designed for wearing the jumpsuit over clothing, passed right through the sides of the thing, to provide access to pants pockets. Mark slid his hand into this pocket hole, down to where he could massage his swelling _c_o_c_k_ through his Calvin Klein briefs. Wow! What a turn-on!, he thought.

In the middle of the next scene, where the pizza boy wound up bent over a kitchen counter, Mark was considering slipping his hands under his briefs when, suddenly, the room lights came on. Mark jumped up, jerking his hand from his pocket, and tripped as he did, sprawling on the deep-pile carpet. As he tried to get up, he heard soft footsteps coming around the corner of the couch. A pair of expensive cowboy boots appeared in his field of vision. Mark got to his feet, and looked directly into the eyes of Dennis Clayton, founder and CEO of Clayton Enterprises!

"Uh, er... I can explain?" Mark said, weakly.

"I'd like to hear it," Clayton said, with a smile. He was a little taller than Mark, rugged-looking, wearing Levis and a Western shirt. He looked in his late thirties, with a tiny hint of gray hair around the temples: enough to look distinguished. His voice was mellow, with a slight Texan twang.

"I'd love to hear why one of the boys we hire to clean up and take care of things at night is stretched out on my leather sofa, watching some gay porno movie on my wide-screen TV, and playing pocket pool." He smiled broadly.

"I wasn't ... I mean ..." the pizza boy was at it again. Clayton picked up the remote and switched it off, shaking his head.

"Don't lie to me, boy!" he said. "I been watching you for about five minutes. I've never seen such gall in all my life!" He walked across the room to his desk, sat down, and unlocked it. Mark, still shoeless, followed him and stood in front of the desk.

"Uh, Mr. Clayton, sir?" he managed, shakily. Clayton looked up.

"I guess this means I'm fired ..."

"Well," Clayton set some papers on the desk. "What would you do in my place? I can't have kids wandering in here while I'm gone, using this office for private jerk-off parties, can I?" Mark's face turned red at that, and he looked down.

Dennis Clayton looked across the desk at the kid. He was kind of skinny, with light brown hair, parted down the middle, and brown eyes that were looking at the floor right now. But he had an attractive, boyish face, and he was clean-cut. And, slender as he was, he sure filled out that tight jumpsuit pretty well. Clayton smiled to himself. He had an idea, and it was giving him a hard-on.

"I'm sorry ...," Mark said, quietly. He shuffled his feet.

"Well," Clayton drawled. "I could just pick up this here phone and call your boss, Bill Johnson, and tell him what I caught you doing. You wouldn't like that, now, would you, boy?"

"No, sir."

"Or, I could," Mark looked up, hopefully at this. "I could just handle this myself, and we'd just keep the whole thing quiet. Saves you your job. Saves me having to deal with that _d_i_c_k_less wonder, Johnson. Can't stand the bastard!"

"Please, Mr. Clayton," Mark said, earnestly. "I'll do anything you want me to. And I'll never, never do it again. Promise. Just don't get me fired."

"Turn around," Clayton said. Mark obeyed. The boy's ass was tight and round under the tight jumpsuit. "Okay, that's fine." Mark turned back.

"Well, son," Clayton said, standing up. "I hate to get a nice-looking, clean-cut kid like you into trouble. You're probably working your way through college; I admire that. How old are you, boy?"

"Nineteen, sir," Mark said. "And I go to the University. Computer science major."

"Well, I really have to give a computer science major a break, don't I," Clayton said. Mark let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Clayton went to a closet and began looking for something. He found what he was looking for: a meter stick about half an inch by two inches. He walked to the desk and lay the measuring rod on it.

"But," he said, looking Mark in the eyes. "I can't let you just get away with this, can I? You have to learn to respect other people's property. So I'll make you a deal."

"Anything ..." Mark began, but Clayton cut him off.

"I wouldn't agree until I heard all the terms," Clayton smiled. "Lands a lot of folks in deep _s_h_i_t_. Your father ever give you a whipping, Mark?"

"Huh?" Mark said, confused. "Uh, I got spanked, a couple of times, when I was a kid ..."

"Apparently, not enough," Clayton said. He picked up the meter stick, and looked Mark in the eyes again.

"Y-y-y-ou're not gonna ..." Mark stuttered.

"Here's the deal, boy: either I call Johnson, and you're out on your ass, or, I give you an old fashioned ass-whipping, like my Daddy gave to me, 'till I feel you've learned your lesson. Now, what's it gonna be?"

Mark swallowed hard. He looked into Clayton's eyes, then down at the thick ruler in his hand.

"I guess ..." Mark mumbled. "Okay. You win. I'll take the whipping."

"All right then," Clayton came around the desk and took Mark by the elbows. He had a grip like iron. He led Mark to the back of the sofa. "Bend over, Mark. This is for your own good."

Mark bent over the soft cushions. Then he felt Clayton's hand, pushing him over so that his head was buried in the seat cushions, and his toes barely touched the floor. He glanced up and saw Clayton's reflection in the window, holding the meter stick up high.

"You can give up at any time," Clayton offered. "And I'll call Johnson on Monday ..."

"Go ahead," Mark said, clenching his teeth. "I can take it!"

Clayton surveyed the boy's tight round ass, bent over the sofa back. The thin material of the jumpsuit was stretched so tightly that he could see the outlines of Mark's briefs through the fabric. His own _c_o_c_k_ hardened in his boot-cut Levis. He took careful aim and swung for the tenderest part of Mark's defenseless bottom.

CRACK! Went the meter stick against Mark's ass. A searing pain shot though his buttocks, and he bit his lip. CRACK! CRACK! Mark shut his eyes tight. By the tenth stroke, tears had started down his lightly freckled face. By the fifteenth, his feet were dancing on the carpet. By the twentieth stroke, Mark was about to cry.

"All right, Mark," Clayton said. "Stand up." Mark stood up and turned around, rubbing his bottom. He started to pick up his shoes.

"Wait a minute," Clayton said, from over by the window. He was doing something to the blinds. "It's not over yet."

"But ..."

"I said 'till you've learned your lesson'."

"But I have ....," Mark said. His ass really hurt. He really didn't want any more, and, to his horror, his _d_i_c_k_ was getting hard. It was obvious in the thin jumpsuit. Clayton walked around the couch again. He had one of those long plastic rods that are used to adjust mini-blinds in his hands.

"Just the thing," he said. "My Momma used to get us to cut a switch from the willow tree by the creek. Boy, did it sting. Reckon this will sting a little, too. Unless, you want me to call Johnson."

"No," Mark sighed. Clayton grasped the zipper of his jumpsuit and pulled it all the way down. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Get those down, and bend over. Now, boy, or it will be a lot worse!"

Mark complied. The jumpsuit fell to his ankles. Clayton couldn't help but notice the boner in the boy's white Calvin Klein briefs. He grinned, as Mark bent over the sofa back again. His briefs were tight, and outlined a slender, but beautifully shaped young ass. Dennis Clayton had a raging boner, now.

Mark heard the whistle of the plastic rod an instant before it cracked across his cotton-covered butt. It felt like a red-hot knife had slashed across his buttocks! He started to gasp, when the second one made contact, just below the first. A startled yelp escaped from his mouth, and his legs kicked up. By the fourth and fifth stroke, tears were pouring down his face and he was fighting not to bawl out loud. He tried tensing his butt, but it hurt worse. He wriggled and his back arched, and he began to sob, quietly.

Clayton striped poor Marks bottom from just below the waist to just below the waistband of his briefs. The last three strokes he placed high on Mark's legs, watching the boy jump, muscles quivering, as they fell.

"All right," he finally said. "Turn around." Mark did, obediently. His eyes were red and he was sniffling. His hands rubbed his poor, abused butt, trying vainly to reduce the fiery pain. The boy's _c_o_c_k_ stood straight out against his white briefs.

"Don't move," Clayton said. He pulled his desk chair into the center of the room: there was a reason why he had ordered on without arms. Then he opened the top left drawer of the desk and took out the old oaken hairbrush. Just touching it made his already throbbing _c_o_c_k_ even stiffer, as he remembered how it had felt on his young backside, so many times, so long ago. He walked to the chair and sat down, then motioned Mark forwards. Mark shuffled to the chair, the jumpsuit still around his ankles. His brown eyes widened when he saw what Dennis Clayton held in his hand.

"Oh, no ..." Mark whimpered. "Please, Mr. Clayton! I've learned my lesson! Please ..."

"I'll say when you've learned enough," Clayton replied. He could clearly see a wet spot where Mark's straining _c_o_c_k_ tented his briefs. He grabbed Mark's left elbow and pulled him over his knees, pulling the boy far over, so that his hands touched the carpet. Then he put his fingers under the teenager's waistband, and tugged his underpants down to his knees, feeling the boys hard _c_o_c_k_ slip out and press against his denim-covered thigh.

"Nooooooo ....." Mark whimpered. "Not my bare bottom! Please! Not bare!"

Dennis had to admit he'd done a good job: every inch of the boy's tight little butt-cheeks was covered with angry pink stripes and red welts. The welts from the blind rod were slightly raised and painful-looking. But this boy wasn't broken yet, and he knew it. Dennis had broken horses as a boy, and his share of young brats since then: he knew that Mark wasn't quite at his limit. He drew back the hairbrush and brought it down on Mark's right cheek with a WHAP! It left an angry red oval, and Mark howled. He brought it back down on the left ... WHAP!

How poor Mark wriggled and struggled! His legs kicked wildly and he tried to reach back, but Clayton grabbed his wrist and twisted it. The hairbrush turned Mark's bottom into a molten lake of fire! Every blow felt as though a searing flame had been applied to his tortured flesh. He howled and sobbed in honest pain, tears raining down his forehead, into his soft brown hair. At the same time, the rhythmic slapping of his butt by the merciless hairbrush rocked him forwards against the stiff, new denim of Clayton's Levi's. Mark couldn't believe it! Just as he was getting the worst ass-beating of his young life, he was getting closer and closer to what felt like it was going to be the most incredible orgasm he had ever had!

"Owwww! Oh! Owwwoooooo!" Mark wailed, as the hairbrush found the last few relatively untouched areas of his posterior and set them ablaze, too. All the time, his throbbing, tingling _c_o_c_k_ scraped against Clayton's jeans until, just as he thought his ass could stand no more, his tortured organ exploded, blasting jet after jet of cum, all over Clayton's Levi's and the leather chair.

"Oh, God! Ohhhhhh ...." Mark screamed, going limp over Clayton's lap. Dennis Clayton grinned and put the hairbrush down. Then he began to tenderly massage Mark's swollen butt, while the boy groaned in pain and ecstasy. After a few minutes, he let Mark get up. Mark stood, legs shaking a little, eyes red from crying.

"Look at the mess you made!" Clayton said, pointing to the jism on his jeans and the chair.

"I'm sorry, sir," Mark said, meekly.

"You can clean it up later," Dennis Clayton said, unzipping his jeans. He pushed them down to his ankles, then let his own 8" boner pop out of his red silk boxers. Without being told, Mark knelt and began to suck him off. It didn't take long for Dennis to reach a wild and satisfying climax.

A little while later, Mark was stretched out, naked, on a beach towel, in front of the window, as the first light began to break in the East. He moaned softly as Dennis expertly massaged his still-crimson bottom with cool skin cream.

"You know, Mark?" Dennis said. "I think you have talent. I think you should quit your job and come to work for me at Clayton Enterprises. We can work your schedule around school, until you graduate, and then, well, I'm sure we can find a position for you."

"Mmmmmm," Mark said, his butt feeling much, much better.

And Mark did just that. And, sure enough, when he graduated, he got a good-paying job at Clayton Enterprises, working right under the boss. Still, Mark is a high-spirited young man, with a streak of mischief in him. Every once in a while, like maybe, twice a week, he winds up working late, and then, as some of his fellow workers have noticed, he prefers to stand up for most of the next day.

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