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"Leenk-un," He said it slowly, showing his gleaming white teeth as he enunciated, scrunching his large nose as though deciding if it really should be my name or not. It made his trimmed, black beard form a square around his full, reddish-brown lips. "Lincoln, why the second L? You don't pronounce it do you? English is so wasteful with letters... Lincoln Karsten, a very blonde boy name. Why were you named after a president?" He lifted his eyes from my wrinkled, hand-written resume to meet my gaze momentarily to indicate I should respond.

I cleared my throat. "I don't know, sir. I could ask my father if you like."

He waved a dismissive hand towards me with a smile to indicate he was joking and went back to reading the paper I had painstakingly written with a ruler and my best handwriting. I fidgeted with my new shirt. I had no interview clothes.

---

My friend Bridget had found this royal blue, barely worn polo from the donation pile at the thrift store on main street. She saved it for me. It fit a little snuggly on my small, but somewhat muscular frame. Rarely, one of our town's better families threw out stuff they had purchased rather than drive back down into Los Angeles to return it. In my town, you either got your clothes from there or the Walmart if you could afford it. Leaving town took gas and ambition, something most families in our poor little mountain town lacked.

---

"You've played baseball since you were a k**. Are you any good, little president?" He looked up at me with a smirk, again mocking my name somewhat.

---

I'd never been around Arab people. It was something strange to me. His voice; deep, thoughtful, but also relaxed and completely in power. It was an accent I'd never heard and it had a lulling rhythm to it that made me sleepy. He was easy enough to understand, comfortable with English tones and phrasing. But something about it let me know he was a man used to people complying to whatever he willed. He pronounced my name like it was exotic to the taste, but bitter going down.

He was handsome enough but foreign, dark, and I had a hard time reading his expressions. He was a hulk of a man probably brought on through hard work with expensive gym equipment rather than actual sports or labor. His coffee colored face showed flawless skin and a powerful jaw. Large, almost black eyes peered into me from below heavy black eyebrows. A prominent brown nose, though large, added an air of importance to him. It suited him and accentuated his looks. His lips, reddish-brown, were framed by a neatly trimmed black beard and opened to perfect white teeth. For all his expensive trappings and trimmed beard, he still very much had an air of youth to him. He couldn't have been that much older than I am.

"Yes... yes sir. We won north county pennant my Junior and Senior years," I smiled as my chest puffed out, excited to talk about something where I excelled. I pushed back my blonde hair. My sister had cut it this morning. It was shaved on the sides and had about two inches on top. His was a similar cut, but he had it slicked back with gel. I thought I noticed it thinning slightly on top. I smiled to myself.

His office was on the top floor in downtown LA. This wasn't a place I'd ever been. Glass, steel, corporate, I was far from home.

I'd awoken at 5 this morning and my family helped me get ready. Getting this internship would mean a new life for me, far from anything I'd ever known. After my haircut, I'd showered and put on the tight, new-to-me polo shirt tucked into khaki pants a size too small. I'd made a PB&J for the trip and piled into my dad's old truck.

He'd driven me all the way down to Valencia to catch the metrolink. I knew he'd spent the last of his gas money to get me there and I'd spent the ten dollars I had saved from my tips at the local cafe to get train fare into the city.

"Do your best, take what you are offered. Be polite and follow orders. This is your chance to get out of here," he had signed to me before I got on the train. He's deaf, so is my sister. It runs in my family, but I ended up with perfect hearing.

"You are 17?," he raised an eyebrow at me, a look of disappointment crossed his face.

"No sir, that's my birthdate on there. Today is the 17th, I'm 18. I can start work with you whenever you like," I quickly inserted. I sat up in my chair, subconsciously trying to look larger, older, important.

"Your birthday, your 18th. No party? No wild first night of manhood?" He was smiling with confusion.

"No sir, this interview is everything to me, my future. My family made a cake for me last night," I said with a smile and licked my lip, still tasting the fresh strawberry icing.

"And you have a passport?" He asked.

"Yes sir, my father takes scrap metal back and forth from Mexico sometimes. I go with him to translate and haul things," I assured and raised an arm to flex the bicep as proof of my lugging ability.

He went through a million other questions, wanted me to prove my ability in sign language. It didn't seem strange though since the internship came with payment for signed interpretations. He even put me on facetime with some blonde man who signed back and forth with me for a few minutes before giving him a smile and the Ok on my skills. He was very kind and had asked me about my family. He signed that the job would take me far from home and far from my comfort zone.

It was going really well. I turned back when the facetime man hung up and he told me all about the internship. I would work as his business assistant and take college classes online. I would do sign language interpretations when he needed it and his company would pay for my schooling. He even offered a place to live including clothes and food. It was the chance of a lifetime.

Finally he set down my resume and adjusted his blue, silk tie. Folding his hands in front of him on the desktop, he leaned towards me.

"And what of your morals? What should I know about Lincoln?" he asked flatly with a slight insinuation that I was somehow lacking, hiding something disgusting.

"I..." I stammered, at a loss. "I don't do d**gs. I do have a girlfriend. We dated through high school. She was my cheerleader. She's good though and wants to wait until we can go to college and get married. But... well you know. I did mess around with a few other girls. But, If you give me this chance. I promise I will follow whatever rules or customs your um, your people follow. I'll try any food, really I'm not picky. Bugs, dogs, whatever. Oh wait, that was offensive. Sorry, I..."

"Very well!" he cut me off, seeming amused at my floundering, "And no tattoos, correct?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, sir, never," I was feeling uncomfortable.

"You don't sound very convincing. Stand up," It was definitely an order, not an invitation. I got to my feet. He stood too and came around the desk.

It was the first time I had seen him on his feet. He was quite impressive. He was nearly my same height, maybe an inch shorter. But he was larger, stronger, and seemed to relish the confident power he exuded as he strode towards me. His expensive blue button-up shirt was filled with a muscular chest and arms. From behind the desk he seemed harmless, up close it was a different story. His strong cologne hit my nose and gave my allergies a stir.

He stared me down for a minute and then straightened his back, seeming a little taken aback that there was even a millimeter difference in our heights.

"Take your shirt and pants off, have a seat on the table," he pointed towards an actual table with chairs that was over in the corner framed by the floor to ceiling windows. He turned away from me, pulling what looked like a black medical bag from the floor behind his desk.

"I... uh. What?" I stammered and he turned back to me with a look of annoyance.

"Clothes," he said very slowly with a look of disdain. "Clothes, come, off. You, sit, table. I, check, you, for, health, so, I, don't, hire, a, sick, assistant." He enunciated each word like he was talking to his dog.

I watched him roll up his sleeves and take a stethoscope from his bag. He seemed legit but it still felt odd. I heard my dad's signs in my head telling me to do my best and take whatever was offered. I don't think he knew this was going to be part of things.

I slipped off the polo, showing my bare, pale chest crowned by small sharp nipples. I had muscles, definition, but no hair to show for it. My khakis came off next. They were tight on me and they pulled my boxers down with them over my proud ass. I stumbled against his desk as I tried to pull them back up. My cock, soft but proud dangled out and I stuffed it back in the waistband. I caught his eyes as I raised my head, he just shrugged.

"Your clothes don't seem to fit. Do you have some reason why things need to be so tight? Who are you showing off for?" He cracked a smile.

I folded my polo neatly on the chair where I'd sat and did the same with my pants. I placed my shoes under the chair and stood there in black socks and my old, worn, red flannel boxers.

"I uh, they were what I could afford for the interview." I said feeling humility hover over me like a threatening cloud. I lowered my eyes to look at his tie. It was hard to meet his gaze standing there in his office on display. I felt my cheeks blush.

"On the table then," he instructed. He followed me over to the table where a hot ray of sunshine splashed across me, warming my bare skin in his cold office. I sat up and scooted back. He started to touch me freely, listening to my chest and then my back. His hands squeezed my muscles to check their firmness. My cock started to twitch in my boxers at his touch. It was confused as no one had explored me like this before. I tried to calm it.

I'd worked hard to erase the baby fat of my youth. Sports and work had left me with something that impressed the other players in the locker room. I'd felt their eyes on me too, but theirs held jealous, his held interested amusement. I felt a mix of humility and pride as he felt around to confirm this.

As he leaned in close, his cheek near my nose, I got another full whiff of his cologne. I hoped I'd get used to it.

He had me cough and he took my blood pressure and felt around my throat and looked in my ears and all that stuff doctors do, only he was a businessman.

Again, he seemed amused by my body. I'm pretty proud of it. I'm not mega muscle like he seemed to be, but my life is a workout; running, lifting, batting, pitching. I just kept staring ahead as he explored. He flicked at my nipples and squeezed my pecs. I knew he must have had a medical reason, but it made my cock grow full in my boxers. He seemed to ignore this, but I kept a hand in my lap to cover.

"You aren't used to being touched?" he asked though it was more of a statement.

"Not by a dude, no," I admitted honestly. I'd had my pecs squeezed by girls, felt soft hair against my nipples when my girlfriend would go as far as she could and just "nap" with me. It was a different feeling and I was annoyed at how my body reacted to it.

I watched the clock on the wall hit 1pm. I'd been there over an hour, that had to be a good sign. I knew he wanted to hire me. I was jumping through all of his little hoops.

"Not bad, you obviously don't smoke and your signs are all nice. Any health concerns?" he asked.

"Just a few allergies, nothing much, sir," I lied and thought of the Epi-pen I kept in my backpack in case I ever met a bee. I hadn't needed it in years, but my father spent good money replacing it every time it came within a month of expiration. I didn't want to seem defective.

"I'll need to measure you, the job comes with clothes, proper fitting clothes. I hope your body can handle them," he mocked my interview clothes as though I had chosen them willingly.

He pulled out a measuring tape next and had me stand. He weighed me and commented that I needed to bulk up and he would have to train me hard. He measured my chest, arms, biceps, making little notes on his phone. He went for my hips, waist, legs, inseam, getting dangerously close to my cock. I felt myself get hard again as he brushed my sensitive thigh. I jumped back a little. He looked annoyed by that.

"Stand still, why so squirmy?" He barked.

"Sorry sir, I'm ticklish there," I said and covered my growing erection.

"Ticklish? Still just a boy, little president," he laughed and rubbed his hand firmly but slowly up my thigh again. It sent a shiver through my body and I moved my hand to stop him. But then I realized my tent was jutting up near his face.

"I, oh God. I'm so sorry! It never does that, I swear!" My face blushed and I stepped back away from him and covered myself. I cursed myself for not having better control.

"You are still just a boy," he confirmed, "You cannot yet control it. It is nothing to be embarrassed about, or is it? I know white boys are on the smaller end of the international spectrum, but it can't be that small, right?"

"I am quite blessed, thank you. I have seen the competition in many locker rooms and I have no fears there," I beamed proudly but reminded myself not to overdo it.

"Of course," he said with a mocking tone and smiled to himself. He stepped back and held his phone up, "now some pictures for the stylist," he assured.

"Oh uh, do we have to, sir? I feel kinda weird about it," I hugged my chest awkwardly, feeling a little too on display here.

"Am I wasting my time here, Lincoln? Did you want a future here with my business or not, little president? I'm not hiring someone who questions my authority, am I?" he said flatly.

"How do you want me to stand, sir?" I straightened up and swallowed my pride. I wasn't about to go back to my father empty handed, bringing back the burden of my failure to them.

He took pictures of me standing tall, arching my back, raising my arms. It was an odd little photo shoot. And then he stopped and swiped thoughtfully through them on his phone.

"No, no, it's these hideous old boxers. They make your body look misshapen. Why would you wear something so unflattering? They need to go, lose them," he barked.

"Uh," I shifted uncomfortably, looking in all directions like somehow movement would solve this. "I can't. That's not... no... sir."

He laughed, "You are worried about getting turned on by being naked in front of a real man."

"No, I'm not gay. I mean there's nothing wrong with gay people, but I... no sir. I'm not gay," I was blushing like a tomato farm and suddenly covering myself. I felt a heavy air of shame settle over me like a noose.

"This job requires you to do as you're told. If you can not do that then I suggest you stop wasting my time. This is twice in the same assignment you have questioned me and the job hasn't even been offered to you," he said harshly and looked stung at my reluctance to comply with his orders twice now.

"I'm not gay," I said again more to myself than to him and went towards my clothes. This was turning out to not be worth it at all. I was here for a job, a future. He was offering me a porn shoot filled with humiliation. I may be a jock, but I'm not a dumb one.

His words stopped me as I reached for my shirt, "Your family sc****s by. I investigated your situation in considering you for this internship. You could send home only half of your paycheck from working for me and they would live like royalty here. Or you could leave now and go back to scr****g alongside them. It's a hard life, but it is one to which you are accustomed. It's your choice, little president."

I clicked my tongue against my teeth. Did I hear right? Was he offering to provide for us? Would my dad be able to rest after so many years of working every odd job he could find to eek out a life for us? Wasn't a little of my pride worth it to make everything better for my family? I sighed and bit my lip. "Fuck," I whispered to myself. I'd do it for them.

I didn't look back at him. I pushed my boxers to the floor and stepped out of them. My cock, normally about three inches when soft, shriveled a little at the thought of what I was preparing to do.

I went back to the sunlight, spread my feet apart and looked right into the lens of his phone. I clasped my hands behind my butt as he snapped away with his phone making little clicking noises. My eyes wandered down to his pants, but they had been pretty filled out before this, so I couldn't really tell on what level he was enjoying this.

"Yes, quite impressive," he smirked sarcastically at my soft cock. This wasn't what it normally looked like when out around others. After a win it was stuffed like a horse. When I was in the backseat with whatever girl wanted to thank me for that win, it was at full mast.

"It's... normally," the words weren't coming out well, "forget it."

"It's ok. Don't worry your little pride. These are just for clothes selection. Backside now," he said and I turned, put my hands on the table as he snapped away at my proud, hard muscled, white butt. And then my dick turned on me like a cold traitor. It started to rise up against the touch of the expensive smooth wood table. Maybe it was being under the microscope of insane wealth and power this man so confidently possessed.

"Your ass is well worked," he stated.

"I... what does that mean?" I turned a head behind me, shifting my weight and bouncing my hard, muscled glutes.

"It's quite large, you must do a heavy squat routine," He commented and I swear I saw his tongue trace across his lips.

"No sir, never in my life. Just a lot of sports and lifting," I said honestly and turned back to the table with a smirk.

"Well," he said and I heard his voice crack and then regain it's position, "No need to spread your legs so widely. Your little pink bud is on display."

I quickly brought my knees together, but I thought I heard the click of his phone camera.

"That should be good enough for now." I pushed off the table still thinking about his eyes on my ass. I forgot that my cock was rock hard until I saw his eyes appraise it as I turned towards my clothes.

"Not bad, for a white boy. I'm sure you're quite the prize amongst your mates," he laughed sarcastically and set his phone down on the desk as I turned back to face him.

I turned around at him with flared nostrils and fuming eyes. "Yes... Sir." I barked a little too harshly, this was a job interview after all. I tempered my tone to him, "Sorry, I mean yes sir, yes I am."

"I hurt your pride with the photos, but I proved that you can take orders. They are necessary for a proper wardrobe which you obviously lack. If you are here to learn how to run a company such as this," he spread a hand towards the window to remind me how high up we are and how much of his company was below us, "Then you must first learn to follow orders."

"Yes, yes sir," my face softened a little. I had met his expectations. Someday I would exceed them.

"My stylist will have clothes for you tomorrow. You will return by 10 AM. Now go home and be with your family for one last night. Tomorrow your world explodes." He turned and went to his desk as I put my clothes back on. I was tying my shoes when he came back over and handed me an envelope.

"You will pack one SMALL bag and leave the rest behind. I don't want you lugging around much when you are traveling with me. You will have enough to handle carrying my things. Do you need a ride home?" he asked, "I can send a driver."

"No sir. I can take the train home," I said. I shoved the fat envelope into my backpack and went back to stand in front of him. I shook his hand and stared him in the chin. I couldn't look him in the eyes after what we had just experienced, what I had just done.


It was a hot 12 block walk back to Union Station from his office. I was in uncomfortable shoes and I really needed a shower. My mind reeled with what had happened. I couldn't go back there. I had made such an ass of myself and let him control me. That wasn't me. No one had ever done that to me. I was always the star, the popular k** in our little town. I led the team, coached other k**s. No one ever made me do things I didn't want to do, things I knew were wrong.

I fished my ticket out of my backpack and the envelope fell to the ground. I picked it up and shoved it back in my backpack. I thought it was probably just some papers, a job description, whatever he wanted me to know about the internship and signing job.

I settled into the seat on the train which was nearly empty, too early for rush hour commuters. I'd have to call my dad, get him to pick me up at the station. I went for my cellphone to text him that I would be there in an hour. That's when I decided to look at the envelope.

The envelope was his business stationery. It had his name and an address in New York City. "Wow," I thought to myself. I would be going to New York and maybe London and who knows where else. My heart perked up at that. I hadn't thought of that when he asked me to undress. "No," I shook my head. I am not some prostitute.

But then I thought, "Well he did just ask me to get naked so he could take pictures for his stylist." I'd gotten hard on my own. He didn't ask me to. He also didn't try to touch me. He didn't stare at me like some perv. Maybe I really had misread the whole thing.

"Stupid Lincoln," I whispered to myself. I was the one who mentioned the gay thing. I totally embarrassed myself by misreading the situation. I'd promised to go with whatever his cultural norms were and here I was acting like some hick from the sticks the second he asks me to go outside my comfort zone.

"Fuck," I whispered and checked around me to see no one had heard my cursing. And he still wanted to give me a second chance. He'd even offered to take care of my family's financial situation. He hadn't asked anything dirty of me. I was so stupid. I slapped the envelope against my forehead and the seal broke. A few bills fell out, hundreds.

"Holy Shit!" I exclaimed, this time attracting a disapproving look from an old lady in the other aisle. "Sorry ma'am!" She grunted at me and went back to her novel.

I pried open the envelope and tried to discreetly count the bills. There were twenty crisp bills in there. They couldn't be real. I didn't even know what a hundred dollar bill looked like. Paired with the five that had fallen into my lap that made $2,500. I looked around again, this time checking for thieves. I stuffed the envelope back down into my backpack so I could look at it more discreetly. Next to the hundreds was a piece of paper.

"Happy birthday, Lincoln. Tomorrow your world explodes," it read. Below it was his signature in thick, black ink that looped in eloquent cursive, "Samir Mohammed Hamad."

********

"No way," my dad said when I got into his truck and signed all that had happened. "That just doesn't sound right."

"It is, dad," I assured him. "He wants me to start right away and..." I didn't know how to explain it honestly. It really didn't even make sense to me.

So I lied, "He said they are desperate for people who can interpret sign language. Apparently it's a big deal in the middle east." I felt a stab at my heart for lying to my father and even worse for doing it so easily.

"Well thank God I'm deaf! 45 years later it finally paid off!" he signed with a laugh. I saw a tear form at the corner of his eyes. "I knew you would be ok. I knew you would make me proud. I knew you were the one I wouldn't have to worry about." He sniffed back a few tears. I don't think I'd seen him cry in years.

"Aww dad, no don't cry. We're going to be ok. I'm going to make sure you don't have to break your back trying to give us a nice life. This money is for you. We can pay off bills and the rent for the trailer. Maybe we can get a nicer one! He says I will make a lot of money and he can have some sent to you each month." I was signing a mile a minute as we sat there in the station's commuter lot.

We went and filled my dad's truck with gas. I don't think the gauge needle remembered how to go that far. He insisted that we stop somewhere before heading back up into the mountains.

"It's your birthday, Link," he signed, "You need to buy something for yourself. Some new clothes maybe." He was so proud of me.

We went to a department store in the mall before leaving Valencia. I picked out two new shirts. One was a blue v-neck shirt with white stripes across the chest. It fit me snugly, showed off the pecs I had worked hard on at the school gym this spring. The other was more for business. It was a nice button up with almost the same blue color as the one Mr. Hamad had worn. It certainly wasn't as expensive.

I got a pair of jeans that were the right size and then I picked out two new pairs of flannel boxers. I knew I would torch the old ones when I got home. I'd spent enough but my dad insisted that I also get shoes. I was just going to look to make him happy, but I found a nice pair of blue deck shoes. They would go with the two shirts I had bought.

We stopped at the grocery store and stocked up on the way home. I made sure my dad had a lot of steak and good vegetables for meals for the week. My sister would flip out when she saw it all. I was a man now, taking care of my family. It was a pride I hadn't felt before. It filled my chest and strained my muscles.

**********

The next morning everyone got up early and went with me to the train station. Dad, my sister, two older brothers, we all piled into dad's truck to see me off. I started to feel uncomfortable at my sudden rise within the family. I was sure my brothers were brewing resentment. I pushed that thought out of my head though. Making sure they would not have to worry anymore was worth it all. It was worth everything.

I took the train back down to Los Angeles. I had on my new shoes and jeans with the button-up shirt. The other shirt and the other pair of new boxers was in my small duffle bag. I had taken a small plastic photo album and my dodgers cap and pajamas. I'd gelled my blonde hair up in spikes. It wouldn't slick back like Mr. Hamad's hair. That took training.

I was outside his office 15 minutes early and checked in with his secretary. He wasn't in yet, she told me. I took a seat in the waiting room by the window.

Los Angeles laid out before me like a slab of concrete punctuated by a mismatch of architectural hits and misses. I'd never seen it like this. We took a field trip once a year in school. I'd gone to the tarpits, the getty, the zoo. In High School I was on the math team and we once went to a school up in the hills for a competition. It proved we were idiots, but we did get a participation prize and free pizza.

And now here I was, staring over it like my kingdom. I wanted to rule it some day. I would work hard here. I would do whatever weird cultural thing he wanted and this would be mine. someday...

"You are early, you listened," a surprised voice said from behind me, interrupting my fantasy. I turned to see Mr Hamad standing over me. He had on a red button-up shirt with a matching silk tie and nice pants.

"Yes sir, I am here and waiting and thank you so much for my gift, I..." I started.

"Your gift?" he stated with amusement. "You will earn that, little president. You will earn what is given to you, for better or worse."

"Yes, yes sir. I definitely," I scrambled to my feet. He shoved a black leather workcase into my chest. I grabbed my duffel bag and scrambled behind him to his office. I made a mental note to stop blubbering like an idiot around him. It definitely didn't build confidence.

He didn't comment on my outfit or ask me to get naked. I guess that was a good sign. He walked me through his filing system and started to explain, impatiently, what his business was about.

His secretary came in and set a delivered box on the edge of his desk.

"Oh, that will be your laptop, go ahead and set it up." he said to me, "I needed a break anyways. I'll be back in 5."

I opened the box to find a shiny new laptop with an apple on it. He had said it was mine. I'd never had anything so nice. I tried my best to walk through the setup before he came back, but I was still finishing the updates.

He returned with a blonde man in an impressive suit trailing behind him.

"Oh," Mr. Hamad said as though he'd forgotten he'd hired me. "This is your replacement," he said to the man with him while pointing a finger towards me.

"Oh,. Hi. I'm Lincoln," I went and offered him my hand. He was fit but slight, his fancy suit made him look a little gay. When he opened his mouth, his tone confirmed his sexuality.

"He is adorable! Little Ken doll. He's awfully young though, but you always did like that," he said to Mr. Hamad without shaking my hand. He spoke about me like I was a dog who wouldn't understand. "I'm Caleb," he said as though I needed to write it down.

"Pleased to meet you, Caleb. You were Mr. Hamad's old assistant?" I asked with a smile.

"Old? I'm 25," his eyes burned into me and I heard Mr. Hamad give a genuine laugh as he went to his desk.

"Oh uh... No, I... I meant former. Sorry, former, not old. Definitely not old sir, um Caleb," I fumbled.

"Oh yes," Mr. Hamad called over, "I forgot to mention that Lincoln tends to blubber on with words. Add that to my list of things to fix about him."

"I was NEVER," Caleb punctuated the last word and then repeated it, "NEVER Mr. Hamad's assistant. I was his cub. You will learn the difference. Now I am in charge of his California operations. You will get used to taking orders from me when you are in town."

"Yes sir, I will. Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," I started.

"You see? He blubbers," Mr. Hamad called from behind me to interrupt my awkward word stream.

"I do," I said and then stopped myself.

That got a laugh and an adoring smile from Caleb who was a good six inches shorter than me. "He's cute, Samir, keep him close or I might steal him." Caleb put his hand on my shoulder and let it slide down my right arm. He squeezed my bicep as he spoke. I blushed, hoping Mr. Hamad would rescue me from the gay. But I didn't move or flinch at his touch. I was determined to not fuck things up like I had done yesterday.

"Oh," Caleb said as he turned to leave and then turned back to me. He raised his hands and signed to me, "I almost forgot, you sign, right?"

"Yes, it was my first language," I signed back excitedly. "I signed with the guy on facetime yesterday during my interview." I smiled. For some reason, knowing he signed created an instant friendship between us. I felt a big grin spreading across my face.

"That was Emerson. You will want to keep him happy. He is key to keeping Samir happy. Don't forget that when you meet him," Caleb signed and then leaned up to kiss my cheek.

"Thank you. Any tips you have. I can use them," I signed back and then Caleb left.

I went back to setting up the beautiful new laptop Mr. Hamad had given me. He had me sync the calendar to his and it instantly filled with a billion appointments and reminders.

"That is one of your jobs, keep me going," he said and then set me up with email and everything else I would need.

By the time we finished my stomach started to growl. I hadn't packed a sandwich today, but I'd kept twenty dollars of the money he had given me. The rest was for my family.

"Lunch, you need lunch," he said as I was knelt next to his chair helping him adjust a picture on his computer of some property he was purchasing. "We can get lunch at the hotel and drop off your things. We'll finish the workday there. Come!"

He stood and I went for my duffel bag and then his work case but he stopped me and said I needed to get his laptop as well as my own. I loaded his into his work case and then packed up mine in the new carrier that came with it. I was carrying a ton now, but I kept up with him as we made our way to the elevators.

"Wow, nice car, sir," I exclaimed when we got down to the parking garage and he opened the trunk of a shiny new silver mercedes sports coupe."Would you like me to drive you?" I asked desperate for the chance to feel it move.

"No, that's quite alright. It's a rental, my cars at home can actually perform." He said nonchalantly as I loaded his things into the trunk. I packed them nicely and closed the trunk gently before following him. He opened the passenger side door for me and I slid into slick leather seats that held me like an angel's cloud. "Seatbelt!" he barked, interrupting my pleasure moment, before closing my door.

*******

His hotel was close to West Hollywood, a towering glass structure that looked brand new. I struggled again with our work bags and my clothes. He seemed amused, but offered no help.

We ate in his top floor suite at a circular glass table by the window after he changed into a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt. I was getting used to seeing LA from high perches.

"Caleb is very nice! I'm sure with the training you gave him as your intern that he will be very successful with your operations here," I complimented before shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth.

"No," he laughed, "Caleb is a failure at business but I needed something to keep him busy and distracted from spending my money."

"Your money, sir? Why would he spend what he does not earn?"

"Because, little president, I did not discipline him properly. I gave in to his whining. I let him get away with disrespect and laziness. I was young and... I will not make the same mistake with you," he said it as though Caleb was more than just an assistant.

"Definitely sir! I am ready to learn what you have to teach me. I can take orders well. I was going to join the army if this didn't work out!" I assured with a smile. It earned a nod from him.

*****

After lunch, Mr. Hamad left to workout. He had me enter sets of numbers into spreadsheets while he was gone. There was no music or tv on to distract me and so I finished before he returned. I hoped he would be proud.

I looked around the hotel suite. There was a bar, a living room, the small dining area where we had just eaten and the. A door which I presumed led to the bedroom.

I needed to pee and didn't see a bathroom. It must be in the bedroom. I started to go in but he had it locked. I danced around trying to distract myself.

After what felt like an eternity, a very sweaty man returned to his suite. I bounced as he entered, "please sir, the restroom!" I begged.

He looked annoyed and took a sip from his water bottle. "And the work? Show me first," he stayed by the bar indicating I should bring the computer to him.

I brought it to him and opened it. I was crossing my legs and feeling a pain in my stomach. He scrolled through the sheets and pretended to find little mistakes but I saw the smile on his lips. He enjoyed making me wait.

"Please please!" I begged but he held up a finger to silence me.

Finally, he fished a key from his pocket and let me into the bedroom. The bathroom was on the other side. I ran over and was about to close the door when his strong hand leaned against it.

"I have needs as well," he said and followed me inside. I didn't have the power to argue so I raced to the toilet and pushed the seat up. I let go of a heavy stream as soon as I got my cock out. My dick was rock hard so I had trouble keeping it pointed in the bowl. I wasn't sure if that was from my severe need to piss, or from being watched.

"Keep it in the bowl, does the little president need a lesson on that as well?" I heard his voice dangerously close behind me. I smelled his sweat as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. It was the heavy musk of a grown man of power. In all of my years in high school locker rooms, nothing else compared. It knocked me a bit, but I couldn't help taking a deep breath.

"Oh!" I jumped a little and splashed some on the floor. "I'll clean it, sorry sir."

"Yes, you will. Now get out, I need to shower before I go meet Caleb for drinks." He ordered.

I finished and tucked myself away. I turned to see his naked backside as he stepped into the glass shower. His body was pure steel, muscles everywhere they should be on a man of his status. I found myself feeling jealous. I had a long way to go to get to his size. I washed my hands and tried to force myself not to watch his silhouette in the foggy glass door. I saw him stretch this way and that, soaping his shadowy body. I was fascinated. I had never seen a muscle mass like that up close or naked. It was a work of art, a work of determination.

"Out, Lincoln. Leave or join me," he called from behind the glass to let me know my admiration, fascination were not unnoticed.

I felt like a complete pervert. What was I doing? I wasn't into guys like that. I had spent hours in the showers and locker rooms with my teammates and I never got turned on like that.

It was admiration, I suddenly named as though that excused everything. I just admired him and wanted to learn from him. Isn't there a level of sexual attraction we hold to all of our idols?

Pro baseball players who can knock it out of the park; The rocker whose hit I can't stop playing on repeat and banging my head to on the school bus; That skater whose videos I watch on youtube and try to practice the tricks he does. If they were in that shower with Mr. Hamad, I couldn't turn away either.

And then I got hard thinking about the four of them in the shower. What was wrong with me? I was turning into a total hornball around this guy.

*******

I was back in the living room working on the next assignment he had left for me when he came out of the bedroom. He had on a tight black t-shirt and red shorts that hugged his bottom. He slipped on red canvas deck shoes and came over to see what I was working on.

"I'm just going down to the bar on the corner to meet Caleb for drinks. You will finish working here and then tidy up in the bathroom. Collect my gym clothes and work clothes into the laundry bag. Housekeeping already came today so for the rest of the day the job is yours. I should be back for dinner. If not, I will have something sent up for you. Do not leave the suite unless you hear the fire alarm. I left clothes for you to change into when you finish work here. Be good, make me money."

He leaned over me with his cheek close to mine, both facing my laptop's screen. His arm was spread across my back, gripping the armrest on the other side of me. I felt his warmth and my body stirred. His cologne was back in full force, but now it seemed palatable, nice. He rubbed his hand through my hair to mess it up and then left.

I tried to finish the work. My mind kept thinking about seeing his naked body. "Admiration, not gay, Admiration, nothing queer about it," I kept telling myself, but my dick was hard just thinking about it.

I pushed away from the table and closed the laptop. Sitting here boned up wasn't going to get my work done. I knew it had been awhile since I'd jerked off. Maybe that would help.

I went to the bathroom and grabbed at my bulging jeans. I leaned against the marble counter and tried to picture a hot girl kneeling in front of me with a willing mouth. I'd shove it into her. Well, that had never actually happened to me, but I saw it once in a porn clip I'd watched at a friend's house.


Fuck yeah you want it," I said to the imagined girl sucking on me. I had pulled out my meat and was working it in my hands. I was rock hard with the need to release all the tension that had built up over the last few days. I unbuttoned my shirt and stepped out of my pants. I put my clothes on the dry part of the counter.

I turned back to lean against the counter, but the imagined girl had disappeared. I was back to reality as my eyes caught his heap of gym clothes on the floor near the shower. On top of it was a black jockstrap with red stripes. I'd never seen one that wasn't plain white. I wore them for baseball.

I don't know why, but I went to pick it up. His pungent musk hit my nose and watered my eyes as soon as my fingers touched it. I turned it over and looked inside the pouch. It was well worn and the pouch was stretched in the middle as though someone had used it for a sling shot.

I brought it closer to my face and pushed my boxers to the floor. I stepped forward wearing only my white socks and took a breath of his scent. I turned towards the mirror, saw my white, muscled frame. I felt a wave of guilt hit me. I had my dick in one hand and my boss's black jockstrap in the other sniffing it close to my face. My hair was still tousled from where he'd messed it playfully before leaving.

I closed my eyes again and stroked my cock. And then I fantasized about my girlfriend. It was nighttime and I had my dad's truck and drove her way up to the overlook over our small town. There she was, in my head, laid out on the blanket in the back of my dad's old pickup truck. She was naked and playing with her pussy and I was rock hard and ready to go at her.

Just as I was about to slip in though everything went to crazy, I felt a heavy hand rub across my chest and I looked down to see his coffee colored muscles. He pulled me back against his hair, rippled chest. I knew I couldn't put it in her like I wanted to. Instead he pushed me to the side. I was on my knees and watched as Mr. Hamad, naked and stroking a huge club that dangled between his legs, pushed into her. She was in pain but loving it. Her eyes looked over at me and seemed to say, "Lincoln could never get even close to filling me the way this man does."

I wasn't hurt by my hijacked fantasy. I was strangely turned on watching him in my head fill and stretch her. Something inside me told me she would never let me near her again now that she had been with him. She was begging for it as he pounded into her. I knew I wouldn't last long with that scene playing in my head.

I leaned back against the cold marble counter of the bathroom and fisted my hard inches until my body tensed, rocked, and sprayed all over my chest and the mirror. I collapsed back against the counter and pushed myself up to sit on it. My hard muscled ass felt warm against the cold marble. I leaned back against the mirror feeling my cum squish against my back form where I had sprayed on it.

My chest heaved as I regained my breath. I still held the jockstrap covering my mouth and nose. I breathed it deeply to get my air back, get his scent deep into my lungs. It was the hottest fucking fantasy I'd ever fisted to, ever dreamt of. Watching him take her like I never could was something now burned into my brain.

One last breath and I let it slip down to my chest. I was back to reality and feeling strange about my mind's choice in fantasies.

I scrambled off the counter and started wiping the cum with his jockstrap. It would go to the bottom of the laundry bag. I started picking up his other clothes as my cock dangled, softening but still dripping the last bits of cum.

I put everything into the laundry bag including my work clothes. He hadn't told me to, but I assumed they would need to be laundered as well. Maybe he'd want me to use the pay machine on my own? I'd ask him later.

And then my eyes caught sight of a pile of rocks covered in coffee-colored skin that appeared next to me. He looked confused and then amused and then slightly angry. I froze with a look of severe shame. Our eyes met in the mirror but then I lowered mine quickly. Maybe he hadn't seen this.

"You always tidy up in the nude? Maybe you like being naked in my presence?" he laughed and brought a hand to my shoulder.

"No sir, sorry. I thought you were still out. I was going to catch a quick shower before I got changed," I tried to shrug it off, look like things were innocent.

"Well then," he patted my bottom. "Off with you then," he said it with a wink that I couldn't quite figure the meaning of. "Come out for dinner when you're finished and don't daly around."

"Yes sir," I set down the bag of laundry and went to the shower. I cleaned myself up and then found he had set clothes for me on the marble counter. It was a small pair of light blue skimpy briefs. I tried to pull them up and they struggled with my ass and held my cock a little too firmly, but the material was very stretchy and soft. There was no tag to read what it was made of.

I turned to look at myself in the mirror. They certainly did a lot more for my ass than the boxers. I strained them to the limit but they had a lot of give. I laughed to myself thinking about what the girls would think of me in this. A little too gay for my taste.

I pulled on the small white shorts and blue tank top that matched my briefs. I saw myself when the neck of the tank cleared my eyes. I stood up proudly and smoothed it down over my muscles. It hugged my body and made me look like those guys in the fitness magazines in the coach's office. I turned and flexed for myself.

Mr. Hamad was waiting for me in the living room area. He told me to set the laundry bag out in the hall and he'd call down to the maid service to take them. We ate steak and talked about the job. He said we would only be in LA for another week before he took me home to his country.

"Where is that, sir?" I asked when he said its name was Satra.

"On the Persian Gulf, a kingdom of powerful lions like myself." He said. That brought on more questions, but he wasn't so inclined to talk.

I covered the dishes when we finished and set them outside the room. It was getting late and I gave a yawn and stretch when I came back inside and walked back to where he sat on the couch. He took the opportunity and reached up to scratch at my abs. I flinched and laughed.

"So ticklish," he mused to himself. "Let's get ready for bed."

I took the couch and slept in the clothes he'd laid out for me. He had a small, thin blanket and pillow set out next to it.

I had the craziest dreams that night. He was in them, going one by one through the girls I'd messed around with and showing them how "a real man" should take them. My dick was hard all night and I woke up with sticky warmth in my briefs.

As the morning sun laid warm rays across my cheek, I awoke and looked out the window. I stretched as I took in the awakening of Los Angeles. The zig-zag of concrete whirred to life below me. My world had indeed exploded.


"You're not trying, boy, struggle Lincoln, fight for yourself. You need to learn to defend yourself," He had his lips against my ear, encouraging me and occasionally pulling at my earlobes with his thick, Arab lips. It didn't feel sexual, more like adding humiliation of a man taking another by force. He was playing with me.

"Against who, sir? The only one attacking me is you," I struggled against his hold as he had me pinned back against his chest. I thought of kicking him but that wasn't ok to do to your boss and he was still my employer. I tried to do the move he showed me, but he was holding me so tightly against his chest. Yet he didn't seem strained in the least.

*********

Over the next few days, Mr. Hamad went through the list of everything I was responsible for with him. He was a very organized man and seemed to know exactly how he wanted things with his business and exactly what he expected of me. He was impatient and didn't like showing me how to do something again. I quickly learned to follow the patterns of his workday and I surprised him by how quickly I caught on to how he wanted things done. I was finishing work in less time than he expected and I was earning his respect.

Outside of work was the other Mr. Hamad. He was very chill and didn't try to crowd my space too much. I had some times to myself to go swim or hit the hotel gym while he finished up business calls. At times he was playful, especially when he had his nightly drink. He would do things to prove his strength with me. I'd never had any problems keeping up in competitions, but he lived for the element of surprise.

Sometimes he would pass by me and pull me into a hold. He had shown me a few times some of his wrestling moves. He loved wrestling. The competitive raw nature of using only your body with the intent to fully subdue the opponent. "You don't need balls, goals, hoops, weapons, or anything other than two bodies," he explained. "You have nothing else on which to rely than your strength and cunning." He liked wrestling, and so we wrestled.

I wasn't usually prepared for it and sometimes he would just fake me out. He would pass me slowly, give me an eye, and then laugh and pinch my nipple or clap my shoulder. One time he was pacing slowly behind me, talking on the phone in Arabic using his little headset. I was sitting at the table in his hotel room working on my laptop, entering his data.

Suddenly, I felt two hands reach from under my armpits and pull me backwards. The chair flipped over and I was on my feet suddenly. He pinned me back against his chest, his hands pulling my arms painfully back.

It was a hot afternoon and we had the sliding doors to the suite open to catch the Pacific breeze. We both had on tank tops and shorts. My smooth back was against his hairy, rippled chest. It was unexpectedly soft for chest hair. I don't have much, but for some reason I assumed his would be wiry like pubes. His chest was moderately covered with the thick, dark short hairs.

He was holding on to me, but didn't seem too disappointed when I couldn't move away. I was certainly trying, but that sweat and cologne smell hit me, the same smell I'd jerked off to with his jock on the bathroom floor. It hit my nose again and distracted me from my struggle.

"You're not trying, boy, struggle Lincoln, fight for yourself. You need to learn to defend yourself," He had his lips against my ear, encouraging me and occasionally pulling at my earlobes with his thick, Arab lips. It didn't feel sexual, more like humiliation. Like a hazing game some players did with younger teammates or with teammates they saw as lesser. He was playing with me. He was toying with me to find out where I fit on the totem. I wasn't too far down from him and I wanted to prove it.

"Against who, sir? The only one attacking me is you," I struggled against his hold as he had me pinned back against his chest. Using one hand to rub my tummy gently, again to show that he only really needed one hand to restrain me. I thought of kicking him but that wasn't ok to do to your boss and he was still my employer. I tried to do the move he showed me, but he was holding me so tightly against his chest. Yet he didn't seem strained in the least.

He pressed into my ass like you would do to a girl you expected to fuck. I swear I felt his bulge harden as he rocked against me a few times and laughed. That laugh is what did it.

I decided struggling wasn't going to get me out of this. If he wanted to toy with me and make me feel less than, well I could give it back to him. I relaxed back against his chest and went limp in his hold. He stopped rocking against me, but I still felt him hard. I reached a hand behind me and squeezed between his legs at the thick snake that went unexpectedly far to the right in his pants.

"Does that turn you on... sir?" I used my best gay impression.

It worked. He released me and spun me around to face him. I kept a straight face, widened my eyes as big as they would go and stared into his eyes with a slight, inquiring smirk.

He froze and the look in his eyes changed from playfulness to hunger. We stared into each other for a minute before I couldn't hold out any longer. I busted out laughing and backed away from his grip.

"Was that good, sir? I got away. I win?" I beamed at him and saw his coffee eyes sink for just a minute.

"That is not how men fight," He seemed disappointed for a minute and then shrugged it off. "If stroking cock is your only survival move, then you really shouldn't get into a fight outside of West Hollywood."

With that, he went to change and headed off to the gym, giving me another small pile of work to do while he worked out. Sometimes his trainer would walk him back up to the room and they would go into Mr. Hamad's hotel room in the suite to measure his progress or weigh him or something. All I knew was they spent some time while I finished work and then the guy would leave and Mr. Hamad would head to she shower.

I'd gotten into another routine the last few days, a filthy one. He always left his gym clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor crowned with his sweaty jock on top. I knew I shouldn't do it, but every night when it was my turn in the bathroom, I'd grab it and jerk off to it's scent.

The second to last day before we were to leave for Satra, his home country, Mr. Hamad came back from his workout with his trainer in tow. He introduced me to him as I was finishing up work. His name was Derek and he was huge, maybe 6'5' with big green eyes and tousled red hair.

This man was solid steel and had a slight California tan. He had on a thin, tight, grey tank top that hugged every contour of his physique and green camouflage workout tights that didn't camouflage his bulge. He gave me a disinterested nod but came to shake my hand. It turned into another competition of strength as he squeezed my hand too hard and I returned his grip.

For some reason he didn't like me. He towered over me and eyed me like yesterday's trash as he gripped my hand and pumped it harshly. I squeezed his hand back as hard as I could, I'm an alpha too We froze there for a minute staring each other down with a mutual "Nice to meet you, b*o."

I looked past him to Mr. Hamad who gave a smile and a shrug but then pulled Derek away from me with a firm, "That's enough, boy." Mr. Hamad's tone was low and soft, but it made Derek stand up straight and snap his eyes away from me and back towards the voice.

He backed away under Mr. Hamad's hand on his steel shoulder, but soon returned his eyes to stare me down as if to say, "I was here first." I shrugged it off, I wasn't sure what we were competing for. I turned my eyes back towards the work I had finished.

The two of them retreated to Mr. Hamad's room and he told me to join them. I followed behind, not sure what was to happen. He told me I had five minutes to get ready for bed and get out. I quickly grabbed my sleep clothes and went into the bathroom, brushing my teeth under the shower head to combine jobs.

I came back out in loose, jogging shorts. I skipped the t-shirt to show off my own proud muscles to Derek. I puffed up and flexed as I lumbered across the room. Mr. Hamad and Derek were going through a workout plan. Mr. Hamad was lounged back in a captain's chair and Derek was knelt beside him going through a folder. Mr. Hamad ignored me, but Derek looked up and I swear I heard him growl as I passed.

I gave him an odd look, but headed for the door.

"You can watch a little TV, but get to bed early, we have a full day tomorrow," Mr. Hamad said to me with a hand raised. Derek flashed annoyed green eyes at me and raised a middle finger towards me against his side where Mr. Hamad couldn't see.

"Yes sir," I paused and looked at him to show I was listening to his instructions.

"And Lincoln, sleep well," he added with a very parental tone that elicited another low growl from Derek. That dude looked fucking crazy.

"Thank you sir, you too," I nodded at Mr. Hamad and gave Derek a little wave. Something about that dude just wasn't right, but I was excited about having a night on the couch with TV and no work. I closed the door behind me, got my blanket, and laid on the couch.

The TV in the small living room had endless channels. I found an action movie my dad took me to see a few summers ago. Every few minutes in the movie something was blowing up. A boat, a building, a hot dog stand, even the park bench where the hero had been sitting blew up. It was awesome! I didn't watch the ending, I passed out under the warm blanket.

*********

"Aww fuck please, please put it in me, daddy please," I woke up to hear pleading from the next room.

"Yeah, stretch that white pussy for this big brown cock. Beg for it in your little pink hole," growled another voice that sounded like Mr. Hamad.

What the hell was going on. I sat up and scratched my chest.

"Please daddy, please fuck me," the voice whined in Derek's low growl. It sounded strange, the words didn't match the voice. He was begging like a bitch from behind Mr Hamad's bedroom door.

"Beg for it, bitch, beg for the cock," Mr. Hamad's voice was deeper than usual, forceful, impatient.

I got off the couch and crept towards the bedroom door. I saw light coming from under the door but also from the sides. The door was ajar. I remembered closing it to give Mr. Hamad his privacy while I watched the movie. I hadn't heard anything going on, but now the door was cracked an inch or so and all of their noise filtered through.

I got closer and there was enough room in the crack for me to see the bed. Mr. Hamad was beside it, waving the biggest, darkest cock I'd ever seen. It had to be at least a foot long. It was thick, fat and heavy. It arced up towards his stomach and he would grab it, lower it down and then let it go. It would bounce a few times, so heavy it struggled to raise up.

Derek was on his hands and knees in front of him with his head tilted up towards the cock. He had his tongue stretched out as far as it would go, but Mr. Hamad was swinging his cock just out of reach. Derek was whimpering and the sound filled me with disgust.

Derek was naked except for the gold tie Mr. Hamad had worn that day tied in a tight knot around his neck. Mr. Hamad held the long side in his hand, yanking Derek hard by the neck.

Derek coughed as Mr. Hamad raised it upwards, pulling back on his neck to choke him. It was the strangest scene I ever beheld. Mr. Hamad pulled back hard, choking the man who was gasping for breath with his mouth open wide. He would hold it just enough for the color to drain from Derek's face and then let it slack a bit so Derek's head fell forward as he gasped for air.

But Derek didn't move, didn't fight for himself. His hands were free but he kept them clasped behind his back. "What a freak," I thought to myself.

In between these attacks on his air, Derek would regain his breath and resume begging to suck Mr. Hamad. What made a man his size go down like that? How could he be into this?

This huge mass of man was whimpering on the floor in front of Mr. Hamad, begging for his cock. Mr. Hamad swiped it across the beggar's lips. Derek lapped excitedly at the tip.

"You'd better hope that pussy is ready for this meat," Mr. Hamad told him. He leaned down and put his hands on Derek's chin, lifting him up by the head and then spitting into his open mouth.

"Thank you sir," Derek simpered. It was pretty disgusting. How could this big tower of manhood be on his hands and knees begging for cock.

"Up," Mr. Hamad ordered and pulled Derek by the leash. He had his hands up on the bed, his chest against a towel someone had laid out against the comforter.

Derek arched his back and wiggled his ass. "Please fuck me sir, please fuck me."

"Why would I waste my seed on a dirty whore? You see the boy I have in training." Mr. Hamad said in a low, calm voice.

I stepped back at that. Was he talking about me? I was no one's whore. I certainly didn't want his seed. Sure his dirty jock got me off, but that was different. I don't know how, but my mind sorted it out as being different. Taking a cock is definitely gay. Sniffing a jock is... questionable.

"Please sir. I can take you like that little bitch never could. I can take you as deep as you want to go sir. Please fuck me," he was practically crying now. It was pretty gross, but I started to tent in my shorts. It wasn't the scene, it was the way Mr. Hamad exerted himself over the trainer. How did he get a guy that size to whine like a bitch?

"Shut the fuck up. You talking does nothing for me." Mr. Hamad ordered and pushed Derek down against the towel on the bed. "Stick that pink hole out for me, spread your legs."

And then Mr. Hamad slicked up his cock and started shoving into him. I didn't know how this was supposed to go but it looked painful. Derek let out a cry to indicate this wasn't the normal pace of things. "Please sir, Ow, sir," he started whining.

"The fuck did I tell you?" Mr. Hamad reached down to the floor and grabbed Derek's sock and shoved it into the whiny mass of muscle's mouth. He slammed into the man and I heard a muffled scream and saw tears stream down his cheek.

Seeing the jock go into his mouth, that was mine. That was for me. I felt an odd jealousy fall over me. I was leaning against the door frame in the shadows, but that caused me to lean forward a little and the door cracked open more.

Derek turned and saw me, but Mr. Hamad didn't notice. Derek let out a muffled scream to try to let him know I was watching, but Mr. Hamad had the sock fully in his mouth and had tied the other sock around Derek's head and knotted it tightly in the back. It pulled his cheeks in and had wet tear stains on it. He had Derek's arms pinned behind his back, holding him firmly as he continued to forcefuck him.

Derek made eyes at me to fuck off, turn away. Knowing it bothered him to be watched brought a smile across my face as my cock filled out my shorts to full mast. I reached down and gave it a pet, mindlessly enjoying the scene in front of me.

"Oh fuck yeah," Mr. Hamad growled as he slammed in and out of the "whore's hole" with pleasure. I was cheering him on in my head. I hoped he was making it hurt.

"MMMMM!!!" Derek was moaning into the socks and kept eyeing me angrily. I watched as I stole his joy. He wanted this private, between him and Mr. Hamad. I reached into my shorts and stroked my cock, imagining myself conquering this big beefy bitch. He may have been built, but he was definitely not a man. Anyone who could take a cock like that and moan and beg for more was a full on bitch. I knew I would never do that. I would never lower myself like that.

I cheered on Mr. Hamad in my head as I watched his firm muscular ass push in and out as he destroyed the thick trainer's hole. It looked like it hurt like hell. Derek was squirming and screaming into the sock. There were tears down his reddened cheeks and spit coming out of his mouth. All the time his eyes burned at me.

Mr. Hamad gave one last slam as his body started to jerk and twist. A deep growl erupted from his chest as he slammed into the man, flinging his sweat down over Derek's muscled back.

"FUCK YEAH, take my seed. Take it while I breed your little pink hole. I own that pussy," Mr. Hamad growled and it sent me over the edge. I creamed in my shorts, bucking back against the door frame and trying to keep my noise level down. Behind me, the last explosion of the movie sounded on the tv.

I lurched forward as my cock fired off in my shorts. My knees gave out as my body twisted and I fell back against the wall and slid down to the floor. I landed with a thud. It was the best fucking cum I'd had in