The Boss

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Luther the plumber DOES NOT appear in this story. This story features Sean and his boss, Randall. Luther will return in later installments.**

Everything changed after that afternoon with Luther. I couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like something out of my wildest fantasies, beyond my wildest fantasies. A huge, burly, muscular black man had finger-banged my throat AND I had cum without touching myself AND I had eaten my own load. What had he done to me? It was as if a door had opened in my mind and I could see a whole other world beyond it. I was eager to explore and learn and discover all that world had to offer.

I made a mental note to thank Sara for the brownie and get some more. If I was going to have "real fun" with Luther, I'd probably need to be ready. If that bulge in his sweatpants was any indication, I'd need some practice too before attempting to take that thing. A lot of practice!

I cleaned up the mess I'd made in the kitchen, and headed upstairs. I fell asleep watching Rick and Morty on my laptop.

When I woke up, it was pitch black outside. I glanced out my bedroom window and saw my mom's car in the driveway. I grabbed my phone and saw that it was well past 10 PM. My throat was a little sore, but in a good way. Tossing a shirt and some basketball shorts on, I made my way downstairs. My mom was watching a late show, some Hollywood actress with otherworldly perfect features was smiling out at her adoring audience, talking up her next film.

"Hey, mom," I said.

"Hey, hon. Thanks for handling the plumber today. Shower's working again. He did a good job."

Yeah he did, I thought to myself, smiling.

"That's good. Can I get you another?" I asked, noticing her nearly empty glass of white wine.

She held up the wine glass and I took it from her, refilling it at the fridge. I poured myself a glass of water and lingered for a moment at the kitchen island. Had that really happened? I shook my head in disbelief. Everything looked the same as ever, but I saw it with new eyes. I felt like I'd lost my virginity all over again. My throat virginity. Is that a thing? I don't know. All I know is my throat is connected directly to my dick in a way I hadn't quite expected.

"I've decided to take the weekend off, go for a drive up the coast with Chuck," my mom said, talking more to the TV than me. Chuck, her boyfriend. Total douchebag asshole. I've only met him a couple times and all he talked about was which colleges I should be going to instead of UCLA if I really wanted to get ahead in life. Everything he said sounded like he was talking down to me. I don't know what she sees in him. He has a nice body, and wears nice suits, drives a nice car, but he is not a nice guy.

I carried the wine out to her and flopped down next to her on the couch.

She smiled and thanked me, patted my knee gently.

"Have a good day?" She turned the TV down, so low we couldn't hear the interview.

"Yeah it was alright." Best day of my life actually.

"That's good."

"Yours? Did the emergency at work get resolved?"

She sipped her wine, nodded.

"Everything worked out, yep. Turned out it wasn't as bad as we had thought. I got home earlier than I expected. I was going to surprise you with a nice dinner but when I got home you were already asleep. Her lips are so big. Don't you think? Too big."

"What?"

"This actress? Look at her mouth. That can't be natural."

I glanced at the TV and agreed. I touched my own perfectly ordinary lips, curious what it would feel like to have those DSL's.

"No way. Totally fake. That's what it takes to get ahead in Hollywood today though, right?"

"I guess. Just makes it harder for the rest of us."

She continued sipping her wine. I could tell she was thinking about my dad. She'd been a lot sadder since they'd divorced. Not depressed, exactly, but less excited about life.

"She looks freaky," I say, laughing. "Like some sort of sex doll or something."

"What do YOU know about sex dolls?" My mom laughed.

I scoffed.

"I don't have one, if that's what you're asking." But I want to be one. A sex toy for anybody who wants to fuck me.

"I wasn't. But good. You could have any girl you wanted, you don't need to waste your time with a plastic one. Rubber. Whatever."

"Or guy," I correct her. "And Latex. I think."

"Or guy. Right. Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. You know what I meant."

I grab the remote and change the channel.

"I know, mom. No big deal. So the plumber got the shower all fixed?"

"Yep. He did good work," she said. Yeah he certainly did, I thought. More than good.

"I might call him around again to work on the washer in the basement. It's been acting up. And the drain is slow. Lots of things. What are you smiling about?"

"I uh ... that commercial that was just on. Nothing." I pointed at the TV, changing the subject.

She eyed me curiously.

"Who are you thinking about?" She pressed. She always could read my face like a supermarket tabloid.

I could feel myself blushing.

"Mom, it's nothing. Leave it."

"You know you can talk to me about this stuff. We're both adults. If you're seeing someone, I want to meet them is all. Is it ... are they ... I never know what to say."

"Just someone at school, from last semester. That's all. We've been texting." I lied.

"Oh." She said. "Oh I see. Well, you should invite them over for dinner. I can make ... something." My mom's cooking skills were limited. Meatloaf. Lasagna.

I leaned back on the couch, having settled on an old episode of The Simpsons. Homer was gaining weight so that he could work at home. One of my favorites. I couldn't help but focus on his belly. So round. Had I noticed that when I was younger? The way his belly filled the space between his shirt and pants reminded me of Luther. Was everything going to remind me of him from now on? Fuck. I licked my lips and swallowed. I could still taste his fingers.

"What do you think?"

"About? Oh. Yeah. I supposed I could invite him over." This imaginary boyfriend I'd been texting. I hope you're hungry, imaginary boyfriend. My mom made garlic bread shredded cheese straight from the bag. What's that, imaginary boyfriend? You're lactose intolerant? That's a shame. More for me I guess!

"I'm serious, Sean," my mother sighed. "Let me meet him. I'm curious to know about your friends and your life at school. You never tell me anything anymore. Remember how close we used to be, when you were a kid? I miss that."

I stared at the TV. We were at the point of the evening where my mom had too much wine, got maudlin, and fell asleep on the couch. I stood and walked around the couch to stand behind her, kissed her on the top of the head.

"Okay," I said. "Okay I'll ask him. Time for bed, mom."

"You're right," she sighed, handing me the half-finished glass of wine. "Don't stay up too late, hon. I'll see you in the morning. Working tomorrow?"

"Yeah I'm on in the morning." We were scheduled to receive a delivery of potting soil, which always made for a fun, sweaty day. Heavy lifting for minimum wage. Whee!

"Hard work is good for you. It builds character." She said.

"The more you know," I sing-singed.

She rolled her eyes.

"Night, smart-ass," My mom clicked the TV off and made her way to her room. "See you in the morning."

"'Night, mom."

I rinsed her wine glass out and placed it in the dishwasher. Before heading upstairs I stared out at the pool. I loved the way it looked at night, all lit up.

Back upstairs in my room I texted Sara, shared with her all the dirty details of what had transpired that afternoon. Her response was exactly what I expected.

Sara: YOU SLUT :D

Sean: You seriously should have seen this man he was so big

Sara: Stop you're making me jealous. I love a big man.

Sean: Huge. Gigantic.

Sara: So you gonna call him? Have him come over and work on your pipe?

Sean: Ha ha.

Sean: Also yes. I'm kind of scared though. You know that picture of the hamster eating a banana?

Sara: LOL enough said

Sean: Exactly

Sara: Well you just got to practice is all. Suck a lot of dicks. I mean like a lot.

Sean: You're a terrible influence. Someone should make an After School Special about not listening to you.

Sara: You're a GAY guy in COLLEGE you should be sucking dicks all the time. Suck ALL the dicks

Sean: I'm BI TYVM.

Sara: I know I know my bad FUCK ALL THE THINGS

Sean: Where should I find all these myriad dicks I'm to be sucking?

Sara: Grindr? Scruff? Woofstr? THat's a thing right? I procure my D on Tinder, but I would not recommend it. It is not top quality D

Sean: Too many trolls and bots.

Sara: Well then I guess you're going to have to find dick out in the wild, like they did in the 80s or something

Sean: Maybe we should go to Urge this weekend. We haven't been there in a minute.

Sara: Hell yeah that's the spirit. Lets go clubbing

Sean: Gotta get some fun in before class starts up again

Sara: You could suck so many dicks before class starts then more after class starts. Maybe even DURING class. ooh

Sean: Stop

Sara: Gotta get ready for Luther. So did it look more like a summer sausage or more like a bowling pin?

Sean: Stop. Jesus. Goodnight.

Sara: Boo you whore. Whatever you love it.

I sent four eggplant emojis and turned off my screen. I tossed the phone onto my nightstand and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The phone chimed a few times in quick succession as Sara responded, but I ignored them and closed my eyes. I pulled Luther's card out of my pocket and held it on my chest, tracing its shape, imagining what was to come.

-----

The next morning my mom and I made pancakes and bloody marys. Chuck was on his way to pick her up, and she was practically glowing with excitement. She'd done her hair up in a silk scarf and was wearing a tank top and capri pants. She looked beautiful. We may not be as close as we used to be, but I was happy to see her happy. I'm not Chuck's biggest fan, but I'm thankful that he can bring this out in her.

"Where will you drive?"

"Oh I don't know. Santa Barbara or something. There's some great antique stores there."

"Fun. I'll be unloading literally a million bags of potting soil. I'm jealous."

"I'm sorry, hon. If you weren't working you could join us. I'm sure Chuck would --"

"I'm good, mom. Really."

"You'd like him if you got to know him. He's a great guy."

A car horn honked out Shave and a Haircut. I rolled my eyes.

"I'll take your word for it, mom," I laughed.

She downed the rest of her bloody Mary, quickly applied some lipstick using the reflective microwave door as a mirror. As she grabbed her purse off the stool by the front door, she called out,

"Have a great day at work, hon. I'll be back tomorrow night. If you have any wild parties just be sure to clean up afterward, okay?"

"Good one," I said to the empty room. I've never thrown a party, let alone a wild one. I played some GTA V, wreaking havoc in Los Santos as Michael for a couple of hours before heading off to work on my bike. I didn't have a car, didn't need the expense. The hardware store was only a couple of miles away and biking kept my legs and ass in good shape. I was wearing my favorite shorts, the floral board shorts that cupped my ass and made my cakes look extra bubbly, and a loose tank top. Carlson's hardware had no dress code, Mr. C liked to keep it casual, and the customers were more comfortable because of it. As far as jobs go, there are worse places to work. I could never work in a place with a uniform, or a stuffy beige office cubicle. Ben's dad had hired me without an interview, because he'd been a close friend of the family since before I was born. Ben and I had been born around the same time, and had grown up together, so we were practically family. I didn't have any siblings, but he was as close as I was going to come. In fact, I was closer with Mr. Carlson than I had been with my biological father, who I rarely spoke to nowadays.

Mr. Carlson and his wife, Sandy, had really stepped up after my parents divorced, and was a regular fixture around our home for years afterward. When I was old enough to get a job and start helping my mom out, he gladly took me on, and taught me the ropes of working at a hardware store. When I came out to my mom, I came out to him as well. His reaction was everything I'd hoped and could ask for. He'd always suspected I might be a little different than the "other boys" but figured it was no big deal.

"Whatever makes you happy, kid," was all he'd said. He always called me kid.

I hopped off my bike and entered the store through the front. It was still early so no customers were in the store, but I could hear Mr Carlson whistling back in his office. Carlson Hardware isn't exactly a huge store, it's not a chain or a franchise, but we're on a busy street and have a lot of loyal customers, so the store does alright. I walked my bike through the narrow central aisle toward the back room, pushing through the swinging doors, calling out to Mr. Carlson as I entered the cool, slightly dark back room.

"Hey, kid. Big shipment coming in later. Hope you're ready to work hard today."

"Always, Mr. C.," I called back, leaning my bike against the wall near his office door.

His door was ajar as always, the time clock and schedule were on the wall just outside of it. I punched in, noting that Tommy was going to be coming in at 1PM. I knocked quietly on the door, entering before waiting for Mr. Carlson to respond.

His desk was a mess of papers, invoices and carbon copies of receipts, fast food bags, empty soda bottles, a coffee mug that said World's Best Boss, general clutter and chaos. What he boasted in business acumen, he lacked in organizational skills and housekeeping. I didn't mind. I sat in the chair facing his desk and waited while he counted out the cash drawer, our morning ritual. Normally I would stare at my phone, fuck around on Facebook for a couple of minutes, take a dumb selfie, but today was different.

Instead of his usual plaid shirt, Mr. Carlson was wearing a tight crisp cotton T-shirt. It looked brand new. Something about the way it hugged his frame reminded me of Luther and suddenly I was back in the kitchen at home, leaning back, getting my throat finger fucked by the giant plumber.

I must have made a noise because Mr. Carlson shot me a curious look, raising an eyebrow.

"Everything okay, kid? You seem distracted."

"Yeah. No. I'm fine, Mr. C. Just thinking about something."

"Anything you want to get off your chest? You know you can talk to me about anything."

He paused in counting out the drawer and leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. I felt as if I was noticing him for the first time.

Randall Carlson had spent his twenties as a construction worker and contractor, before settling down and opening his hardware store in his thirties. That much I knew. I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from his broad chest, obviously hairy and well-muscled under the T-shirt. His arms, equally hairy, were the arms you would expect of someone who'd spent years lifting and hauling, hammering and building; strong, defined. A faded tattoo peeked out from beneath the hem of his sleeve, stretched taut around his solid bicep. And his hands. How had I never noticed them before? Like Luther, Mr. Carlson's fingers were thick-knuckled, hairy, callused and strong. I could practically feel Luther's fingers working my throat open. Had that really been only a few hours ago? My boss wasn't as large as Luther, not even close, but then again who was? That man is practically a giant.

Mr. Carlson cleared his throat. His eyes eyed me intensely, his brow heavy with genuine concern.

"No nothing. Sorry. Just didn't sleep well," I offered. "I had really Intense dreams."

"Ah I see. Well," he resumed counting out the draw, straightening a stack of one dollar bills before slipping them into the drawer. "Just don't let it interfere with your work or there'll be trouble."

I laughed.

"Right, Mr. C. Don't worry. I just need some coffee."

He handed me the cash drawer and waved me out of his office.

"I made a fresh pot in the break room. Grab a mug before you head up to the front. Now," he stood from behind the desk, and I had to bite back a moan. He was wearing his worn out black Carhartt work pants, prepared to do a lot of lifting and carrying when the shipment arrived, I guess. His torso "Get outta here and go make us rich, kid."

"Sure thing, Mr. C.," I responded, doing my best to put one foot in front of the other as I left his office. Luther had really fucked me up! He hadn't just fucked my mouth he'd fucked my mind. I had barely noticed Mr. Carlson as a MAN before, as he hadn't been exactly my type, and was more like a father, but since yesterday all I can think about is thick fingers in my throat, a hefty bulge in tight pants, hairy chests ... fuck. I couldn't believe I was even considering it, but I wanted Mr. Carlson to be one of my "practice" cocks.

I shook my head. What was I thinking? He's practically my father. I mean he's not, my real father I mean, but he practically raised me. Taught me right from wrong, taught me to ride a bike, hit a ball, all the things a father teaches a son. For all intents and purposes he WAS my father, after a fashion. I couldn't seriously be considering hauling his heavy, thick, beer can cock out of his pants, gripping it with both hands, kneeling between his powerful legs and ... god damn it. I was. It's all I was thinking about. God fucking damn it.

I practically ran to the front of the store. I had to get away from Mr. Carlson's office as fast as I could or I was going to tear his pants off. How am I still so horny? I came twice yesterday. Or was it three times? I'd lost count. Luther had taken up residence in my brain and left room for little else.

As I slid the cash drawer into the register two regulars entered the store, a gay couple who lived just up the street and were always working on improving their enviable front garden. They knew their way around the store as good or better than I did. They nodded hello and made their way to the container gardening section.

"Just here for some terra cotta, Sean. Miss thing over here went and dropped a whole stack of my favorite pots."

"Your favorites? Those pots have been in the shed for years. They were covered in cobwebs and dust an inch thick."

"And they were my FAVORITES."

The old couple continued to bicker their way through the store. I sipped my coffee, savoring the heat on my tongue. Eagerly anticipating the kick of caffeine that would carry me through the morning. Outside I could see the truck pulling into the driveway and making its way around the back of the store. The phone next to the register lit up, and I answered it. It was Mr. C. calling from his office.

"Delivery's here. I could use a hand as soon as you're free."

"Sure thing, Mr. C. Be there when I can."

A hand, huh? I'll give you two. And a tongue and my mouth and my throat and boom I was rock hard.

I hung up the phone just as the couple from up the street began stacking pots on the counter. They bickered as I rang them up, bickered as I loaded their pots into a cardboard flat, and bickered on their way out the door, pausing only to call out their thanks.

I made my way to the back of the store and found Mr. Carlson chatting with the delivery driver, a short, rotund man with a thick beard and tired eyes. The driver gave him a receipt and they shook hands and then we were alone with 4 pallets of potting soil to unload and organize. We were able to make short work of the task, given Mr. Carlson's strong back and my strong legs. He loaded up a cart of bags which I wheeled to the front of the store and unloaded, listening for the door chime which would signify a customer entering the store. Mornings were generally quiet, though, and this morning was no different. Things would pick up later in the day.