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drakestories:

I called him Hot Shot in joking one day and somehow the nickname stuck. He was one of the younger Harvard MBAs the company was grooming for upper management. Technically I was his boss, but really he reported to one of the executive vice presidents. At first it was awkward but we finally acknowledged the tension and got along well, more as peers than boss-employee. 

He had a nickname for me too. I was his Work Dad, a little joke both at my age (mid-40s) and the fact I was the one in charge of showing him the ropes around the firm. We even would grab happy hour drinks or after-work dinner on occasion. 

I had to admit there was something about Hot Shot that was incredibly sexual and alluring. Whether it was his gym-toned body or his smoldering green eyes or the package filling his trousers, I couldn’t stop staring at him. He noticed, but didn’t say anything.

Till one evening. We’d stopped in a midtown restaurant after work. Turns out he’s buddies with the manager, who hooked us up with the VIP lounge in back. The minute we were alone, Hot Shot says, “Bill, I think there’s something between us we haven’t talked about” and runs his hand up the back of my neck, his fingers grazing my short-cut hair. He pulls - gently - and I lean forward to meet his face. Our mouths connect, and every repressed feeling I had came welling up. 

That was the day I got my first fuck from my Work Son. Bent over some bar table while he went hard and heavy from behind. It didn’t take him long to cum in me or for me to shoot my wad. As we uncoupled, I wiped off the best I could and started getting dressed again. 

Hot Shot just pulled up his trousers and sat back still shirtless in the leather banquette. “Man,” he sighed, “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”