Everyone’s got a story about an asshole boss. Jordan had a thousand stories, but just one boss: Chris Sharp.
Sharp—as he liked to be referred—liked his coffee black, except for two drops of sugar-free Hazelnut creamer chilled at precisely 58 degrees. He liked his car to arrive exactly as he walked up to the curb. No sooner, no later. He liked to flirt with the female accountants. He liked to scream on the phone. But most of all, he liked firing assistants.
Jordan was the third that month. Fresh off a long term position at a small law firm, he had been told that if he could survive Sharp, he could survive anything. At first, he thought the stories were bullshit, water cooler gossip overblown by the bored, ditsy girls in HR. But after narrowly dodging Sharp’s shoe when he dropping a call on his first day, Jordan new all the rumors were true.
The “shoe” incident, as it became called, was the last time Jordan had fucked up. The rest of the office were making bets on how long he would last until his second strike. All it took as two strikes with Sharp. After that, you were out.
It was a Sunday. Specifically, it was the first Sunday Jordan had had off since starting to work for Sharp. The first day he had off. Period.
He was exhausted, having stayed up the previous night doing Sharp’s taxes for the last year. He had finished up at 3 A.M., then lay awake for another hour, just thinking about all the stuff he would do with his one day off. Maybe he would go to the beach, or go see a movie. Maybe he could see his friends for the first time in weeks. They were sure to get a kick out of the shoe story…
Jordan woke at 1:00 P.M. to 15 messages from Sharp. Shit. He jumped out of bed and frantically opened his phone. Dry cleaning. Of course. How could he forget? He had promised to pick up Sharp’s dry cleaning that morning for a dinner later that night.
The messages grew in vitriol as Jordan scrolled down, and by the end, he knew he had spent his second and final strike.
His face burned red. Rage built in him like a swollen pipe. Sharp had thousands and thousands of suits. What was SO special about this one that he NEEDED to have it at that moment? Why couldn’t he just pick up his own damn dry cleaning??
Jordan threw on his clothes and marched down to the dry cleaning spot, imagining fake scenarios as he walked. Jordan throwing his shoe at a cowering Sharp. Jordan yelling insults at Sharp over the phone. Jordan shoving Sharp’s face onto his hard, throbbing—
“Dick,” hissed the woman Jordan shoved aside as he entered the dry cleaners. He could see the suit hanging on a rack just a couple yards away. Jordan wasn’t an expert, but he knew it was a damn good suit. It fit perfectly over Sharp’s rather sharp figure, wrapping elegantly over his trim muscles and flat chest. He pictured having a physique like Sharp, a lean, masculine frame to match the testosterone practically bleeding off the black blazer and sterling white shirt. As he imagined this, his heart filled with resentment, and his brain formed an idea.
“Do you have a changing room?” Jordan asked the owner has he handed him the suit over the counter.
The man shrugged. “We have a bathroom.” It would have to do. Jordan took the suit and headed into the men’s restroom. He locked the door, stripped down, and looked at himself in the grimy mirror.
Short, chubby, and meek. Jordan was everything that Sharp was not. He looked down at the suit pitifully, wondering how ridiculous it would look when squeezed into his lumpy body. With the upmost delicacy, he placed his first foot into the hole of the pants.
A small spark of electricity shot across his skin. Small. but large enough to grab Jordan’s attention. He passed it off as a static shock, and continued to pull the pant up his leg. Every inch of fabric felt like a cool bath, like jumping into a pool of ice on a hot summer day.
He put the other foot in. This time, the electric pulse was even more intense. So much so that his legs became numb the farther and farther he pulled up the pants. He was disappearing into the clothes, loosing track of his body as the waistband came up around his hips and over his ass.
As Jordan expected, the pants looked tight. But not uncomfortably tight. They seemed to fit flawlessly around his previously trunkish legs, which now looked like stalks holding up the rest of his large body. But the strangest part? They made him look taller. Like, a whole three inches taller.
He zipped up the fly over his dick and buttoned the pants. Much to Jordan’s surprise, he had to hold the belt loops to keep them from falling down his legs. He needed a belt. Pronto. But he couldn’t walk out of the store like this, lazily holding his $1000 designer pants up with his thumbs.
Jordan adjusted his stance so that he could continue dressing without the pants falling down. The pose gave him an instant rush of authority and power that turned him on. He pictured Sharp laying beneath his spread legs, head just inches away from the dick throbbing in his suit pants…
Next: the shirt. It was pearl white and crease-less as Jordan pulled it up over his arms, each thread caressing his hands as they made their way out the holes on the other end. When he went to button it up, he found that it wouldn’t reach. His belly was too large. Typical. Careful not to rip the shirt, Jordan gave each end a gentle tug and, much to his surprise, the space compressed. Either the shirt had expanded over his body, or his body had… but no. That was impossible.
Another tug, and the two ends met. Jordan was so astonished at his ability to fit in the shirt, that he didn’t even notice the fat start to disappear from his hands, or the muscles in his chest start to tighten. By the time he had reached the top button, his lumpy edges had all but vanished. So much so, that Jordan opted to keep the last button open, exposing the tip of his hard chest.
Jordan felt euphoric. He couldn’t feel an inch of his body as it continued to solidify and tighten under the shirt and pants, but he felt like he was floating on a cloud of pure, sexual energy. He was starting to see the outline of his dick in the suit pants, and tried desperately not to rub it more against the fabric least he ejaculate all over it.
Finally: the jacket. Jordan reached down and picked it up. It was shining, radiant and steely even in the ugly fluorescent lights of the bathroom. He had remembered buying it, or rather, he had remembered sending Sharp to buy it. His assistant could be a real dick sometimes, but his fashion sense was off the charts.
Arm by arm, Jordan pulled the blazer up atop his board shoulders and over his wide chest. This time, the electric shock vibrated up the back of his spine to his head. Jordan’s eyes met his own in the mirror, and widened in astonishment as the color changed from deep brown to pale blue. His nose shrunk, his lips tightened, and his hair became crusty with product as it styled itself into a crisp, professional cut.
But the biggest change wasn’t on top of his head; it was inside. In an instant, Jordan remembered all of the meetings he had scheduled that coming week. He remembered the dinner party for that night, and he remembered that he needed to send Sharp to get him a new belt.
He pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Sharp. It rung once before he picked up. “I hope to god you’re at the dry cleaners,” Sharp said, his tone curt.
“I am,” Jordan said, his deeper voice reverberating off the walls, “and I hope to god you’ve called me a cab back to the office.”
Stunned silence on the other end. “Excuse me?” Sharp said, aghast.
“I said: I. Hope. To. God. There’s. A. Cab. Waiting. For. Me. When. I. Walk. Outside.” He spelled out every word in a condescending way. It gave him another rush of power.
After another moment of silence, Sharp scoffed. “Fine, I’ll call you a cab. But when you get back to the office, we need to talk.”
“Damn right we do,” Jordan said, unlocking the door, “and buy me a new belt. Size 32-42.”
“Sure,” Sharp said sarcastically before he hung up.
Jordan marched into the office fuming. He had never been treated with such disrespect by an assistant. Never. He had waited on the curb for three full minutes before his cab arrived, and he was still forced to widen his stance to keep the pants from falling down as he walked down the hall to his office. On top of that, he was sporting a raging erection. He needed to get off. Fast.
All the girls in the office turned their heads at the tall, handsome man strutting towards Sharp’s office. None of them dared stop him as he opened the door and slammed it shut. Seconds later, Sharp himself arrived, just as angry.
“Where’s Jordan?” he demanded. He was met with silence, save for one meek accountant, who raised her hand and pointed to the closed office door. Face cherry red, Sharp marched forward and opened the door. “Jordan, what in the name of fuck do you think you’re—oh.”
There was a man sitting at his desk, rubbing a powerfully large erection through the fabric of his suit pants—Sharp’s suit pants. That man was NOT Jordan.
“Mmmmmm,” the man growled, gripping his dick and looking Sharp dead in the eyes, “did you bring my belt?”
“I… um…” Sharp was speechless, his eyes glued the the throbbing tool threatening to burst out of the $1000 pants, “I didn’t. No.”
“Well,” Jordan said, standing up and letting the pants fall down his long, muscular legs, “I guess we’ll have to borrow yours then.” His cock shot out from underneath the white shirt, a full 9 inches and dripping pre cum onto the fresh carpet.
Sharp’s mouth watered. All of the fury and anger from moments ago was gone. All he wanted now was to get on his knees and serve the mysterious man now completely in charge of his office.
“Belt. Off.” Jordan barked. Sharp obeyed. With shivering hands, he gave the belt to Jordan, who commanded him: “on your knees.” He dropped, eager eyes staring up at the boss as he wrapped the belt around the back of Sharp’s neck and pulled his face down onto his cock. “Now: suck.”
When Jordan had finished decimating Sharp’s ass, he sent the assistant off on a couple errands while he got dressed and ready for his dinner party. The kid was an asshole sometimes, but he knew how to take Jordan’s ungodly dick, and that counted for a lot. Maybe he would keep him on for another week or so before firing his ass and moving onto the eager fucktoy eager to get into his pants, and serve his every need.
He opened his closet to pick out a suit, when he noticed the one already crumpled up on the floor. The one he had picked up at the dry cleaners earlier that day.
Eh, why not, Jordan thought with a smile as he picked it up and put it back on, letting the familiar electric shocks rack his body as he prepared for another night of lavish living and hot sex.
It feels good to be the boss.
