Asset Stripping: Prequel

Lyle stumbled into his chair, and quietly slid the seat under his desk, quickly opening his screen - late again after last night's marathon session in the Eagle's darkroom and his strange adventure bound and shackled till 6.00 this morning in the basement of a Cop Station, somewhere downtown.

As he sat on his office chair signing off the latest batch of invoices Lyle was reliving the painful ass rape he received from the cop he had to address as "Officer Amberson, SIR". Flashes of gunmetal, lashes of the whip, the taste of cigar ash, the sharpness of cop boot - flashbacks haunted him like suppressed abuse - his pussy still gaping, still hungry to serve the powerful Officer Amberson.

A loud commotion broke Lyle's reverie. On the far side of the office two construction workers were making a noise, scoping out measurements. This must be for the penthouse office suite Lyle was costing for the mysterious new CEO. Lyle peered over his cubicle to see what the noise was all about. Lyle did not remember hiring any builders for this week...

Filling the doorway a huge muscled construction worker, presumably their Foreman, was barking orders at the two smaller construction workers. The muscled workman's X-shaped physique, tapering dramatically from barn-door shoulders and flaring back out again over tightly fitting, quad-hugging lycra gym-shorts which did little to hide an indecently large, engorged cock-package. Glistening leather biker boots finished off the workmen's clothing, more like workout gear than work-gear. The Foreman's musclemass filled the doorway, the other two workmen obscured by the 60" chest of their Boss.

Lyle was amazed by the huge physique looming before him. The foreman's massive torso was encased in a wifebeater so tight that it showed the Foreman's eight-pack and ripped biceps, bronzed veins visibly pulsing. The wifebeater showed off the separation between his neck beef and delts that stretched at least 2 feet either side of his pin-head. Mammoth pecs bulged outwards and the shirt material bulged upwards, his upper pecs touching his bearded lantern-jaw.

What looked like a deep bodybuilder posing tan set off the squared-off perfection of the gun-metal glint of a steel-gray flat-top. And an unlit stogie jutted out of the big man's bearded mouth.

Lyle was already damp again with the jizz he had been forbidden to shed the night before by the Leather Officer. Getting up carefully from his seat, checking his pants didn't show his pre-cum, Lyle had to check out the blue collar hulk.

Lyle gingerly approached the doorway, clutching a pile of invoices in front of his crotch, unable to avert his gaze from the muscleman. The big Foreman suddenly caught his eyes, and, recognizing the inevitable lust of men like Lyle, teasingly bounced his massive pecs under the straining fabric, as he stared back at the drooling office worker. Lyle turned bright red. It was as if this man was looking right into his mind.

Lyle had to suddenly turn round, and rush to the executive washroom, which was mercifully empty, run into a cubicle and slamming the door behind him, whack out the aching load Officer Amberson had forbidden him...