Over the next several months, he developed a small harem of four young men in various corners of the company. Each of them was in the prime of their youth, and all of them found themselves unable to resist the allure of Max’s body and power. None of them was particularly happy to discover that he had men other than them that he used to pleasure himself, and so they would compete amongst each other to try and prove that each of them deserved his attention more than the others. Max loved their fire and spark–and would purposefully stoke the conflicts to make each of them work even harder to improve their bodies, to improve their sexual abilities, to show that they could be the most important man in his life. In fact, none of them had much of a chance, because the only young man who could ever own his heart was Junior, his stepson.
Max had expected his dalliances at work might anger Junior–but in fact he seemed to enjoy them, and demanded that Max relate his adventures in great detail each night when he came home from work, usually while Junior gave him a full body massage, rode his big cock, or stuffed his stepfather’s face with food from the kitchen. Junior, in turn, began offering suggestions, for competitions he could begin between the young men, so that they might earn his love, often with amazing success, like when he began dropping hints to each of the young men that he found tattoos incredibly attractive, and each of them began coating their bodies with designs under their suits–all of them relating to Max, of course, as tokens of their love. Manipulating them was so easy, and yet so utterly satisfying, that he barely realized Junior manipulating him over the months.
The weight gain was becoming more and more obvious–by the end of the first month, he had gone from looking uncomfortable in his suits to nearly bursting the seams apart each time he bent over. Junior insisted they go to a professional tailor instead of some department store, and Junior would take charge, selecting styles which by and large went out of style decades earlier. The suits were inevitably too tight by the time he got them, and the constant squeeze forced Max to begin conducting himself differently in the office–pushing up his posture, making him move stiffly, head pushed high by the starched collars Junior insisted upon. He felt like a fool at first, but between Junior’s adoration and his harem’s compliments, he began adjusting to his new, somewhat haughty demeanor.
This was only enhanced by the cigars and bourbon Junior began forcing on him over the next few months. At first it was just the occasional smoke after dinner while he regaled Junior with his sexual tales of his day at work, but then he was smoking several cigars each night until the cravings became so intense that he was smoking several during work as well, forced to walk through the complex, often with one of his boys hanging off his arm–each of them terrified that someone might notice their relationship, and yet at the same time desperate to make everyone else jealous of their love for Max–or rather, Maxwell, as everyone, including himself, had begun calling himself.
With all of this new power, he began acting different. Maxwell would become frustrated at any sign of resistance from anyone beneath him, usually berating and shouting them down until they agreed with him. As much as he knew he should hate his behavior, it drove wonderful results–his bosses at the top of the company praised his direct, forceful attitude with employees–especially when it came time for another round of layoffs, and his now ruthless nature helped improve efficiency across the entire company. Junior’s database helped, of course–when you know all of your employees’ dirty laundry, it suddenly becomes much, much easier to cut the wheat from the chaff. He also successfully moved every young man in his harem into the HR department, making it much, much easier to secure a fuck in his office whenever he wanted one. While for the first few months he remained somewhat terrified that someone would discover him, the realization that no one would dare challenge him made him ever bolder and bolder in his exploits. It helped knowing that nearly every executive at the company was having an affair of some sort–he was no worse than anyone else, right?
Power, in turn, nurtured his greed. He became obsessed investments and began hoarding wealth as quickly as he could, but he spent a good amount of it liberally as well. He especially loved buying cars–especially classic sport cars–for his stepson. Junior insisted that he had no need to drive, but Maxwell insisted anyway. On the weekends, he would drive them both out into the country, often speeding wildly, Max in the driver’s seat and his stepson’s mouth around his cock, sucking him the whole way, a lit cigar burning in his mouth, simply daring a cop to try and pull him over. He’d never felt more invincible, more in control of himself and his life. Is this what he’d been denying himself for so long? Who wouldn’t want this life?
It was Junior who insisted on the makeover, and that he be allowed to do it himself. He also refused to let Maxwell observe the progress in the mirror, and his new personality bristled at giving over so much control to his stepson. What if he made him look like a fool? He couldn’t be seen at work looking at all unprofessional. Junior soothed his worries and was insistent–Maxwell finally consented and let his stepson begin cutting his hair. When he was finally finished, Junior brought him a mirror…and gasped.
What in the world had Junior just done to his hair? Where moments before had been a full head of black hair, he was now balding severely, the color now a solid, steel grey. It had been greased and combed back, making his scalp even more obvious, but that wasn’t everything. He also had a thick mustache covering his lip, neatly trimmed, and his face looked…older. Wrinkled, with heavy jowls. He put his hands up to his face to feel it, and saw the age spots on the back of his hands. What was happening to him? How could he have not noticed any of this? Yet…Yet, he liked it, the more he looked at himself. He liked it a lot, but then again, he’d always liked how he looked, and to be honest, he was only getting better with age, looking more worldly and distinguished. He had to say, Junior had done an excellent job, and he rewarded his stepson with a long fuck, though he spent a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror as he did–at his full, sagging gut and moobs, his body which seemed hairier than before–the hair the same silver as that on his head and face. He still didn’t understand how all of this could have happened in such a short time–he’d gone from looking to be in his late twenties to his late forties in a matter of months, but even stranger, no one else seemed to notice.
Everyone at work treated him the same–if anything, they seemed to respect him even more, ending every sentence with the word “Sir,” something he liked so much he made it a standing rule for every one of his assistants–though members of his harem could call him Master if they so desired (and they often did.) Junior seemed especially pleased with him, and showered him with praise and attention whenever he was home, and before a week had passed, Maxwell believed that the face he looked at in the mirror had always been his, and he adored it. He adored the authority it gave him, the power, and he imagined that Junior was, perhaps, finished with him for the moment. In fact, it turned out that their fun was just beginning, when Mr. Herman paid a visit to his office unannounced, a month later.
The end for now…
Bracken's Corner 