Macleish's Biscuits Co.

PREFACE. This story is set in Scotland. I am very aware of the many regional and distinctive Scottish accents. I had lived in Scotland for nearly twenty years. I have not tried to replicate them in this story because I don't have the skills needed to do so. Besides, I think they would be too much of a distraction. All characters are entirely fictional.

Robert MacLeod was furious, damned furious to be exact.

He had just learned the he had been turned down to fill the top job at MacLeish's Biscuits Co., the firm he had worked for and helped make prosperous, for the past fourteen years. Since he had left school virtually.

He had worked in every department just about, upgrading them as he did so, until McLeish's shortbread had become a competitive force in about thirty-seven countries round the world at the last count. He had given his all to the company; even postponed, so he had believed, starting a family with his wife Sinead lest it diverted him from his career ambitions.

Then old Mr. McLeish does the dirty on him and goes and appoints an Englishman to the top job. "Your time will come, Robby," the old man had said. "Tony Maplin, the new CEO, will bring in new ideas and revitalise this old company. You wait, you'll see I am right soon enough."

Robert was not alone in his antipathy to the new broom on his way up from "down South". Many other employees were vociferously anti, and especially after they doused their vocal cords in their favourite drinking holes in that part of Glasgow.

MacLeish's shortcake biscuits were renowned for their tartan tins emblazoned with glorious scenes from the best of the Scottish Highlands. They kept very quiet about their factory being situated in Port Dundas, a very scruffy part of Glasgow. Come to that, nearly all the ingredients for their shortbread were imported; the wheat, the sugar and even the tin containers. Having an imported CEO was quite apposite really.

"He's here. He's sitting at your desk Robbie," warned Jim, the old porter paid to guard the front entrance. "Your desk," was actually the CEO's desk. Robert had taken it over whilst the post was vacant. Nevertheless, it was rather galling for him to walk into what had been his room, albeit for a short while, and seeing a stranger sitting upright and weighing up Robert as he approached. Robert pulled his shoulders back and applied his "superior" gait.

"Mr. Maplin I presume? " said Robert a little sniffily.

"And you are?" asked the stranger bluntly.

"Robert MacLeod. I have been holding the fort here pending your arrival."

"Ah yes, Robert. Your job is done now. You may go."

"Go where?"

"Fuck knows. Wherever takes your fancy."

Robert started deflating like a tyre with a serious puncture. "I don't understand."

"I have read the notes that Mr. MacLeish has given me. He says that you are disgruntled because you were not not given the position in the company that I now hold. It's as simple as that."

"That's not true," Robert stammered.

"It's not?"

"I was somewhat disappointed perhaps," Robert conceded.

"And you've gone round the whole works getting people to have sympathy for you and antagonism towards me?"

"Not really," Robert was starting to panic. He really did not want to lose his job. Jobs were not aplenty in Glasgow just then. And how could he explain that to Sinead, his wife. She'd go spare.

"If you want to keep your job, crawl under the desk and suck my prick," said the new boss wooden-eyed.

"You what?" gasped Robert, unsure that he had heard correctly.

"Crawl under the desk and suck my prick," the new man repeated.

"What.... What is all this about?" asked Robert, still not comprehending the meaning.

"If I let you stay as you are now, you will operate against me when the opportunity arises. If you have sucked my prick you won't dare slag me off. Simple."

Robert saw the logic in the man's argument. But could he do it? Should he do it? Did the man really mean it? Was this a case for calling his bluff? Perhaps if he fell to his knees and shuffled forward Tony Maplin would back off? "You really mean what you say," Robert said, tight lipped and poker faced.

"Absolutely," replied Maplin equally stony faced.

Robert hesitated as long as he dared. There was no indication of a reprieve. Reluctantly he sank to the floor and crawled forward under the desk. He quite expected to meet the barrier of trousers and underpants, but he had another shock to find the CEO was wearing a kilt. A measure of how bizarre the situation had become was Robert's mind was considering the irrelevant question, "which clan the tartan belonged to."

Maplin was not wearing anything underneath his kilt, much as tradition dictated. Hands from above pulled the pleated fabric higher up his legs and they, in turn, opened wide in order to give maximum access.

Robert asked the question of himself as to why Maplin's groin was totally absent of pubic hair. That was one for later. The new boss's uncircumcised prick was a tiddler, and as such completely at rest. The man's ball sac in contrast was big and bulbous with a faint aroma of mixed sweat and pee.

Robert tentatively gave the penis a couple of licks and the ball sac the same. The reaction was immediate and the still tiny penis started to lift up as blood poured down its shaft. Robert moved bravely forward and encased the whole of the penis in his mouth and squeezed it with his tongue. Th erection accelerated and was at maximum and throbbing with it in no time. Without really thinking about it Robert pulled the foreskin right back and kissed the emerged helmet. Then he started sucking and pumping his head in a steady rhythm.

Robert, for a while, just about forgot where he was and what he was doing. He gave his full concentration on keeping sucking and slobbering whilst maintaining a steady rhythm of sucking. Robert was a perfectionist in his workplace and it seemed he was aiming at the same high standard as a cocksucker. But he yet had a lot to learn in that regard. He did not read the signs; the grunts that were coming from above and the clues in the movements of the man's hips, and ultimately the thickening of his penis.

Inevitably the first shoot of hot semen went straight down Robert's throat catching him totally unawares. As he pulled back involuntarily the second skein stayed in Robert's mouth, whist most the rest hit his face.

Robert was immediately appalled at where he was and what he had done. He lay there almost crippled with horror and disgust. He watched distractedly at what now was an evil snake, as it slowly withered away to its natural size, wet with its seed and Robert's saliva.

Robert just did not want to shuffle from under the desk. Where he was momentarily safe. Away from there was a mountain of shame and disgust and..........

"Come out from under there," came the instruction that was inevitable. The younger man did just that, but he could not bear to look, eyeball to eyeball, with the man to whom he had just given head. "You might despise yourself at this very moment, Robby, but you have saved your job, at least for now. And, you never know you might get used to giving head."

"Fat chance of that happening," was Robert's silent reply to that proposition. His immediate intention was to resign his post with MacLeish's Biscuits, to run away and hide, and never come near again. What he did do was report himself sick to his secretary and take off straight for home.

It was only when was standing on the platform of Queen Street Station he had the thought to ring his wife, Sinead. She had a strict rule that Robert should always ring her when he was at Queen Street and on the way to their home. She needed time to be ready for him and get the house ship-shape, so she said. This was one of her many rules. There was no argument that Sinead was the boss of the MacLeod roost.

Sinead had been dragged up on a rough estate in the east end of Glasgow. Her first twenty-five years she kept as a completely closed book as far as Robert was concerned. She totally refused to talk of her life "before him." That was why they lived in a house in Helensburgh, thirty miles out to the west of Glasgow down the River Clyde - as far away from Sinead's original stamping ground as was feasible.

The one thing that Robert knew about his new wife before she had marched him into the Registry Office, three years before, was that she was no virgin. He had tried his best with the sexual side of there marriage and Sinead was full of compliments at his endeavours. But, deep down, Robert reckoned that the regular orgasms she achieved, were nearly all faked. Nevertheless, she willingly gave him all the sex he could handle, and so there was no way that Robert could complain at that,

Whilst Sinead, of an Irish background, came from the wild East of Glasgow, Robert's grandparents had left their clan's hereditary home on the Isle of Lewis, and settled in urbane Edinburgh. There Robert was eventually raised and schooled in genteel and urbane circumstances. It is said that "opposites attract" - there could be no better example in the union between Robert and Sinead (on the surface at least).

It was fortuitous for both Robert and Sinead that on the day of Robert's humiliation, he remembered just before boarding the train at Queen Street, to give his wife notice if his imminent arrival home. Sinead was about to accommodate Shaun Kelly, a long distance lorry driver based near Helensburgh, who was adept at parking his prick in any willing cunt that he found on route. As a result of that fortuitous telephone call conjoining was abruptly struck from his agenda for that day.

Meanwhile, sitting in the train, looking through the window and seeing nothing, Robert was hatching a plan. He knew full well that Sinead knew a whole gang of unsavoury characters from her past in East Glasgow. Some would no doubt slit a man's throat for for a relatively modest sum of money. Couldn't Tony Maplin be despatched in that way? Nobody need ever know.

The only problem he could envisage with that plan was Sinead needed to be party to it, and be willing to go search out a suitable rogue handy with a knife. He had little doubt that that was not beyond her capabilities. Would it mean telling her how he had been humiliated that morning? Did he need to go into too much detail?

Sinead did seem a little grumpy Robert thought when he arrived home. He was not to know he had interrupted her plans to get herself shagged by Shaun's massive chopper. She was not the sort of girl who lightly took to being thwarted. On the other hand, one look at her husband and she knew at once that something major was afoot.

She had the whole story out of her Robert before ten minutes had registered on the kitchen clock. Robert conjured up a picture of pathos, of a man gravely wronged, and in need of some retribution. He was about to put his plan for revenge to his wife when she cut him short.

"If you can sit there and tell me you've spent the morning sucking an Englishman's cock and swallowing his sperm, then you can most certainly slaver over a Glaswegian's cunt. Upstairs, NOW."

Robert had often witnessed his wife spoiling for a fight with all her Irish passion in full flow, but never had it ever been directed at him. This was a first and it hardly stopped short of terrifying him. He might argue afterwards that he was particularly vulnerable that day, but upstairs he climbed, and at a pace. Kicking her shoes off first Sinead followed close behind. She slipped down her knickers on the landing and as her husband lay on their bed on his back she straddled his face. Robert was then in virgin territory with his face smothered in a cunt that was most certainly not in any was virginal.

All the pent up sexual frustration she had reserved for Shaun Kelly that afternoon, she released on her husband. She forgot he was her husband at times as she rubbed her leaking pubes roughshod over his face, as hard as she could, her being on the verge of an orgasm. When it exploded Robert's face was at the epicentre, smothered in her juices and with her pubes hard pressed into his features.

Sinead did not move off him anything like straight away. She rubbed her cunt, slowly and heavily on his face, back and fore, as if waiting for his tongue to appear and help lick her clean. Robert's tongue, on its own volition it seemed, started to do just that. The taste of her was strong and likely addictive. Time would tell.

Sinead climbed off reluctantly, stood beside the bed and stared down at her man. She realised at that point that the pretence was over. She had tried to reform herself. She had tried hard o leave her past behind, and she had achieved a lot. But when it came to sexual satisfaction she was right back into the streets of Glasgow East.

She needed Robert to secure her respectability, her new social life and all the advantages in having sufficient money. No way was she going to give all that up. Robert would just have to get used to living under her rules - starting from that moment onwards.

He had made a big mistake telling her how he had succumbed to the Englishman earlier that day She had long suspected under his urbane exterior, he was a wimp struggling to get free and find his true self. Now was the perfect time to put that to the test.

She leant over and undid her husband's fly, reached inside his underpants and pulled out his rigid cock. "Wank yourself off Robert," she ordered sternly. "Now, this minute."

Robert felt his penis surge with extra blood on hearing such a command. He was quick to obey.

"There's a good boy," he heard his wife's encouragement. She in turn, witnessed how her words of command and encouragement were effecting him. She spoke louder and bolder and he felt good, really good, absolved from all decision making and doing like his Mummy had ordered him. A plume of semen shot up and fell on the back of his wanking hand. Further spurts soiled his trousers, but neither Sinead nor he seemed to care.

"O.K. Good boy," praised the wife. "Now let me see you lick all that lovely spunk off from the back of your hand."

Robert did exactly as he was told. He was too much post-orgasm to have cared about anything much else. But later he would remember what his darling wife had encouraged him to do.

Much had happened to Robert MacLeod in that one day in the showery month of April. He lay in bed, long after midnight, with Sinead gently snoring beside him, struggling to work out how he should play the going to work the following morning. The option fell between not going back ever again, to buying a shotgun and shooting Tony Maplin's head right off his shoulders.

All too soon morning came. Outside it was a beautiful sunny day and the daffodils in the garden through the kitchen window were nodding their heads agreeably. But inside there was a definite chill. Sinead was testing her new-found authority over her wimp of a husband and, no way was she going to relinquish that advantage - starting that very day. She felt like a hot air balloon might if relieved of its passengers.

Robert's day carried on as normal; same walk to the station, same train, same Queen Street, same walk to Port Dundas. But would it be the same walk into Reception and the same nod from the hall porter?

It was. Nothing had seemed to change. The dreaded next interface with Tony Maplin went off as if nothing had ever happened between them. Business as usual. Full stop.

What Robert did manage to do was surreptitiously finding out a good deal more of Tony Maplin's background. Born in Essex, almost fifty years ago. He had first served in the Royal Navy and then worked his way up the corporate greasy pole to land a job in the top management team of one of the biggest biscuit manufacturers in Europe. He was a prominent member of a prominent Gay Rights movement in Germany before taking a two-year sabbatical, nobody seems to know where. Next he pops up as the new M.D. for the MacLeish Biscuit Company.

Perhaps that small piece of research answered one question after all. There was an ugly rumour circulating at one time that old Mr. Macleish himself was gay. That he had been caught opportuning outside some public toilets down in England. Perhaps there was a connection there that linked in with the new appointment. Worth bearing in mind?

Whilst his day thankfully passed off without incident, nothing could be further from the same when Robert arrived home that early evening.

"Hello Robbie," Sinead greeted him although minus the usual embrace.

"Is there something wrong?" queried her husband as he divested himself of his overcoat and brief case.

"Nothing is wrong, Robbie, there is just a set of new rules in operation. You will get used to them and, given time, you will get to like them. I won't apply them all at once. From now on though, I am the head of this household and you will do what I tell you to do."

Robert felt a tingle chasing around all over him. His mother had dominated him and he was beginning to realise that he missed that. "What would you have me do?"

"Go up and shower. I have moved your clothes up into the attic bedroom. That is your room and where you will sleep from now on. You may sleep with me when I say so. Change into the clothes I have put out for you on your bed. I have been down in the town shopping for you today."

"Shopping for me?" Robert queried. Sinead returned the question with a glare. Robert scuttled away to obey.

Showered and clad in his tartan dressing gown Robert climbed the stairs to the attic. It was not that he was banished to a garret, their attic room was large and airy and had a window that gave a view right down the Clyde towards the sea. The double bed had been made up for him and there were clothes set out on the bed.

The first shock were the red silky panties with black lace around the legs and waist. Next a longish white camisole with sexy shoulder straps. There was also one of Robert's favourite jumpers and a pair of his slacks. The socks, however, were pastel multicolours - not the sort that an aspiring Managing Director would normally wear. Robert, however, would find it hard to deny he experienced a major shiver of excitement as he donned the lingerie, and his prick made a triangle shape out of the front of the knickers.

He dressed fully and went downstairs and acted as though nothing had happened out of the ordinary. That was exactly what Sinead wanted to achieve. Her husband was playing directly into her hands.

The remainder of the week passed without any further change to the house rules, nor did anything kick-off at the factory. Robert dutifully showered as soon as arriving back home and wore his lingerie thereon. He missed sleeping with Sinead but he was able to handle it.

Sinead, meanwhile had been scheming and planning. Come Saturday morning she announced that the two of them were going shopping, and if "Robbie missed his afternoon sport" on the television that was just too bad. She has never called him Robbie before, a name used for either gender.

They went to a nearby retail park where Sinead spent a long time selecting and buying lingerie for her husband. Embarrassed at first Robert gradually succumbed into indifference as to what the sales girls and other nearby punters thought. By the time he was trying on dresses and skirts in the private cubicles, he was pretty much inured to his fate.

Why did he go along with what his wife was doing to him? His mother had exerted control over him just as Sinead was doing. Being controlled in such a way was probably meeting a deep seated need. As for the pleasure in being made to cross dress - well - that was probably something to do with his genes. One thing for sure - he was fast approaching the point of no return.

Especially so when he found out that Sinead had him booked into a depilation clinic late that afternoon. When she drove her husband home afterwards, Robert was hairless except for his head and eyebrows. "I just can't wait to rub my body against yours, my darling," his wife assured him.