Yellow Tea

I wanted to try my hand at a tale of fetishism. If I got it totally wrong let me know but gently please. I prefer to keep pain and humiliation as fictional as possible.

All characters are over 18 and are entirely fictitious.

Thanks to LarryInSeattle for his help editing.

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Mitch keeps glancing at me. I wonder if he knows. I don't see how he could but he certainly seems like he's suspicious. At the head of the table, Bob drones on. These meetings are interminable. Bob's ideas are stale, his organizational skills - zilch. I estimate the company loses a hundred grand every time we meet. Bob's neck has to be on the chopping block. If not, it's time for me to look for another job. I don't want to work for a company stupid enough to keep Bob on as a division manager.

I take a sip from my mug. I feel Mitch's eyes on me and suppress a smile. He's a smart fucker but there is no way he knows.

Bob drones on. He outlines his latest idea to streamline inventory. I can see from the way they shift in their seats, at least two other people besides myself and Mitch spot the glaring flaws in his plan. I take another sip, stifling a grimace by reminding myself that I deserve it. I rationalize my actions as being for the good of the company. They are. They are also good for me. I won't be taking Bob's place. I'm too junior, but whenever someone above you gets the ax, we all move up. I had carefully, very carefully, fed this idea to Bob. I was confident he could fill in the blanks and even more confident he wouldn't be able to spot the fatal flaws. He babbles on, not bothering to give me any credit for the idea, something else I had counted on. I didn't want to be associated with the coming disaster. The more Bob talks, the less guilty I feel. He didn't have to steal my idea and run with it. True, the idea he stole was wrapped around a poison pill but he was still a dick, a dumb one to boot.

I'm too junior to move into Bob's role but I'm ready with a means for correcting the havoc his plan will cause. That will get me noticed. And getting noticed, will move me to within striking distance of Bob's job. From there, VP, probably operations but finance would be fine, and then it's only a matter of time. It scares me how good I am at this shit. Maybe when I leave the corporate world behind I'll consider politics. I bet being a senator or governor would be a blast.

Bob thanks us for wasting an hour of our lives we'll never get back and the room fills with the soft clicks of closing laptops and the scrape of chairs. Mitch comes around the table. I take a sip.

"You got a few minutes boss?" Mitch inquires. He sounds nervous.

"Only if you quit calling me boss," I snap. I regret it when his face falls. "Look kid, I know you're busting your hump but you aren't getting paid. You are an unpaid intern for christ sake, no one can claim to be your boss. You don't fucking work here. Well, you work here but you aren't employed here. I'm your supervisor or business big brother or some shit, but I'm not your boss. Call me Stan, damn it."

His head starts nodding. "Sure, uh, Stan. Do you have a minute?"

I jerk my head toward the door and he follows me down the hall toward my office. It's not a corner office but it has a door and a roof, no more cubicles for me. I motion him in and closed the door after me. He takes a chair and I consider the settee but decide to sit behind the desk. I lean back in my chair, let my hands rest in my lap, and ask him what I can do for him.

"Well, uh, Mr. Spaulding's, um his plan, I'm not sure, well I don't think it will work," he finally spits out.

"Why not?"

His eyes widen perceptibly, "You know why. We talked about it. That's my idea, the one we talked about last week. You heard me out and then helped me see why it would never work."

"Yes."

He looks more confused.

"How do you suppose Bob stumble on that idea?" I ask, while studying Mitch's face. He's twenty-two, almost twenty-three, but he has a baby face. He'll get carded for booze until he's fifty. He's a good looking little shit, too. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, open earnest face and lips that make me want to jerk my dick out and beat off under the table.

He thinks for a moment, then leans forward. "You told him about it. Jesus, why?"

"I didn't tell him about it," I reply with a soft shrug of my shoulders. I take a sip from my mug. I can't hide the grimace this time. It's cold. "I hinted around the broad outlines of it. He filled in the rest."

"But why?"

I gaze at him, take another sip, wait.

"You want him to get fired," Mitch blurts out, eyes wider than ever. I salute him with my mug.

"But boss, Stan, that's so cold, dude. I mean, wow."

"Bob's done, regardless," I say as I lean forward. "He's out of his league. You can see it and you're only a fucking intern, a bright intern but still an intern. He needs to go, the sooner the better, before he drags us all down with him."

Mitch eyes me for a moment. It's clear he's not sure whether or not he should say what he's thinking. I nod. "Go on."

"It might be good for the company but it's sure to be good for you."

I salute him with the mug once more as I come around the desk. I take a sip as he rises.

"I didn't know you were a tea drinker?"

"I'm not."

Mitch frowns. "Looks like green tea. It isn't coffee. If it isn't tea what is it? Mountain Dew?"

"No," I say with a shake of my head. "It's not Mountain Dew. It's piss, my piss."

He stares at me. I set the mug on the end of the desk. Mitch is not capable of moving as I unzip my pants. I fish my cock out, hold the mug under the head and piss. I have to cut it off before the mug overflows. My cock still hanging out of my pants I bring the cup to my lips and take a long drink.

"Piss," I whisper as I set the mug down and zip up.

Mitch is still staring.

"Beat it kid. Be at my condo at 7 sharp." He stands. "Go on, beat it but be at my place at 7, don't be late." He starts to leave. "Go to the gym first, full work out, cardio, lift, the works before you come over. And, this is important, don't shower after."

He opens his mouth, closes it without speaking, and leaves.

---

My condo is fairly simple. A loft with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The kitchen is nice but I don't have much time to cook. As I expect, the buzzer goes off a minute before seven. I buzz Mitch in. A moment later he knocks and I yell for him to come in.

He stands inside the door, staring again.

"Lock it please, Mitch." He does but remains in place. "Come on in."

He's shaking his head. "Stan, dude, I'm not like gay or anything."

I smile. "I suppose greeting you naked, with a hard on and a cock ring gave me away huh?" I shrug. "It doesn't matter whether or not your gay Mitch. It'll work out okay. Trust me."

"Boss, I think I really ought to just leave," he stammers, turning toward the door.

"I don't think that would be a good idea Mitch," I say in a soft voice and he pauses. "Too much trouble kid. You could report me to Bob, or even higher, report me to your university but I'll muddy the waters. No one will know what to believe. I'll be hurt but so will you and, not to be a total dick, but I can afford to take a hit more than you can." I give him a sympathetic smile. "Besides, you might even have a little fun." He starts to say something but I halt him with an upraised hand. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything you couldn't do with a girl. I'm not interested in fucking you. I'm not going to ask you to suck my cock, not that I would object if you decided to volunteer. No kid, the way this will work, you should have most of the fun."

I gesture toward the sofa and tell him to have a seat. He does. I go to the refrigerator and get him a bottle of beer, one I've seen him drink before. I grab a bottle of Fuji water off the counter.

"Here, drink these," I instructed, setting the bottles in front of him. My laptop is linked to the flat screen TV. I open a folder full of various porn, each in its own folder, gay, straight, bi, fetish, soft BDSM, some heavier. His eyes scan the folders and he drains the beer in one long draught. He's only a few months out of college. Of course, he can chug a beer. I don't ask, I simply get him another one.

I hand him the remote. "You pick," I tell him and sip my own beer. He takes a long drink and opens the straight porn folder. He picks a facial compilation and hits play.

"You like that?" I ask. "You like cumming on someone's face?"

He nods.

"Good," I nod. "We can work with that." The movie plays on. It's not my favorite. The humiliation aspect is interesting but I can't help but mourn all that delicious jizz going to waste. Now if the dude had cum on the chick's face then licked it off, that would have been hot. I let him finish the second beer.

I bring him a third. "Take your clothes off Mitch," I tell him as he reaches for the beer. He looks resigned.

"Stan, it doesn't matter to me what you're into and shit but I'd rather..."

"Kid, sorry but clothes, off, now," I insist in a voice that makes it clear arguing is pointless.

He strips. His cock isn't hard but the head is wet and so is the front of his underwear. I've never seen him naked before. His body is as hot as his face. He's not chiseled. I like that. I prefer to avoid obvious narcissists. He's not chiseled but he's trim and is well defined. His pecs are firm, no man boobs on this kid. The hair in his pits is thick and darker than the hair on his head. His pubes are dark and thick. God I hope he has a hairy ass. His chest sports only a few hairs around the nipples. His belly has a few around his navel and then a nice passion trail down to his pubes. My cock throbs.

His cock is fucking luscious looking. He's a kid. He can't help getting hard being stared at. His eyes aren't on me, they're on the porn. If that helps, it's okay by me. He's uncut, a big plus in my book. HIs balls hang heavy and are furred. Even half limp, his cock is impressive enough. It's nice and thick and roped with veins. The head is hidden but I'm betting, hoping, it sports a flared crown and a nice big piss slit.

He's still standing. "You can sit if you want Mitch," I whisper. He does but doesn't speak.

"Finish your beer."

"I'm going to need to take a leak soon." It's the first words he's spoken in a while.

I smile. "Oh, I sincerely hope so kid. I really do."

His eyes jerk toward me. I smile. He shakes his head. His eyes drop to my cock. It's a deep red. I'd be lying if I said it was really painful. I use a cock ring that is almost too loose. I ache but it's mostly my balls and mostly desire.

"Doesn't that hurt?" I hear a touch of curiosity. Good, anything to get his mind off his unease.

"A little," I reply. "I deserve it don't you think?" His eyes are fixed to mine as I continue. "Look at what a dick I can be. Look what I'm doing to Bob. Look what I'm doing to you for that matter. Shouldn't I hurt a little, Mitch?"

He nods, a single quick jerk of his head.

"You think I deserve more pain?" I ask. His eyes widen a little, then narrow. He nods.

"Open the drawer of the coffee table." He does as I ask. "Know what those are?"

He nods. "Sure, they're clamps."

"What do you want to do with them?"

He eyes me. He starts to speak then closes his mouth. He leans over, pulls my nipple up between his fingers and lets the clamp snap closed. I hiss at the bite. He didn't ease the clamp closed: he simply let it go. Good boy. He does the same to my other nipple. Soon the sting of pain settles into a low chorus of throbbing aches.

I see him turn back to the drawer. He has three more clamps in his hands. He reaches for my cock.

"Not on my cock Mitch," I tell him, using my at-work voice. "You can put them on my ball sack, along the edge of my armpits, pretty much anywhere else but not on my cock. I'm not going to mess around with safe words. If I ask you to stop, or to not do something, I'll mean it and expect you to listen. Is that okay with you?"

He nods. His eyes are hot. His dick is hard. He stares at me.

"Tell me what to do," I pause. "Boss."

His eyes glow ever more intensely.

"On your knees," he demands. "Lean over the back of the couch."

I do, arching my back, pushing my ass up. He reaches between my legs, grabs a bit of the skin on my ball sack and pulls it back. One, two, three, in quick succession he puts the clamps on the line that divides my nut sack into two. I roll my head and hiss again, as the pain races up my spine.

"You like that?" His voice is harsh demanding. He smacks my ass with one hand. "I'm fucking talking to you, pussy. I said," another smack. "Do you like that?"

"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, I do."

"Get me another beer."

I do as he instructs.

"Back on your knees pussy," he snaps. I hear him pick up the remote. The sound coming from the TV changes. He's selected a different folder. I hear the unmistakable sound of leather on skin. He leaves it there.

"You like that, too?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have that kind of shit around here too?"

"Yes, sir."

He hits my ass again, harder. "Well, fucking show me. Christ, don't just sit there like a fucking lump."

He drains his beer. His fourth. I drop the submissive voice.

"Mitch, grab a bottle of water, another beer too if your up for it," I tell him, once more sounding as if I'm giving him a task at work. He looks confused for a moment, nods, and detours to the kitchen before following me into the guest bedroom. I've spent the afternoon getting it ready.

Mitch gasps as he enters the room. There is a suspended swing, hanging leather cuffs, a spreader bar, assorted paddles, dildos, leather crops, and a ball gag. I point at the ball gag.

"Do me a favor Mitch will you?" I ask. "Toss that into the top drawer in the dresser. We're not ready for that little baby. We don't read each other well enough for me not to be able to speak to you. Not yet anyway," I add with a leer. He does as I ask. When he turns, it's the submissive me that awaits him.

He looks around, still a little lost. I'm not worried. The kid is sharp. He points towards the dangling cuffs.

"Over there."

I obey. He raises one arm, then the other, over my head and cuffs my wrists. I make sure they are loose enough I can pull out of them if I need to. I have them set high enough that I have to stand on my toes.

Mitch crosses to the bed. He picks up a couple of the paddles and looks at them. I watch him in the mirror. He picks a broad leather one with raised studs. The studs are rounded and barely raised. I'm not a total freak. I keep my head down, watching in the mirror. When he turns, I see his cock is still hard. Whether he chooses to admit it or not, part of him is enjoying this.

"How hard?" His voice sounds almost normal.

"Start fairly soft, make it harder until I say enough, or you get tired."

He doesn't answer but lays one across my left ass cheek. It's not hard at all, more of a tap than a swat. The next one is a little harder, and the next and the next. The fifth one is close. On the sixth one I say, "Enough."

"That all you can take. You fucking pussy," Mitch answers, laying the next one on the right cheek of my ass. It's harder than the sixth but I expected that. He moves from cheek to cheek. Every blow sways my body, sways my ball sack and makes the clamps sting. I purposely exaggerate the sway of my chest. The nipple clamps are not heavy and it takes a lot to make them sway and tug. My ass is on fire. My cock throbs and long strands of precum begin to stretch from the head before falling to the floor. A small puddle is forming. No doubt, it will grow larger before we are finished.

The interval between Mitch's blows begins to lengthen. He doesn't realize it but that heightens the pain, giving my numb ass cheeks a chance to recover before the next blow lands.

"Is that enough?"

"Sir, that is for you to decide," I answer with my head hanging forward on my chest. In the mirror, I can see a line of sweat running down his face. He's silent.

"What does sir desire?" I ask after a moment.

"To go home," he responds immediately.

I raise my head so that he can tell I'm looking at him in the mirror.

"Then undo my wrists, if you are sure that's what you want."

He unbuckles my wrists. I turn to face him. "If sir would like, I would be happy to suck his cock."

Mitch shakes his head and is quiet for a moment. "I've never done that," he whispers.

"You've never gotten a blow job?"

"Huh? No, I've never let a guy give me a blow job."

"You think your cock will know the difference. I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm asking you to allow me to do something, something I think both of us will enjoy."

He shakes his head again. "I don't think so," he sighs. "Can I go now?"

"Of course, Mitch. At the moment you are still in charge, within certain limits. If you wish to leave, you may do so."

"Okay." He nods and begins to turn. "Can I use your bathroom before I go?"

"Of course," I answer. He stops when I add, "With one caveat."

His face remains passive as I point toward the bathroom. I follow him. He stands, waiting, though surely he must know what I want. I step into the large shower and kneel.

"Piss on me," I command. "On my cock, on my chest, in my mouth." I dispense with the faux submissiveness. He won't do this unless it is a command.

"Do it," I snap as I tilt my head back and open my mouth.

He only half dribbles at first, then his alcohol and water fed bladder lets go. He hits me in the face. His piss is so dilute it barely stings my eyes. He corrects his aim and the hot man piss of my young intern fills my mouth. I swallow and swallow again but most of his piss flows out of my mouth, over my chin, and down my chest where it puddles around my knees. He pisses hard and long, as only young men are capable of. I nearly choke from the force of it. Finally, he is depleted.

"May I go now?"

"Of course, Mitch. Thank you."

As he turns, I stop him with a question.

"May I shower tonight or should I sleep with your piss dried on my body."

"No shower," he snaps. His anger is real. A product of his confusion more than anything else.

"Yes sir. I'll see you at the office."

He leaves without saying a word. I remove the cock ring but don't masturbate. I let his piss dry on my body. I take off the clamps one by one, savoring the sudden sharp discomfort and delicious ache that blossoms as each is released. I save the nipple clamps for last. I sleep well.

---

My ass throbs as I take my seat for yet another meeting featuring a discourse by Bob. He's moving ahead full steam. I know there are at least two, if not three people, in the room who know what he proposes is absurd. They are as silent as I am. I do not think their silence arises from a fear of disagreeing with him, rather, like myself, I know their silence arises from a desire to see him out of the picture. We break up and I return to my office. I go over my plan for correcting the disaster Bob is about to unleash on our supply chain. I need to ensure I take it to the right person. The person most likely to replace Bob and I need to both bring it to his attention before anyone else but not so quickly as to suggest that I've been anticipating the disaster. But is that the right move? Patton began to reposition his forces as soon as he learned of the German attack in what would become the battle of the Bulge. Could I not explain I had doubts about Bob's plans and went to work on an alternative? But might I not then be asked to explain why I had not voice my concerns earlier? When possible, honesty, or as much of it as one can afford, is best. Why not simply admit to Bob's successor that I thought it best to let Bob fall, for the good of the company of course?