James, after re-inventing himself as Jazz, was enjoying success as a Floor Manager in a Call Centre.

Known as a proper lad and the life of any party, his team-building meets were legendary, with the next one l lined up for the week  preeceding the firm’s merger with another industry giant. Boring shifts were taken up with his daydreams of ways to spend the extravagant bonus that was heading his way – upgrade his Mazda, re-decorate his Riverside apartment etc.

The last team-builder day had been most rewarding for JazzMan as the guys on his floor all referred to him in the weeks since and the mere reminiscence of it hardened his cock. Countless times, he’d squirted his cum over his laptop pics of Gemma, the least extrovert of his herd of ‘phone jockeys, who had unwittingly allowed herself to be fed large amounts of vodka hidden in tropical fruit juice. The resulting stripping, vomiting and crying had earned JazzMan a reputation as a master prankster, according to the guys. But, oh, the best pic of all was the stream of bright yellow piss running through her panties onto the pavement outside the club, while the doormen sniggered at her. Strangely, a vid had found its way onto the Internet. The number of views delighted him. The females of the herd were oddly subdued when Jazz was around; seemed even wary now, although nothing of any gossip had been overhead and reported back to Jazz by his Praetorian Guard. Life was GOOD.

Now Lynda, the General Manager, had cheerily requested an informal chat in the tea room, no doubt to supply a heads-up on the rumoured re-structuring before the inevitable ‘roll-out’.

Lynda slid the door closed behind her ample derriere and was instantly aware of the fleeting sneer on James’ face. She refused to give credence to his new nickname. Worse, she had every sympathy for Gemma and had noted previous incidents involving other victims.  “Ah, James dear,” she smiled in greeting.

James, for his part, recalled the time he’d made her the subject of ridicule by writing a comment about her on his tablet during a briefing, on the lines of “..three kids! I bet her pussy lips clap when she runs! Bet it’s all fishy, too!” and showing it around. He had no idea if she knew. She was always so professional..

Lynda went on to outline how the Floor Manager’s duties would be down to James on a four days on, four days off basis alternating with Peter who was joining from the other firm. More info would be revealed at the Team Night.

By the team night, the JazzMan had set his mind on his next victim. Ben was a new dad, besotted with his partner, Emma and their baby. The plan was to lure Ben to a sleazy club where he’d be the ‘star’ of a vid involving a stripper with a stunning body, and the vid would somehow make its way onto Youtube. That should ruin the smug Emma’s world fast.



God, how James hated women.  JazzMan acted out his fantasies.

The big day rolled around. With a pocket brimming with ‘complimentary’ lapdance tickets, JazzMan waited in the motel lobby, the favourite springboard for  revelries.  Lynda strode towards him in step with a statuesque vision in a pencil skirt, towering heels and a sweater pulled nipple-rubbing tight over straining breasts of ball-tingling roundness. He couldn’t help himself, he groaned aloud and had to turn it into a coughing fit. The stranger leaned over him in a concerned mannerism that allowed her pointy nipples to brush his face.  He all but shoved her aside as he stood up. Suddenly, he was aware that the bulge in his trousers must be showing. He felt like a naughty kid and fought the encroaching flashbacks with all his might, eyes screwed tight. “Damn the sex-bitch!” he yelled in his head.

“James. Meet Peter!”, trilled Lynda’s voice through his fog of discomfort. Casting a glance around him, he saw Ben and the herd, no new chaps at all. The tall woman tossed her long, silky hair back over her shoulder and thrust out a long, elegant hand with garnet red talons.

“Peta Cooper!” she told him in amused tones. “Let’s us three have a tipple in my room. Not found a flat here yet, so dossing in this place all week.”

James had planned on Peter being in admiration of his slick demolition of Ben and Emma. This  side-tracking must be stopped. He protested that the others were waiting for him but, on looking around, there wasn’t anybody to be seen.

 Abandoned. Betrayed. This was too much! But the evening had barely begun for him.

At first chatty, Peta’s tone of voice developed a sinister edge as she enquired seemingly politely, about James’ background. “No. No. No. Not this!” he repeated over and over in his head. He must have said it aloud just as they reached the door of Peta’s room. Lynda kicked the door open and bundled him through into..a conference suite. He was bewildered and scared. Was she going to fire him?

Lynda picked up a remote control and the curtains hiding the rostrum parted. What the fuck was going on? His mouth fell open.

He could see a ball-gag poking out of Lynda’s blouse. With a deft flick, she applied it to his gaping mouth.




In total silence, with rehearsed co-ordination, the ladies heaved the trembling James onto a leather- topped bench and strapped him down, face up, with his hands able to move just a little. Peta and Lynda stepped out of their office gear and loomed over the terror-struck morsel. Clad only in panty girdles, black seamed nylons and quarter cup bras, they removed their high heels and made him stroke their feet, lifting them high. He could see their neatly shaved cunts. Lynda’s was as tidy as a girl’s but so plump and succulent. How could that be? She was over forty years old..  Peta’s was glistening with juice. James was becoming terrified now and clamped his eyes shut. He knew about women like this.

His clothes were sliced off him with chef’s knives and lay around the bench in shreds, his unaccountably hard cock pointing to his captors, who were now kissing and licking each other’s cunts before his very eyes. “We need a fuck, big man!” they chanted, mocking him. Did they know his big, big secret?

James started to cry. He’d never fucked any woman, despite his shameless bragging and had only once tasted cunt juice. He recalled that day with a shudder. Raised by his mother’s sister, in deepest Dorset, he rarely left the house except to go to school or Scouts. Not popular in either setting, he bunked off school on the fatal day of reckoning.

Believing his Aunt was out, he’d crept into her boudoir and was marvelling at her lingerie and shoes when she walked in with an older gent who was blindfolded and gagged. James had dived into the massive wardrobe, which turned out to be full of canes, whips and long rubber items with no name. Crouched there, he had no choice but to watch the session unfold. He was discovered and made to suck a used dildo.

This night at the motel was turning into a nightmare. Lynda removed his gag. Clambering onto the bench, she let fly a jet of hot piss directly into his mouth then demanded he dry her cunt with his tongue. He tried to mime so she grabbed his head and forced him. She hauled him to his feet, slapping his face sharply. Peta pulled a substantial dildo from her dripping  cunt and crammed it into his mouth before cutting the straps that held him down and clamping his own hands around it.  Flipping him over, shedemanded he ram the rubber penis hard up his own virgin arse. It hurt. Oh, god, it was agony!  Despite his pain and fear, James groaned loudly,, shouting out 'Auntie!' as his pitiful cock sent thick white ropes of jism all over the floor.

Silently, then ladies stepped into their discarded garments and strolled towards the door.

“What about me?” yelled James.


“Well,” said Lynda, “you’ll want to get along to the hospital and get that 9-incher taken out because, by now, it’ll be way, way up inside you. Oh, and a private viewing of your exploits will be held for just us three in Peta’s room at 09.00hrs sharp tomorrow. Depending on your future conduct, Slave boy, your vid may or may not become viral. Capisce?”

“Byeee!” called Peta from the corridor.

James wept loudly.

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