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Randall swam out of sleep to the thoroughly annoying buzzing sound of his digital alarm clock going off. He rolled over and swatted at it, missing and knocking his glasses off the nightstand. They clattered noisily to the hardwood floor. He cursed. Beside him, Alastair stirred but didn't awaken. Not that Randall would've cared much if he had. A second attempt found and mashed the "snooze" button, and the buzzing stopped. He sighed. A snorting sound diverted his attention to the sleeping form of the effette raccoon beside him. Alastair snored. Randall hated it, and told him so very often. He'd tell him again later.

"Wake up," he said firmly but not too loudly.

He slid his middle-aged but still athletic form out of bed and padded naked over to where his glasses had landed. Gingerly, he picked them up. They looked quite expensive, with large gold frames. Unfolding them, he slid them on. Turning back to the bed, he noticed Alastair still hadn't gotten up. The rabbit grumbled.

"Wake up!" he barked, louder.

"Mnnhh..." mumbled the raccoon.

"I said..." Randall trailed off, then went over and shook the sleeping form a couple of times until some semblance of consciousness came over what he considered his boyfriend, but what was in fact a very sorry example of one, as far as he was concerned. He quite frankly sucked as a boyfriend. He was slow, sloppy, selfish and inconsiderate.

This was another thing about Alastair that Randall constantly reminded him of. He used weapons sharper than words when he did so, however. The bruises on the thirtysomething coon's arms and the shiner he was developing over his right eye were evidence of Randall's neverending reminders to him.

"Wake up!" the rabbit said, practically shouting now.

"Mm? What?" Alastair said, rolling over and looking up at his nude, bespectacled lover standing over him. He immediately snapped into action.

The glowering look on the rabbit's face was all that the younger coon needed to know. He swung his legs out on his side of the bed, stretched, and yawned. As he stretched, Randall eyed his slender, gray-furred form, and felt his dick twitch. Later, he reminded himself. After work.

"I'm up!" he said sleepily. "I'm up!"

"I'm hungry," Randall said, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'll make you some breakfast..." Alastair assured him, rubbing his eyes, taking special care with his right one. "You go and shower."

Randall knew the real reason why the lazybones wanted him to shower. So he could catch a few more winks. He'd caught him doing it before, and knew his lover's habits. He said nothing and went into the bathroom, slamming the door, as was his habit. He was one for slamming doors. He didn't have a shower just yet. Instead, he took a piss, moaning a little as his semi-hard cock sprayed a full golden stream into the toilet bowl, which, of course, Alastair dutifully kept clean.

He leaned back his head and shut his eyes as he pissed, thinking of the long day he had ahead of him. He hoped that Alastair was getting a fucking move on out there, so he wouldn't be late for work. Mr. Fletcher had reprimanded him twice this month alone due to him getting there late. Both times, it was Alastair's fault. Fucking coon, thought the rabbit was he finished and shook the last droplets of urine from his softening cock. Wasn't that always the way? The garbage-eaters were always lazy and uncooperative. A few of them worked under him at the office and they were worse than his damn boyfriend.

Without flushing, he went and opened the door. Yep, Alastair was still sitting on the bed, his back to the bathroom. Cute, but useless.

"Al!" he said.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" the raccoon shouted, and suddenly he couldn't scramble out of the bedroom fast enough. He was in such a hurry to get out of there that he didn't even bother to dress himself. Just ran out naked. This made Randall chuckle.

"Toast!" he shouted after him. "Dry! And an egg smoothie!"

He shut the door without waiting for a reply. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He was forty one but looked slightly older. But even for his age he considered himself quite fit. He was wide-shouldered and broad-chested, and toned from time spent on a treadmill at the gym. He had light grayish brown fur with a lighter grayish tan chest and belly. His hair was short, but not too short; sort of middle of the road in a 1980's sort of way. It was dark brown but going gray with streaks at the temples. He'd considered dying it, in fact a few of his past boyfriends had encouraged it, but he'd ultimately decided it made him look distinguished, especially when paired with the delicate-looking gold-rimmed glasses he wore.

He adjusted them and blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes, which were very green. So green, in fact, that even the whites of his eyes weren't actually white, but in fact a pale lime green color. His teeth matched; they too were a sort of off-greenish color, something which, like his hair, he felt no need to fix. Some people assumed it was due to his smoking habit, but, in fact, he'd had teeth that color since before he took up cigarettes.

He turned from the mirror, showing, in its reflection, the scars which crisscrossed his bare back, as high up as his shoulder blades and as down low as right above his buttocks. How he got those was something almost no one knew.

He took a long, hot shower, as was his custom. After drying off, he went into the bedroom and got dressed, glancing at the clock. He had time. Not as much time as he would've preferred. He'd have to eat quickly. And even then, him enjoying his breakfast was dependent on his boyfriend having it done by the time he came out. He wore a brown business suit and a maroon tie with pink stripes. He did not wear a belt, despite there being an entire rack of them display on the dresser. Those, he remembered, weren't for wearing. Instead, he always wore suspenders to hold his pants up.

He slipped on his silver and gold inlaid Rolex. It looked new, but had been purchased secondhand at a pawn shop. Much about Randall's attire was cheaper than it seemed. His suit, though nice-looking, was from a department store and didn't quite fit him properly, and his shoes, though well taken care of, were also obtained secondhand. Even his glasses only looked expensive. The only things in his life that cost as much as they looked were the apartment and his car. He drove a BMW that he was still paying for, and the rent on the apartment was at least a thousand dollars more than Randall could actually afford, but he was determined to live above his means for appearance's sake.

He left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the kitchen of the mid-sized penthouse he shared with Alastair. The raccoon was naked but for a Kiss The Cook apron and busy mixing his boyfriend's smoothie.

So, thought Randall, feeling his irritation rising, breakfast wasn't ready. A few more minutes lost. Alastair cracked open two eggs and poured their raw contents into a blender and added orange juice. He hurriedly blended it while Randall calmly sat down at the table and waited. He clenched and unclenched the fingers of his right hand while Alastair poured the blended smoothie into a tall glass and set it gingerly before him on the table.

"There we go," he said, smiling.

"Better hurry," said Randall, taking him by the wrist. His grip tightened. Alastair winced a little, but visibly relaxed as the rabbit brought his lover's hand to his mouth and kissed it on the knuckles. He added, in a soft whisper, "Don't want me to be late again."

Nodding with a crooked smile, Alastair returned to his work as Randall idly sipped the smoothie. A few moments later, the smell of burned toast filled the kitchen. Alastair grumbled in annoyance while Randall could feel his initial irritation beginning to build into a slow, dull anger. He shut his eyes and made a fist. The burnt toast ejected uselessly and with a sigh, Alastair dumped them into the garbage even as Randall reopened his eyes and turned to regard him angrily. He shot an apologetic and slightly fearful look at his older boyfriend, which made the rabbit almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

The minutes were ticking away as Alastair was attempting to remove two fresh slices of bread from inside the bag and put them into the toaster and somehow failing. Typical. He tended to get sloppy when he was afraid, Randall had observed. A glance at the clock told Randall that even if he left now, he'd be at least a few minutes late. So much for his assurances to Mr. Fletcher that he'd be punctual this month. Especially now that dealing with his boyfriend would take up at least a good three or four more minutes of his morning. He drained the egg smoothie in a few more gulps, then rose from the table.

"Nevermind the toast," Randall said as he stepped towards him.

"Just give me a minute," Alastair said, his voice trembling a little. He was inserting the bread slices into the toaster now. "I can whip up some new, unburned pieces in a jiffy!"

"I said--" Randall started.

"Honey, just be patient," Alastair interrupted him, realizing his fatal mistake even as he turned and saw his boyfriend a foot away. He tried to recover. "J-Just a minute more, and--"

"I said nevermind the fucking toast!" Randall growled.

The raccoon flinched back. As casually as if he were swatting a fly, the rabbit's right land lashed out and he slapped Alastair across the face hard. Then he swung back, and hit the coon with the back of his hand. Some spittle flew from Alastair's mouth as he reeled from his boyfriend's slap and subsequent backhand. Randall hissed and winced. His hand stung. He shook the pain away as Alastair steadied himself with both hands as he panted, looking stunned.

"That..." he began, "was for burning the toast. Which I've told you about doing."

"Randy..." Alastair pleaded softly. "Randy, no...!"

"And thiiiiis..." Randall added, "is for making me late again!"

A third slap across the face knocked the raccoon silly, and left Randall panting and feeling reassured of his superiority within the apartment. Seeing his boyfriend shielding his face and whimpering, though, Randall grabbed the coon by the wrist and roughly dragged him into the living room, where he flung him onto the sofa. He made to hit him openhanded once more, but held himself back with a sigh.

He then sat down beside Alastair and wrapped his arms around his trembling form and dragged him up into a tight, loving hug. The coon sobbed and clung to him. It wasn't his fault he'd lost his temper again. It was Alastair's fault, of course. He kissed the gently sobbing racoon on the forehead.

"Sshhh," he soothed him. "It's okay. I'm sorry. But you know how angry you make me."

He cuddled with him a few more minutes and whispered sweet-nothings to him. Then he noticed he really was late, and, overcome with annoyance once again, he pushed Alastair away from him and got up.

"Be in bed when I get home," he said as he headed for the door, "and I'll give you a nice cock up your ass to make you feel better." Grabbing the handle, he turned and smirked good-naturedly back at the half-naked form lying on the couch, as if he hadn't just gotten done smacking him around. "Some apology that'll be, eh?"

"I won't be here..." came the weak reply.

Randall paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm breaking up with you, Randy," Alastair said sharply. "You've hit me for the last time. When you get home tonight, I'll be long gone..."

Randall smirked. He'd heard this before. Without dignifying such a statement with a reply, he simply double-checked his watch and went out the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame behind him.

~*~

As he'd predicted, he arrived at work several minutes late. He didn't have to put up with hearing about it from up on high just yet. That would come later.

He simply breezed into his office and set immediately to work. It was a smallish, dark room with a desk that seemed a few sizes too large for it. A couple of worn brown leather chairs were set in front of it, customary for offices, really. His own chair wasn't a traditional office chair but a wing-backed red leather armchair that seemed more fit for a library. Like the desk, it was large for the small office, and, between it and the desk, it made one wonder how Randall had gotten them in there. He hadn't, really; they'd already been in there when he'd moved his things in.

Besides the Dell computer and "in" and "out" boxes that usually adorned desks, Randall also had a chrome lamp on a jointed arm poised at one end. Cluttering the opposite end, and, indeed, threatening to take over the entire desktop, were hourglasses of various shapes and sizes. Some new, some old. Some tall and thin, others short and squatt. There was also a fossil tyrannosaurus tooth which he used for a paperweight. It was a replica. On the bookshelf directly behind the huge red armchair was medium-sized aquarium bubbling merrily away. There were no fish in it, though, only various kinds of aquatic plants. He'd never cared much for fish, but liked the tranquility that an aquarium brought.

Randall was the office manager of the fourteenth floor at the Fletcher Development Co., a rather large real estate and construction firm. Originally founded by Alex Fletcher's grandfather Robert Fletcher, the company had passed to Ben Fletcher, Alex's father, upon Robert's death. Now, Ben was all but retired, and his son had been specially groomed to take over. He ran the company with a very tight and very merciless iron fist, in many ways even more of an office tyrant than his father had been. He tended to go through secretaries like tissue paper.

Randall's own responsibilities were many and varied but primarily he was in charge of all the cubicle drones on that floor. He turned on his computer and set to work, pausing only to remove his jacket when it started getting a little stuffy. He diligently hammered out the day's report, his mind wandering to what Alastair had said to him.

Alastair was wrong, he mused. He didn't have a nasty temper. No more than anyone else. But his boyfriend's shortcomings and screwups tended to irritate him to the point that sometimes Alastair just needed a good reminder of who was in charge. He did, on reflection, think that smacking him three times had been overdoing it. Once was enough, especially if he hit hard enough. The other two times had been gratuitous. He'd buy Alastair a present or something to give to him when he got him. Provided the simpering fool was there when he returned.

And, of course, these private feelings of doubt were something Randall would never admit to, anymore than he'd admit where he went some nights, and what he did... and had done to him. He'd learned from his father that a real man, the true head of a household, never showed weakness or signs of doubt. Or admitted certain things. And he'd already shown enough weakness by apologizing for hitting Alastair. Besides, he reminded himself, Alastair shouldn't have burned the toast and made him late.

Whether Alastair was home when he got off work or not, though, he'd deal with his own issues the same way he always did. Thinking about it made the scars on his back itch anew, and he paused in his typing to reach back and scratch at them. Just his imagination, he thought. He had his own ways of straightening himself out.

His phone rang. He answered it. It was Nichelle Miles, Alex's secretary. "Hi," she said, chipper but professional, "just giving you a heads up."

"What about...?"

"Mr. Fletcher wants you to come see him in his office after lunch," Nichelle replied. Her voice suddenly sounded a little less chipper.

What did Alex want to see him about? Randall wondered. After some more small talk with the secretary, he hung up. He felt his stomach rumble, and remembered that due to the toast fiasco, he hadn't eaten breakfast. Deciding he didn't want to wait for his lunch break, he left his office and went to the snack machine down the hall. He smirked a little bit as a few familiar faces gave him a wide berth. Here, he was feared and respected, and it gave him immense pleasure.

When he got to the snack machine, though, he found it being used by an otter whose name he remembered was Jake. He was a slim and muscular young fellow dressed in office-appropriate attire, including, Randall noted with a slight frown, a belt. He was at the moment attempting to force a very wrinkly dollar bill into the machine, without much success.

"Come on, damn it," he mumbled.

Randall tapped his foot. After a moment, he cleared his throat. That got the otter's attention, and Jake spun around, the dollar fluttering to the floor.

"Oh!" he cried. "Mr. Sleen. You startled me."

"You, uh, dropped your dollar," replied the rabbit, pointing to the floor.

"So I did," said Jake, and, stopping down, retrieved it, and made a few attempts to smooth it out. "Darn thing is so wrinkly the machine won't take it."

Never missing a chance to show someone else up, Randall smiled and fished out his wallet, which bore the initials R.S. From within, he removed a wad of bills held together by a faux-gold money clip emblazoned with a garish, stylized dollar sign. There were a few hundreds, but, from the middle, Randall withdrew a crisp and smooth one dollar bill, and handed it to Jake. The otter accepted it, uncomprehending, and then Randall grabbed the wrinkled bill from the otter's other hand.

"Try that one," Randall said smoothly.

"Uh, thanks," Jake replied.

As the otter turned and fed the bill into the machine to obtain the bag of chips he wanted, Randall took his time and carefully folded the crumpled bill he'd gotten from him and slid it into the money clip with the rest of his carrying-around cash. Back into the wallet it went. Jake turned and held up his chips triumphantly, grinning.

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Sleen!" he said.

"Don't mention it," Randall replied, sliding the wallet back inside his pants pocket. "And please... call me Randall."

"Sure thing, Randall."

The rabbit looked the fit young otter up and down, and smirked. He could feel his dick stirring in his pants already. It seemed as though it was time for another one of his private performance reviews of the male staff. Stepping past Jake, he inserted a few quarters into the snack machine and selected a protein bar. It thudded hollowly into the reception slot and he retrieved it. Turning to Jake, who hadn't left, he undid the wrapper and took a bite.

"So, Jake... can I see you in my office?" he asked casually, mouth full.

A look of mild worry came over the otter's face. "Uh, why?"

Randall suddenly felt annoyed, but took care not to show it. He chewed and swallowed. "Because I said so?"

"I know, but, I mean, what do you wanna talk to me about?"

"Oh," said with his mouth full. He chewed and swallowed again. "Just a performance review. Nothing special or anything you need to worry about it."

Jake nodded. Randall finished the protein bar and pocketed the wrapper, and led the way back to his office. He entered first. Jake lingered in the doorway, watching as the rabbit settled into the wing-backed chair. He smiled and gestured for Jake to sit.

"Come in. Don't be shy. Have a seat in one of those chairs there."

Nodding, the otter entered, shutting the door behind him, and chose the seat to his right. A good thing, too. If he'd chosen the other chair, Randall's view of his visitor would've been blocked by his hourglasses.

"Now the reason I called you here, Jake, is because I do very special performance reviews," Randall began solemnly. He wasted no time in getting right to the nitty gritty, though, as was his habit. Randall Sleen wasn't one to beat around the bush. "If I told you to have sex with me, what would do?"

Jake sat there, mouth slightly open. He looked like he'd just witnessed Santa Claus fucking the President or something. After a moment, he shook his head. "I... sir?"

"You heard me," Randall said firmly.

"I'd... first ask if you were joking!" bleated the otter. There was a tone of great offense in his voice.

"I'm not joking," said the rabbit. He steppled his fingers gracefully. "I want to fuck you."

Jake shook his head and rose. "Forget it! I'm not interested, you creep!"

"Ohhhhh!" said Randall, leaning forward with his chin in his hands, elbows on his desk. He furrowed his eyebrows and made a big-lipped pouty face, a expression of mock disappointment. "How upsetting! I guess I'll just have to fire you, then..." His pout slowly turned into an evil smirk.

"Huh?"

"You should get your hearing checked, otter-boy," said Randall. "I'll make this simple for you. Do you like your job?"

"I... well, no not really..."

The rabbit rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let me rephrase. Do you enjoy making money to pay your bills and bring home groceries?"

"In that case... yes..." Jake slowly sat back down, looking defeated.

"Good. So, as I see it, you have two choices here, Jakey-boy. You can either do as I tell you, and keep your job... or you can refuse me, in which case I'll personally ensure that you flip burgers at McDonald's for the rest of your miserable days. Sound fair...?"

Jake twitched in barely contained rage and despair, but finally caved and nodded. Randall chuckled. "What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me to the supply closet."

A few minutes later, the two were in the spacious fourteenth floor supply closet. There were metal shelves of boxes, as well as a large metal worktable. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting the entire room in a sickly, dim yellow light. Randall entered after Jake and shut the door.

"Strip," he said.

The otter slowly undressed as Randall watched, taking immense pleasure in the power he wielded over this hot piece of ass. Underneath his slightly frumpy dress shirt and loose slacks, Jake had a truly kickass body. A toned swimmer's body. Unsurprising given he was an otter. He wore white cotton briefs. No sooner had the otter's clothes hit the floor than Randall was upon him. He groped his crotch and squeezed it, feeling Jake's cock harden and earning a moan from the younger employee. He pressed his lips forcefully to the otter's and kissed him against his will as he forced him up onto the table on his back.

Grabbing Jake's thighs and stooping down, Randall licked over the otter tailhole and ate him out. Jake squirmed and groaned above him, his cock hardening and growing. Once that anus was thoroughly lubed with spit, Randall got back up, and made Jake rolled over and lift his big, rudderlike tail. Keeping his suspenders on, he unzipped his pants and fished out his own erect rabbit cock, pressing the head to the saliva-slickened rear end.

Jake gripped the edges of the table in preparation as he felt Randall's membern rooting underneath his tailbase. The rabbit panted in anticipation, then, as he pushed his erection against the tight entrance, gripping onto his employee's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises beneath the fur. Jake shut his eyes and moaned.

"I knew you were a sex-hungry little slut!" gasped Randall as he heard that moan. He licked his lips in delight as he took this puny office peon.

The rabbit's shaft pushed into the otter's rear, which struggled to resist its entrance, clenching tightly around it. Randall only growled and pushed his hips forwards more insistently.

"Relax!" he urged harshly between clenched teeth.

Jake obeyed that particular command, relaxing his anal muscles as best as he could, even as tears were squeezed from his tightly shut eyes and pitiful whimpers left his trembling lips. Nevertheless, he loosed another long, deep moan as Randall's cock pushed in further.

"Fuck, you're a tight little faggot!" hissed Randal.

Jake shot an angry look over his shoulder at him, but said nothing. Merely glared. Noticing through slitted eyes, Randall angrily slapped the back of the otter's head, and Jake turned away once more.

"Face the other way!" he commanded sternly. "Don't look at me when I'm fucking you! You're nothing and don't deserve to look at me!"

Randall scooted forwards a bit so he was hunched over his fucktoy, and shifted the position of his hands to grab hold of Jake's hips. He giggled and bucked his hips to let the lowly otter truly feel the thickness burrowing into his tight ass, to remind him who was master here. Secretly, he pictured, in his mind, their roles reversed, and that made him lick his chops hungrily. The thought of Jake pounding his tight bunny ass was--

No! He shook his head. He was master here. That sort of thing was for a different time and place.

As if to prove to himself his own convictions, he renewed his push to fully hilt in the peon, finally feeling his member bottom out inside the tight tunnel and letting loose a satisfied little gasp. Jake just moaned and cried some more. That's when the fucking began in earnest. Randall thrust into Jake harder, over and over, picking up speed. Although tears still flowed from his eyes, the otter no longer whimpered in humiliation and despair but mewled and moaned in joy like the sex-hungry little slut Randall had known him to be.

"That's it, bitch," hissed the rabbit. "Make a little more noise for Daddy! Beg! Plead!"

"Fuck!" whined Jake. "Fuck... oh please fuck me, Mr. Sleen...!"

Randall delivered another slap upside his employee's head. "Call me Daddy!" he snarled.

"Y-Yes Daddy!" replied the otter meekly. "Please fuck me harder, Daddy! Fuuucckkk me haaaarrrder!" He begged.

"That's more like it!" Randall panted, sweating now.

Over the next few moments, Randall pounded that otter ass properly, as an otter ass should be pounded, as far as he was concerned, anyway. Randall thrust in and out of the otter harder and harder until his cock shuddered and exploded deep inside him, thick spunk flooding the otter's bowels. Randall grit his teeth and hissed like a snake in pleasure, loosing a long, deep gasp of satisfaction.

"Ahhhhhhh..." he said softly.

Slowly, he pulled his cock from the well-used otter ass with a wet "pop." He stood back, a little weak-kneed, and after catching his breath, tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. He went to a utility sink nearby, and, in the grimy mirror provided, meticulously adjusted his hair and fixed his tie.

"Good news," he said to Jake without turning to look at him, "you get to keep your job. But don't tell a single soul about this little meeting, or else you'll regret it."

Without paying Jake anymore heed, he left the supply room and returned to his own office, feeling like a million bucks.

~*~

Lunch came and went. Then it was time to go up to see Mr. Fletcher. Idly, Randall wondered what Alex wanted. He entered the large highrise office full of confidence and self-worth, certain of his indespensibility to his employer. They talked. Small chit-chat about updates on reports and projects and such things. And then, suddenly, without warning...

"So," said Alex keenly, delicately balancing a pen between the tips of the forefingers of each hand, "how long have you been using yout department as your own personal harem?"

"Sir?" was all Randall could get out, Adam's apple bobbing a bit in growing fear and worry. He'd heard the terrifying rumors about Alex's wrath.

"You heard me," was the younger rabbit's reply. His narrow, almost Asian eyes peered through the purple lenses his his prescription sunglasses, boring into Randall. "How long have you been playing hide-the-salami with the male interns and gofers... and firing the ones who refuse your advances?"

"Mr. Fletcher, you don't under--"

The pen was flung down, bouncing off of the blotter, doing a little arc in the air, and hitting Randall in the forehead and falling into his lap. He flinched, his confidence eroding quickly.

"Don't lie to me," Alex hissed, even more snakelike than Randall's had been in the supply room earlier, his voice eerily calm in direct contrast to his actions and the ugly, angry furrow creasing his features. "Or you'll live to regret it. I don't make idle threats, Randy-boy."

Randall swallowed and confessed everything under that withering gaze, sweating despite the icy cold of the air conditioning.

Alex rose. Planting one hand firmly on the desk, he leaned over. Randall's tie was seized and with ease, the compact black-haired rabbit pulled his bottom out of the chair and yanked him to eye level. Their glasses clinked softly together, Alex's purple ones against Randall's gold-rimmed ones. Randall gagged as the tie's knot dug into his throat.

"I don't tolerate that sort of bullshit!" he said smoothly as the older rabbit struggled to breathe, but didn't dare pull away. Despite himself, Randall was sprouting a massive and very insistent erection as Alex silkily said, "The only one in this company who uses up and throws away the employees like tissue is me. And I only get rid of non-essentials like secretaries. Those bimbos are a dime a dozen!"

"Sir...!" Randall squirmed.

"Shut up!" his boss hissed. "You're firing office workers! Accountants! Computer programmers! Architects! People essential to the continued health of this company! And all because you feel a little less macho whenever one of them says no to a little supply room hanky panky! Or am I wrong...?"

"No sir!" Randall managed to blurt. "You're absolutely right! I've been--"

"A very naughty boy," said Alex, loosening his grip a little, but not releasing the tie. "And do you know what happens to bad boys?"

"They get punished...?" Sweat was running freely down the sides of Randall's face now.

"They get punished and THEN they get fired!"

The hand let go, and Alex sat back down. Randall wobbled a little and steadied himself on the desk, the bulge in his dress pants pushing against the edge of the desktop. He slowly lowered himself back into his seat, and felt a sob hitching in his chest. No! He'd remain strong, he told himself.

Leaning forwards, he pleaded, with what he hoped would be the right touch of indignation, "Mr. Fletcher, please give me another a chance...!"

"Why?" asked the black-haired rabbit. "So you can continue feeling like a little tin-pot tyrant ruling over your fiefdom of cubiles?"

The older rabbit felt the sob threatening to return, desperation growing inside him, and his cock throbbing harder than ever. "Please!" was all he managed to spit out. "I'll..." he began, but stopped himself.

"Yes...?" asked Alex, seeming to suddenly be intrigued. He cocked his head to one side, his black-lipped mouth pressed tightly closed in a tiny little smirk. A look of amusement and curiosity mixed together masked his face.

"I'll do anything!" Randall managed at last.

That seemed to do it. Shifting, Alex eased back into the depths of the leather surrounding him and gave the tiniest of nods. "Very well," he conceded, and gestured with one limp-wristed hand for his despairing employee to rise and come to him. Randall did so. As Alex turned the chair on its base, thighs spread, Randall noted with some mounting worry that the other rabbit's own pants were bulging with arousal.

"Take off your clothes." The words poured like sweet nectar from those black lips, Alex was so utterly calm.

"But..."

The dark cloud of anger threatened to come over Alex again. "Do you want your job or not?"

"Yes sir!"

"Then strip for me." All at once, he was serene again.

Shaking hands slid the suspenders off of his broad shoulders, and then, with fingers that couldn't quite seem to keep still, he started undoing the knot of his tie. Alex for the moment was eyeing the bulge straining for freedom in his older manager's trousers, but when he looked up and saw how halfheartedly Randall was undressing, he growled and thumped his fist against the desk, making him stop. Randall stood there, nervous and afraid.

"I said strip!" barked Alex. His foot lashed out.

A foot clad in a shoe which by itself cost more than Randall's penthouse apartment kicked him in the shin. He howled and whimpered as pain shot through his leg.

"For Christ's sake, surely you of all people ought to know the difference between stripping and undressing! Do it slow. Sexy. Entice me. Get me to WANT to let you keep your job." Alex rolled his eyes.

Randall nodded, and, after composing himself, took a minute to try and get himself in the right frame of mind. He closed his eyes and pretended he was anywhere but this room. He pictured the club he frequented. All flashing lights, throbbing music and hot, hard, musky male bodies moving, and, just as Alex was about to complain about the pause, his words died in his open mouth as he watched the older rabbit beginning to sway sensually in time to the music only he could hear. He shut his mouth, and watched, impressed and delighted.

Bit by bit, Randall peeled his work clothes off his hard body, letting tie drop and shirt flutter to the floor, exposing his broad chest and flat belly, fit for his advancing years. His chest and stomach fur were a light brownish tan, compared to the overall light brown of the rest of his fur.

His hands, steady now, found his fly and fumbled with it slowly as his hips swayed in a circular motion that made his stomach roll hypnotically, his suspenders dangling loosely to either side. Then, zip, they were undone, and he folded his arms back behind his head and continued to roll his hips, making the cheap dress slacks with suspenders still attached dance their way down his toned but not especially muscular legs to bunch up around his ankles. He wore boxer briefs which bulged in front with his arousal. Brown elastic garters held up his navy blue silk socks.

Alex gestured to the underwear. "Those too. You're quite good. You've done this before..." he observed.

Randall nodded but did not answer, and the tightfitting undergarments soon joined the pants. His modestly sized cock, fringed by dark brown pubes in stark contrast to the lighter tan of his tummy, flopped out, fully erect. The pubes matched his hair, but didn't have the same gray streaks. Alex's tongue slid over his lips.

Again at his boss' gesture, Randall stepped out of the pants and underwear, which he kicked aside. He'd have felt awkward bending to take off his shoes, socks and garters, so he left them on, nor did Alex insist he remove them. Apparently, Alex liked how a man looked in naught but his shoes and socks.

"And now, come over here, and suck me off." The words fell like a weighted anvil even as Alex was removing his jacket and loosening his tie.

He, too, was wearing suspenders. Randall hesitated slightly. A man without a belt didn't strike him as being much of a man, but, then again, this was his employer, and, belt or not, employers needed to be obeyed. He himself was proof of this, as he'd told himself when forcing himself on his own subordinates time and time again. He walked over and got down on both knees. Alex made no move to unzip himself. He expected his subordinate to do it, and Randall was happy to oblige him.

He undid the button on the front and tugged the zipper down gently to reveal Alex wore extremely skimpy bikini-style briefs that bulged obscenely with his arousal, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination. Black pubes peeked out over the waistband. Randall could see every single outline of Alex's erection and balls as they stretched the thin red fabric.

"Worship it," Alex said.

Randall bent. His mouth opened and he inhaled the musky scent pouring off of the crotch before him. His tongue washed over his green teeth, and then slid out and licked over the cockbulge, earning a deep, masculine groan from the other lepine. He sucked the entire bulge into his mouth, and then let it pop free as Alex gasped and shuddered, then rubbed his face into its moist, firm surface, pressing it hotly to his visage, the heat radiating off of it fogging up his glasses. He spent a good minute or so rubbing his face against the symbol of his boss' manliness, kissing and licking over it, before, sensing Alex's growing impatient, he grabbed the waistband and tugged the front down.

Alex's cock, far longer and thicker than his, flopped out and smacked him in the face, spurting a bit of pre onto his forehead. He groaned.

"Now suck me," came the icy calm command.

Nodding, and with little other choice, Randall licked up and down the throbbing cock, and then opened wide and took Alex inside his mouth past his quivering lips. Alex growled softly in pleasure and leaned back in his chair, thoroughly relaxed. He shut his eyes. He was quite serene for a man getting a sloppy blowjob from a lowly office peon. Sloppy it was, so desperate was Randall's sucking. He bobbed his head back and forth and corkscrewed his mouth up and down on that piece of man-meat. But for the sloppy desperation in his efforts, he was a good cocksucker.

"Ohhhh my," purred Alex, "you've had experience with this. A lot of experience."

It was true. Randall Sleen's secret shame was that he enjoyed bottoming for other males at various clubs, something he never told anyone outside of said clubs. It'd made him quite adept at pleasuring another male. So adept, that it wasn't very long before Alex drew a hissing intake of breath and his cock blew its thick load in the other rabbit's maw. Without needing to be told, Randall swallowed every drop except for a single trickle that ran over his lower lip and down his chin. When Alex was finished cumming, he swatted the top of Randall's head, signalling for him to get off.

Randall pulled off of the cock and swallowed the last of the cum, and knelt there in nothing but his shoes and socks, thoroughly humiliated, blushing hotly under his cheekfur. Alex told him he could dress, and, after wiping his chin clean with the back of his hand, he put his clothes back on, which involved taking off and then putting his shoes back on for the pants. He was feeling relieved, his shame slowly abating, and finishing putting his tie on when...

"You're fired," Alex said simply.

"Wha...?" came Randall's uncomprehending reply.

"You heard me!" snapped Alex, standing, tucking his spent, moist cock back inside of his briefs, then adjusting his package.

He then zipped up and redid the button on his pants. Realizing he'd gotten cum on his fingers, he made a face and his hand fumbled first for a box of kleenex on the desk, before a fingertip pressed and activated his inter-office com device. It emitted a buzzing sound, which stopped when he removed his finger.

He casually wiped his hands clean as the far door opened and three rabbits in business suits - who Randall recognized as Fabian, Biff and Marty - entered one after the other and stood expectently at the other end of the room. Biff, entering last of all, shut the door.

"But..." Randall managed.

He looked to them, then back to Alex as the black-haired rabbit threw the wadded up tissue into an ornate wastebasket. "I hope you enjoy working as a server at Denny's for the rest of your life," he sneered. He shrugged his suspenders back on. "Just be glad firing you is the only thing I'm doing to you, Randall."

Walking over, he seized Randall by the shirt collar roughly.

"I could do a lot worse than take your job. Like your life..."

Randall broke at this. Tears filled his eyes and he jerked away. Alex's grip was firm and the collar ripped before he released in. The older rabbit stumbled back into the waiting arms of Fabian and Biff, who each grabbed hold of one of his arms. Marty stood to one side, idly chewing on his ever-present match.

"Get this piece of garbage out of here," he said, giving an uncaring and dismissive gesture at the office door. "Put him in the gutter where he belongs."

"No!" wailed Randall, pulling at the rock-hard grips of the two larger rabbits.

"Let's go!" said Fabian, struggling with the kicking and bucking rabbit.

He and Biff wheeled him towards the door, and as Randall fought, he wrenched his arm free of Biff. The blonde rabbit gave a cry, but Randall didn't make it far. Not only did Fabian refuse to release him, but Randall's other arm was snatched out of the air by Marty with surprising quickness. Randall felt Biff grabbing the seat of his pants, and, together, the three of them began forcibly escorting him from the room against his will as he wailed and sobbed.

Alex watched them go and then sat back down with a sigh, and chuckled. All in all, he'd had a fairly fulfilling afternoon.

Randall fought them the entire ride down on the elevator. It didn't matter. All they did was laugh at him, make jokes, and tighten their grips. They apparently did this often, and enjoyed themselves every single time. When they got to the ground floor, they didn't take him out the front. Instead, he was half pushed, half carried out a side entrance and into an alleyway normally used for trucks making deliveries. This had been Biff's idea.

"Alex said to take out the trash!" he giggled, letting go of Randall's pants and walking towards a handy dumpster that looked in bad need of emptying. Randall let out a shout of protest, and was slapped upside the head roughly in response.

"No, he said the gutter!" Fabian insisted.

"Gutter, dumpster, who cares?" said Marty, who then joined Fabian in flinging Randall against the side of the dumpster. His body banged hard off of the metal, leaving him dazed. "Just as long as we put this cocksucking little pusbag in a place more fitting for him."

Biff threw open the lid. Randall broke and tried to run but was again seized and dragged back. Fabian frisked him and took his wallet and keys, then stood back and watched, grinning. Marty grabbed Randall's legs and Biff took him by the arms, and, lifting him up, they pitched him over the top of the trash. With a cry he vanished over the side, and the lid banged noisily shut.

He floundered around against bulging plastic bags containing God-knew-what, as, for a few moments, his world became garbage, stench and blackness. Outside, he heard the three other rabbits guffawing at their own cleverness and what sounded like receding footsteps. As much as he wanted out due to the awful smell, Randall was leery of trying to get free while Alex's henchmen were still outside; he knew they'd just shove him back in.

He wept openly and silently as long as he was in here. Where they couldn't see him. A few minutes passed and finally he dared to peek. The alley was empty. Composing himself, he got out and stood there shakily. He found his wallet and his car keys on the ground. The former was open and devoid of cash. The bastards had stolen his money on top of everything else.

Pocketing both wallet and keys, he almost went back inside, to get his things from his office, but changed his mind. He didn't fancy encountering Alex's henchmen again. Sniffling and feeling thoroughly used and ashamed of himself, and quite unused to such sensations, he limped towards the parking lot. He had a long drive home and needed a hot shower. He also, for once, genuinely craved Alastair's embrace. To be held by his boyfriend and be comforted. He hoped and prayed that Alastair hadn't made good on his threat to leave...

~*~

When he got home, he found the apartment empty. Anything that had belonged to Alastair was gone. The bedroom had been ransacked and all of Alastair's clothes were gone. There was no note. After splashing some cold water in his face, Randall lit a cigarette and and went and sat down on the sofa in the living room. He felt emotion welling up inside of him. First anger, which led him to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray... and then despair. He wept and buried his face in his hands. He was jobless. Worse... he was alone. And for that, he couldn't, wouldn't, admit that he had no one to blame but himself.