Home > Sexting The Boss

Sexting The Boss
Author: K.C. Wells

Chapter 1


Since when did it become so difficult to get laid on a Friday night? So what if I wasn’t in the mood to go out? There had to be plenty of guys in my area who wanted some action, right?

Wrong. No one on Grindr was ticking my boxes. As a last resort, I’d called up Ste. I’d figured he was a safe bet. He says he’s bi, and that amounts to turning up at my apartment whenever he wants to get fucked or suck a dick. Like I’d say no to that, right? But this was one of the few times I’d called him—and he was throwing me over for football.

“Aw, come on, Ste. You know you wanna.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But there’s football on TV, and…”

Football? Was he freaking kidding me? “And you’re gonna pass on my dick for football?” I wasn’t gonna back down. I had a severe case of blue balls, and that meant I was gonna fight dirty.

“I bet I could make you change your mind,” I wheedled.

He snorted. “Not unless you’re suggesting coming round to my place and letting me sit on your cock while I watch the game. Mind you, the rest of the guys would probably love it. We might end up being the half-time entertainment.”

That did it. This was a challenge, and I was more than ready for it.

I unzipped my fly, shoved my jeans down to my knees, and pumped my already meaty dick a couple times. Had to get it looking its best for the camera, right? Then I grabbed it around the base, holding it erect while I got the camera ready. Click. I checked the photo, liking how my cock filled the frame, then hurriedly sent it to Ste, along with the message, ‘Thinking of you.’

“Tell me you don’t want a piece of that,” I told Ste confidently, still lazily tugging on my shaft. Victory was mine. I could picture him drooling when he got the photo.

“Piece of what? You’re not taking no for an answer tonight, are ya?”

Goddamn snail mail. “Just check your inbox. Sent you a little something.”

Ste huffed. “Fine.” I could hear the TV in the background. “Okay, what I am supposed to be looking at?”

“The photo I just sent you.”

“Nope. No photo here. And before you ask, I just refreshed. Sorry, Chandler. Whatever you sent is out there somewhere in the ether. And now I’m gonna watch the game. Have a good night.” Bastard was laughing as he disconnected.

I stared at my phone. If he didn’t get it, then who did?

Before I could fathom that out, my phone pinged. When I saw the email from Stu Ganford, I had to admit I was puzzled. Since when did I get emails from the boss on a Friday night? I opened it, and was no clearer.

Meeting in my office, Monday morning at 9.00.



For one thing, it wasn’t his usual format. Stu Ganford was a succinct man, I grant you, but one-line emails were not his style. Signing it Stu wasn’t his style either.

What the fuck is going on?

I read it again, only this time a terrible idea began to dawn. Stu…. Ste…..

Oh God. Sweet Jesus, I didn’t. Tell me I didn’t.

I clicked through my sent messages, and Holy Mother of God, there it was.

I’d sent a dick pic to Stu Christ Almighty Ganford. Who now wanted to see me in a meeting.

I sagged into the couch, the phone dropped onto the seat cushion beside me. Well, that was it. Goodbye, job, Hello, unemployment. And I could kiss goodbye to any positive references. Employers who received explicit photos of staff genitalia tended not to write about them in glowing terms for future employers.

As if in response, my erection wilted, my balls shriveling. I was well and truly fucked.

It took me a moment to realize my phone was buzzing. I glanced at the screen apprehensively, in case Stu had decided he couldn’t wait until Monday. Thankfully it was Dean, a coworker. I connected the call absently, my mind still on Stu’s email. “Hey.”

“I forgot to mention today that I’m having a BBQ Saturday, and you’re welcome to come. I know it’s a bit last minute and all.”

Dean was an okay kinda guy. We chatted about sports and movies, he’d tell me how many girls he was banging, and I’d tell him how many guys I was screwing. Really symbiotic relationship.

Right then a BBQ was the last thing on my mind.

“Sorry, but I’ll have to pass.”

“Sure. Like I said, it’s last minute, so I get it. You going out tonight with the rest of the gang? Rachel, Joey, Phoebe, Monica…?” He snickered, like he always did every goddamn time he said it.

I don’t know which I hated more—my name, or the fact that everyone felt they had to make a joke out of it. So my mom loved Friends. So what? Except right then I was in no mood for Dean’s laughter at my expense.

“I really don’t need this. In fact, the joke is wearing pretty fucking thin.”

I thought I heard Dean choking. A moment later, he was back. “You okay, buddy?”

And just like that, I regretted my outburst. “Sorry, Dean. I… I got a lot on my mind.”

“Wanna tell me about it? A problem shared, as they say.”

I deliberated telling him for all of two seconds. I had no one else to talk to, for God’s sake. “I… might have just sent Stu Ganford a photo of my cock.”

Okay, this time he was definitely choking. “Jesus fucking Christ, Chandler!”

“It was an accident! I was sending it to someone else. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done it. Because I’ve seen your phone, remember?”

“Sure, yeah, I’ve sent a girl a dick pic, but I’m always real careful when I’m sending.”

“It was one letter different, that’s all.” One goddamn letter that was gonna cost me my job.

“Maybe he won’t get the message. Maybe he won’t see it.”

Bless his optimistic little heart. “And maybe he already saw it, and emailed me to say he wants to see me Monday morning.”

“Aw shit. Really? That’s too bad.”

“Too bad? You do realize he’s gonna can me for this, don’t you? Because once I step into that office come Monday, my ass is grass and he’s a fucking lawnmower.”

Dean sighed. “Looks like there’s nothing you can do, except hope he’s feeling lenient. You might get away with a reprimand.”

“Yeah, and pigs might fly outta my butt.” I’d had enough. I had a whole weekend to come of thinking about Monday, and I was already depressed as hell. “I’ll see you Monday morning, okay? Until I get my marching orders.”

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