The Telemachus Story Archive

Jay Loves His Job
By Amalaric (Illustrated by Amalaric)
Email: Amalaric



For many, getting up for work in the morning is a chore- filled with the dread of deadened expectation, or stress, maybe hatred of an asshole boss, co-workers with bad breath…any number of things. Jay, on the other hand, loves his job. He majored in communications at university and the thought always raises a smile as he considers the perfect marriage of vocation and avocation that his degree and subsequent employment entail. Contracted, after a short stint in the army, to some quasi-governmental outfit specializing in interrogation, Jay felt like he had realized all of his dreams at the tender age of twenty six; and the money wasn’t half bad either. Normally upbeat anyway, he positively beams as the alarm goes off each morning- dashing in and out of the shower, pulling on fresh undershorts, clean socks, nondescript khaki trousers. Shirt and no-nonsense work boots complete his professional attire. He is boyishly handsome, loves to crack the odd joke and, despite a propensity to Sunday afternoon football planted in front of the television (with lots of beer, greasy chicken wings, maybe a side or two of nachos- Hey! Heap on those jalapeños!!), is lean and muscular; packed power in a smooth build…man, that combination just drives the chicks wild! The small but tastefully appointed apartment that Jay calls home has rather thin walls and Mrs. Orphington next store often smiles (despite her nagging arthritis) at the sound of Jay whistling over his breakfast. Yep, our boy absolutely digs his job.

The iron gates of the place that Jay laughingly referred to as his ‘office’ clanged open as the bored guard ritually perused the casually flashed identity card and pressed an appropriate button. The young entrepreneur shifted the gears of his vintage bottle green Porsche, lapping up the envy in the sentry’s sour face, and revved into a rather drab looking parking lot. Damn, he thought happily, wonder what the boss has up for me today? He breezed into a kind of reception room and greeted the executive secretary, making sure that she noticed the trailing quest of his wide blue eyes as he drilled into the ample cleavage so obviously displayed by the low cut neck of her blouse. ‘Boss here yet, Linda?’ She smiled and blushed just enough to let him know that she noticed him noticing her. Damn, that guy is so cute!!!! What I’d give to get drilled by something a little more substantial then those baby blues… ‘Oh…sure Jay, he got here around fifteen minutes ago.’ No time cards for Jay- no way! He’s a professional and works on consignment; taking his commissions straight from the company. ‘That’s great, Linda, is he free right now?’ She nods an affirmative, wet tongue darting over the waxy hot pink of carefully done lips. ‘Fantastic! Let’s see what’s up (he winks knowingly) today…’

The boss’ office was a cluttered mess. Papers seemed to multiply like snow flakes and these daunting drifts were augmented by haphazard arrangements of the tools of the trade; whips, clamps, various wires and their leads, and other yet more esoteric devices designed to propel the art of interrogation into the twenty first century. Jay nodded at the man who signed his checks- lost in some dossier- and sauntered over to the pigeon hole marked with his name. Hot damn!!! Something’s there! He withdrew the stapled pages with a trembling hand and stared at the heading and then the attached photo. A low whistle caused the clerk to briefly look over, shrug, and return to his paper work. Jay, for his part, broke into a light sweat of anticipation staring at the attached photo.

Damn, this one’s a beauty!!! He hurriedly read the bio synopsis, presumed culpability and interrogation objectives, shuffling from foot to foot like a little kid in the throes of uncontainable excitement: Subject- Roddy Sandoval, suspected cocaine runner for one of the local mafia families, too stubborn or, more likely, scared to talk. Objective- find out what he knows; where’s the warehouse, who are the front people, sources of funding, money laundering apparatus…the usual thing. Jay was confident the day’s pleasurable work would yield some tangible results and, buoyed as he was, maybe even a fat bonus as well. OK, dude, the man’s on his way…are you ready??? With a sigh of contented pleasure, he folded the dossier, shoved it in a back pocket and headed for the hallway leading to his ‘office’.

Roddy Sandoval waited in Jay’s ‘office’; a concrete cell conveniently sound proofed and bare, except for some locked cupboards he didn’t want to think about. An hour earlier, while Jay was still having his breakfast and reading the paper, Roddy had been brought into this room from a different cell where he had spent the last two weeks; sleeping on a stinking cot without blanket or pillow under fluorescent light that never changed, day or night, pounding a kind of monotonous torture against his eyelids, disorienting, somehow managing to stretch the endless time even further as he sweated his anxiety, stared at the walls, or begged to see a lawyer. The only things that kept him from squealing to the pigs were the innate pride of a cocky twenty three year old, and his very real fear of the Battaglia minions roaming the city…no doubt, among other things, looking for him. At first, he was grateful when they rousted him from the stinking hole he had steadfastly refused to call home for the last two weeks, but his present digs were far worse. It wasn’t the concrete or even the lack of furniture that had Roddy freaked out; no, it was the fact that he had been ordered to strip off his work shirt on arrival and then had been unceremoniously strung up in the center of the room. And that’s where he dangled, waiting for something unspeakable, stripped to the waist and sweating profusely, twisting with arms hiked high, flexing his muscles for the surveillance camera…wishing he had listened to his mother and chosen a different line of work.

Jay bustled into the cell with the dossier clutched in one hand. Realizing that the reality was bound to be better, he tossed the papers on to a chair and stepped up to Roddy Sandoval. Not bad, he thought, me and you, boy, we’re gonna have a great old time for the next few hours…at least I hope so, if you can hold out that long. Roddy, for his part, choked back a black tide of fear and resorted to bluster, as that had served him well in the past. ‘What the FUCK, man!!! I want to see my lawyer! Who the hell…’ Jay cracked a delighted grin, loving the opening gambit, and backhanded the buck straight across his handsome face. Sandoval’s head flew sideways, surprised spit flying from his mouth, and jerked reflexively against his bonds, sputtering mumbled expletives, dark eyes narrowed with a dangerous, if impotent, resentment. Jay stepped back to peruse the merchandise and wasn’t in the least disappointed. The subject stood over six feet tall, well proportioned with broad, muscular shoulders, deep chest, tapering waist and long, mobile legs. His lean torso, glistening under the overhead lights, looked as hard as a rock, with ridged abs like solidified lava flows, belly flat as a frying pan and twice as hot. Not one to waste much time, Jay reckoned he’d like to see the full sweep of the dude’s tapering abdomen and reached for Sandoval’s belt, buckled tight two inches below his navel. Roddy had other ideas and lashed out with his feet, grazing the interrogator’s shin. ‘Oh, man!’ Jay chortled, ‘You got a lot to learn and not much time, sucker. To put it bluntly (he rubbed his shin and laughed), it’s me that calls the shots here in my very own office and…to quote that old song my daddy used to listen to, “…you ain’t going nowhere!!” Comprendes, dude????’ Roddy looked perplexed and Jay decided a little enlightenment might be in order. Balling a fist and cocking his arm he moved, fast as lightening, with an upward sweep straight into the warm, meaty depths of Sandoval’s denim clad crotch, smashing his balls with a sharp blow that had the stud a whiter shade of pale in three seconds flat and gasping for air. ‘That better?’ Jay asked, but the question was rhetorical. ‘Better make sure, just for good measure…’ and the fist slammed upward, connecting with bruised testicles a second time, as Sandoval whimpered, choking on bile, and made the mistake of reflexively twisting away. ‘Fuck, man! You’re damn tough, but that’s how I like ‘em,’ Jay exclaimed and, with a last quip- ‘This one’s for the mother you never listened to,’ let him have it a third time. Sandoval slumped in his bonds, whimpering like a three year old, retching in convulsive gasps and Jay reckoned that it might be safe now to proceed. ‘Whadda ya say, Roddy? How about if I unbuckle that belt of yours now…and then, hey, we’ll get those blue jeans unzipped and taken down. Nothing personal, man- it’s just that I like to work, um, with the whole enchilada, if you know what I mean? Yeah?’ Not really expecting a reply, Jay peeled the passive stud’s jeans down to his ankles, admiring Roddy’s long muscular legs liberally peppered with black curly hair and the pronounced bulge in his calvin briefs. ‘Shit, man! How do you afford underwear like this? I gotta make do with fruit of the loom…and that just doesn’t seem fair.’ As if to underscore the point and his obvious sense of injustice, Jay grabbed the prisoner’s aching balls through the soft cotton, giving them a friendly twist and it was then that Roddy began to beg.

‘Please, man, I dunno what you want from me…’ Jay yawned, bored with such an uncreative opener. Reaching into the leg opening of Roddy’s shorts, he grabbed a handful of musty meat and yanked the shocked stud’s cock and balls into the light of day (or at least a fluorescent overhead). ‘Oh, I think you do,’ he replied, and calmly snapped an alligator clamp on the head of the fat dick stretching across the palm of his hand. Roddy’s high pitched scream tested the soundproof technology in the cell and Jay, with a Cheshire cat frown on his face, stepped back, shaking his head with disapproval. ‘Dude!’ he shouted, ‘I didn’t ask you to sing an aria, just a little calm chatter will do fine. You know- some regular conversation regarding certain, ah, very important questions.’ The prisoner didn’t seem to get it; blubbering his noisy agony, totally oblivious to anything but a double row of serrated metal teeth biting the head of his cock. Jay reckoned that the subject must be a non-smoker; clearly, his lung capacity was prodigious and, with that thought in mind, decided to do something about it. Sandoval’s big brown eyes fairly popped in glazed wonder as the interrogator’s fist slammed into his exposed lower gut; knuckles against hardened muscle, yielding like a brick wall in the aftermath of an explosion. Though the clamp on his penis was far from forgotten, the screaming abruptly stopped, replaced by a visceral groan from the other end of the musical scale as the air rushed from his heaving chest. ‘Hey! That’s way better,’ Jay quipped, and pumped his fist forward again, this time twisting his wrist, at the last second, sharply upward- just like one of those trick fast ball pitches in the World Series. The punch caught Roddy right below his navel, plowing through the bunched muscle of tensed abdominals straight into the inner sanctum of his solar plexus. ‘Bull’s eye!!’ Jay shouted, unable to contain his glee, as Roddy gagged in airless silence for a heartbeat before returning to his litany of gasping groans. ‘How’s your kidneys, dude? Ever had any trouble there? Yeah…hurts like a somabitch!!’ Not really expecting an intelligent response, Jay smiled inwardly- Roddy, you may not appreciate this…but, you see, I’m an ‘equal opportunity’ interrogator…and, I reckon, there’s some other parts of you begging for their fair share. With that happy thought in mind, he moved around to the stud’s long flank, feinting some light pummels against the smooth expanse of moderately muscled flesh below his rib cage. Noting the groans rise to staccato whimpers of horrified expectation; Jay decided not to disappoint. Roddy thought he was going to die as a knife-like pain burst over his left kidney followed by another on the right. Damn, I’ll bet you’re glad right now you only got TWO of those things! Jay snorted and repeated the process. Roddy Sandoval- erstwhile cocaine runner and all-round gofer for the Battaglia Family- finally lost track of the map of pain as Jay laid a theatrical karate chop straight across the sexy dimples at the small of his back, right above the hairy ass crack peeking shyly over the waistband of his sagging calvins. The world spun, quite literally, as the prisoner jerked in a ragged circle, trying to evade the blows raining from his tormentor’s balled fists; all the while sputtering inarticulate curses or pleading for it to stop, until finally he lost consciousness and that suited Jay fine- his knuckles were getting sore.

Roddy really was a tough bastard. Though bruised and thoroughly beaten, his fear of what might be waiting for him outside (if he talked) kept any meaningful conversation to a minimum. At first, Jay didn’t really mind as it gave him a chance to hone some treasured techniques on the fine stud’s big, hairy body. The briefs had come off over an hour ago, ripped (what a waste!!) from narrow, sweat-slick hips and tossed in a rubbish bin- you know, the kind with those sanitary, flip top lids. As Roddy feared he might, Jay happened to have a pocket full of three inch alligator clamps. The creative interrogator made a great show of waving each one before the tall buck’s beautiful dark eyes and his sense of humor just couldn’t help but assert itself. Squeezing the spring mechanism that opened and closed the vicious little jaws with their serrated teeth, Jay made a talking pantomime, voice rising to a raspy falsetto as the clamps spoke to their intended victim, ‘Hey there, Roddy, pleased to meet ya! Oooooooo would you look at that boy’s big, luscious bronze nipples???? Man, I’m starving…it’s been aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaages since I tasted anything so firm and juicy!’ The other clamp, held in Jay’s dancing left hand piped up with a posh Brit accent and sniffed, ‘Well, I really would have preferred something a bit more substantial…like the head of the boy’s cock, but Seymour seems to be making a pig of himself down there.’ The first clamp suddenly became a cockney, ‘Right, mate- there’s nothing for it, I reckon…’ and, diving forward, wrapped it’s sharp teeth and several pounds of pressure around Roddy’s left nipple. The snobbish clamp wavered for a few seconds, would have shrugged if it were possible, and raising an invisible eyebrow sighed, ‘Well, really…’ with an affected, wobbling gesture as it twirled on the tips of Jay’s fingers before attaching itself to and chewing away with aristocratic gusto on the right nipple. The end of the dialogue, however, was lost on Roddy, whose rough screams, ripped from an already abraded throat, cracked like an electric blanket and drowned out the pantomime. The thrashing stud spit out a gob of blood even before the remaining clips were attached to his testicles- note: his testicles. Jay was an expert and, unlike the clothespin nonsense seen in a certain type of porno flick, where the itsy bitsy pinch grabs the stupid buck’s scrotum, Jay’s voracious clamps wanted meat! Each walnut sized ball was carefully primed- lifted and separated, squirming in the insubstantial safety of its sweaty sack…and clamped. Jay figured that might rate him another break, as he fully expected Roddy to pass out again but, instead, the hysterical buck, still bellowing like a wounded animal, increased the frantic tempo of his danse macabre, massed muscles getting the workout of a lifetime, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the gnawing clamps. Despite it all, however, the questions remained unanswered.

‘Tell you what, Roddy,’ Jay wiped his brow; it had been a long session, ‘I think that you’ve probably just about had enough.’ He had stripped off his own shirt in the course of the day’s work and absently fondled a light whip used on the prisoner’s ass and thighs. It was true; Roddy was exhausted, hanging slack in his bonds, big handsome body running with the sweat of exertion and blood seeping from any number of abrasions. The weary buck’s reaction to his interrogator’s remark caused Jay’s heart to swell and he would have given the guy a big bear hug if circumstances had been just a little different. ‘Fuck you…mother sucking bastard…prick…,’ grunted in a low, uneven voice even as a fat tear meandered through the dark stubble on Roddy’s cheek. ‘Right,’ Jay sighed, choking back some tears of his own, albeit of gratitude, as he rummaged in a nearby cabinet. ‘Tell you what, man,’ he twirled a jumble of bright wire like a mad puppeteer, ‘though I’m not really one for the high tech approach (spoils the fun in a way), sometimes it can come in handy…like, for instance, speeding things up.’ Roddy’s dawning terror was so great, he pissed on the floor as Jay attached fresh clamps to his fingers and toes and then, almost as an afterthought, removed the sated alligators from the victim’s cock and balls and wired those up as well. ‘I know you’re tired, dude, and so am I…but I reckon you got a few dance steps left to show me…’ and flicked the switch.

Five thirty already. Fuck me and the horse I rode in on- where does the time go??? Jay stood in the boss’ office, cup of coffee in hand and a look of contented satisfaction on his boyishly handsome face. He winked through the door at Linda and smiled as she executed a luscious little wiggle for his benefit. The boss tossed the interrogator’s report into an open file cabinet and nodded. ‘Great job as usual Jay, this one’s worth a fortune in disrupted revenue to the Battaglia Family and may send more than a few of them to the slammer.’ Jay fairly beamed at the praise. ‘Tell you what, Jay- you already know that making that shit bag Sandoval talk was worth a hefty bonus…’ Jay grunted with good nature and interrupted, ‘It’s not that, sir…I love my job.’ ‘Right!’ the boss leaned back in his chair. Kid, I’d give anything for ten of you!! ‘Get yourself home, Jay, and treat yourself to dinner out…maybe a few beers,’ he smiled wistfully, ‘Son, you’re one of the best.’ ‘Thanks, sir, but it’s like I said- I just love my job,’ and turning, he fished the keys to his bottle green Porsche out of a pocket and headed for home.