True Ashman 04
Dan B.
January 2005
He knew he could seduce me with his soft tantalizing voice. I’d caught him at it several times before. Slyly talking me into dozing off at my desk late afternoon when he knew I was tired. And when we were closeted in his small office struggling to straighten out some tangled up paper work. But this was in the conference room at a preliminary meeting with a bunch of accountants. Even though we were good friends this irritated me and I’d warned him the last time to stop doing it or I’d file a complaint about harassment on the job. Trouble was I could never really get mad at him. He’d always convince me it was all in fun; just a joke between us.
A meeting with a bunch of accountants was no place to be playing jokes. Admittedly it was boring for me listening to these guys reciting numbers and pointing up and down at columns and lines on projected spreadsheets. It didn’t directly involve my work but I was interested in their conclusions, if ever they’d get to them.
Then my ‘good’ friend slipped in and sat down beside me. The others were so wrapped up in their discussion that they didn’t even look at him or see him casually opening his brief case and putting an ash tray in front of me. There was NO SMOKING in the office so I got a bit apprehensive when I saw him pull out a cigar and balance it neatly on the ash tray with the ash and its glowing red band pointing at me. It had to be fake but was realistic enough to make me think I smelled the tantalizing aroma of a good cigar. He knew my weakness for cigars. Nothing could make you feel more secure and relaxed in your masculinity than drawing on a good cigar then letting out the smoke and its commanding aroma for the rest of the world to marvel at.
“You look too tense. This will help you relax and survive till tonight’s meeting.”
He whispered this, soothingly. I almost laughed. ’A friend in need, a friend indeed’. This one was going to get me in trouble but apparently he knew the boss well enough he thought he could get away with anything.
He looked immediately at the screen then relaxed back in his chair. I tried to reestablish connection with the discussion but the ‘cigar’ was a distraction and kept winning out. Then, like a ventriloquist talking for a dummy, he quietly said,
“It does look real, doesn’t it. If you look at that red band behind the ash you can almost see into it like the glow on a real cigar. You expect to see it brighten then fade.”
The red didn’t look that real to me but the ash seemed so real I expected it to grow.
“If you were to look up in a bar and see someone draw on that cigar you’d have to watch it to see the ash grow wouldn’t you.”
How did he know I was thinking that. With the drone of the other voices in the room I could easily imagine I was in a friendly bar. That made it kind of difficult to reconnect with the talking accountants at the other end of the table. By the time they had finished talking Ron had me so close to falling asleep again he had to nudge me to tell me to wake up. While I stood up and thanked them for their report and the written summary they’d prepared Ron was covering up his damned cigar and ash tray. Once they were out the door he had the nerve to say,
“You did that very nicely. You want to sit down now and really dream about this tempting cigar?”
“Ron! If it weren’t for this next meeting tonight I’d wrestle you down onto the floor and shove that cigar and ash tray down your throat.”
“Showing good spirit there, Dave. The Boss likes that. But don’t go all violent on me now. It just makes you more tense. Come on over to my office, we’ll relax over a cup of warm cocoa and check this summary report. That will give you some quick energy and you’ll feel more comfortable at this next meeting.”
“Well…all right. Thanks for the offer. I planned checking this report just before the meeting.”
We picked up two hot chocolates from the hall dispenser then settled down in his office. Just for my benefit, I could tell, he ceremoniously opened his briefcase, took out the cigar and ash tray and placed them by the big digital clock on his desk then announced,
“You’ll notice I’ve removed these items from my briefcase and placed them firmly on my desk. Now you can relax and have no fear of them showing up at the meeting. Let’s drink to that.”
We started on the report, with Ron reading most of it aloud to “save my voice for the meeting.” I tried to concentrate on the numbers I was noting down for reference but I couldn’t help notice his fiddling with the cigar, abstractly like, as he was reading. Then his cell phone tinkled. I started to get up to leave him in private but he looked at the phone screen and said, “Relax, its only the Boss.” So I settled back down and tried to study my notes.
He was beginning to sound like the accountants and his ‘executive’ clock which showed seconds as well as minutes and hours kept calling attention to itself. And watching the cigar ash move up and down in regular synchronization with the changing numbers on the clock made it easy to tune out what he was saying over the phone. Only the few words he’d emphasize would come through.
‘No worry….concentrate….numbers….counting down….just relax….counting on….easy to relax….very good….much deeper….
I felt myself slipping down in my chair. I kept thinking ‘Ron, Ron hang up your putting me to sleep again.’ But he didn’t and my eyes just rested on the cigar ash and the words seemed to becoming softer and softer as the fuzzy numbers on the clock kept flicking dimmer and dimmer. The words were running together. Then softly but very clearly I hear, “very deep sleep now, the deepest sleep is the only one for the True Ashman, a TRUE ASHMAN SLEEPS DEEP.” That was the last thing I heard.
“Come on, wake up there Dave. It’s meeting time already. Here’s this marked up report. Better get to your desk and pick up your other stuff. The guys are waiting in the conference room. I’ll wait here ‘til you’re through. I think the Boss wants to see you tonight.”
By his ‘executive’ clock I had less than a minute to get there. With the rush to get to the meeting on time and the remark that the ‘boss wants to see you tonight’ lodge in the back of my mind I didn’t notice anything else. It was only when I got seated at the meeting that I suddenly realized I was in my shirt sleeves and my tie wasn‘t on. Ron’s work. I was too busy with the meeting to get mad but there would be words afterward. Surprisingly I got a couple of friendly remarks after the meeting to the effect that there was hope I’d set a precedent that would inspire more informal meetings. Any sort of anger I might have had for Ron evaporated with that. But I had to say something to him just to show I knew I’d fallen for one of his ‘suggestions’.
The trouble was as soon as I saw him in his office, pouring over a ledger, I knew that somehow I couldn’t get mad at him, that we were friends and I liked him. There was an almost eerie feeling in the back of my head that I liked his talking me into things, even these wild things. Like I was sort of hoping he’d do it again. But I shook this feeling off and mustered a stern, “I hope you enjoyed your little joke. For your information some of the men hoped I’d set a precedent.”
“There, you see Dave. You just get to tense about things. Remember you’re a cigar man. A true Ashman. And you know a TRUE ASHMAN SEEPS DEEP.”
The next thing I knew I was sitting in front of his desk and he was talking on the telephone. And there, sort of staring up at me was ‘that cigar’ with its ash pointing at the ‘executive’ clock’s regularly changing seconds number. That must have put me to sleep for a minute because now I clearly heard Ron say,
“Yes, he’s sitting at my desk now. He’s already for you to see him. We’ll start right out.”
He hung up the telephone and proceeded to explain that the Boss wanted to see us right away so lets go. I objected that I wanted to put my coat and tie on first if I was going to meet the Boss. He gave me an exasperated look and said calmly,
“Dave, you’re a true ashman. A TRUE ASHMAN SLEEPS DEEP.”
Next thing I knew we were down in the building parking garage headed for his car. I wasn’t at all excited or worried because I felt safe being with him. We just got started out of the garage when he casually referred to A TRUE ASHMAN SLEEPS DEEP. Then he was ordering me to wake up. Bossman wants to see us. I looked around and we seemed to be in a deserted, warehouse-like section of the city. I said this couldn’t be where the Boss lived could it. He carefully explained that this was an in-the-city apartment-office the Boss used when his wife was away (or when he wanted to get away from his wife) and for special meetings. It seemed out of character to me but Ron was leading the way and I followed him up the stairs and into a neat but simple home office type room.
A tall, well built man got up from the desk and greeted us and Ron introduced him as the new District Director who was interviewing recruits for his administrative staff. He led us back to the ‘exercise room’ where the Boss was working out. Maybe this was the way he kept interviews relaxed and informal. I was glad now I was only in shirtsleeves. But it seemed more like a clandestine assignation as he led us through a long poorly lighted hall way, then down a narrow ironwork staircase and into a large warehouse type room. From what I could see in the rather dim light we were in a gym. There were several racks, benches, tables, a section of lockers, and a huge mirror on a heavy dolly. A large cigar humidor on a desk just inside the door caught my eye and next to it an ‘executive’ clock like Ron’s. Our guide noticed my reaction and said,
“Yes, we understand you favor cigars. A true Ashman. And of course you know that A TRUE ASHMAN SLEEPS DEEP.”
When I woke up there was a spot light shining on me from above. I felt cool then realized I was naked, completely stark naked. I was spread-eagle on a rack. Chains bound my hands to the upper frame corners and my feet to the lower ones. All I could think of was ‘where’s Ron, what is he doing’. Then I saw him sitting at the desk, staring fixedly at the clock with his arms hanging limply over the arms of the chair. Then my view was blocked by a large muscular man wearing a leather vest. He was smoking a cigar. A well formed ash pointed right at me. He was holding a loop of leather in his left hand and the hand had a leather palm glove on it. He was looking straight at my eyes. He spoke very firmly but easily.
“You’re going to like this. I can see in your eyes you’re going to like this. All true Ashmen do.”
Then I felt a palm gloved hand move intimately up the side of my body. All the way from the hip to the arm, like it was going over the top. Then I went over the top.
- o -
Ron and I are getting along much easier now that I belong to the gym. Its as if it were all out in the open but nobody else knows it. No more whisperings in the ear or fake cigars or other fascinating objects. When he wants to update me he can even do it on the phone. All he has to do is dial my personal number and when I hear it ring my mind automatically drops into ‘open’ mode and I just pick up the phone and listen. When he’s through talking I say “Yes Sir, I understand.”, we hang up and its all done. That phone has a special ring, of course, a custom ring they call it. A higher pitch tone that pulses a bit and gives a clicking noise. I really enjoy hearing it because I know its Ron calling with new orders.
When he wants to really reprogram me, though, he does that in person. For sure he wants more than ‘Yes Sir, I understand’. He wants to see that I do understand and he likes to see how much I enjoy his personal guidance. I just can’t help expressing it. He even lets me help in his recruiting for the gym. Everyone knows I go to the gym because I have to change into my flannel gym shirt and pants before I go there and they both have ‘Bossman’s Gym’, ‘Tops in Service ’ labels tastefully displayed on the front. Its good that they do know because if sometimes a session leads to a noticeable or somewhat debilitating mark its easy to pass it off as a workout accident.
I don’t see him much at the gym but then I’m too busy serving the Seniors. I’m just a Junior member, you see, and our job is to serve the Senior Members. After all they do pay for the gym so we Juniors get our workouts for free. And then too, they’re all bosses of some sort. I mean like Production Line Foremen or CEO’s or Presidents or Union Bosses or even Chiefs of Police. They actually get along fine at the gym. But then they’re all focused on the same thing. They exercise lots of power and control in their jobs but that’s a visible, public thing making for lots of inhibition. The gym lets them forget public scrutiny and indulge their power fantasies openly on reluctantly willing bodies in overwhelmingly intimate contact.
You can see why recruiting is extremely important. Its why Ron is always interested in cigar smokers. If they’re really turned on by it he knows that the combination of the feel, odor, and smoke puts them in a truly susceptible mood. He can work his little ‘jokes’ on them and before they know it they’re ready for full training at the gym. To them a cigar is power, it exerts a power over them which makes it easy to yield to power and to control by a power smoking master. And if you’ve been pumping an exercycle or a bicycle you’re just tired enough to eventually yield to that combination of cigar and authority. I don’t think anyone else can feel it so intensely and relish it so completely as an Ashman does. Ron’s tactics make it still easier.
When my first Bossman that night at the gym looked through my eyes and told me he could see I’d yield, my mind swirled into such a turmoil and my body pulled up so tense all I could feel was desperation for someone, anyone, to calm it down; to let me escape. And then the cigar glowed, the ash moved a millimeter toward me, smoke and sweet fragrance drifted over me like the opening of an escape route, a bright light to rush to. I could physically feel the smoke touch my body, warming, relaxing it so beautifully. Then the hand glided up my side, demanding and inviting at the same time, circled the nipple, then started a long, slow squeeze. A gentle rubbing at first that sent the most desirable prickles of relaxation out through my body making the muscles ease one at a time until my head dropped and I hung limp. My thoughts swirled down into a part of my mind that demanded a release for the desire forming deep in my groin. Someone, anyone, something, touch me, feel me, anything to release me. I was so deeply and constantly ensnared in this over powering need for a physical end to the all consuming torture of this craving for bodily contact and release that I can’t remember all that happened to me.
The bite of leather striking my flesh keeps returning but it always faded into a vibrating desire that radiated out into my body then bounced back into the groin, increasing the desire for more. The words or commands of my Bossman became a running background to a fierce, intense desire in the body that kept growing, burning the mind into madness. I have no idea of how long it lasted. But I can always remember how it ended. How I was clutching desperately in a burst of gratitude the legs of my Bossman master trying to mutter a plea of don’t leave me, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you say, please don’t push me away, please. I don’t think I got any of the words out. I was like a kid, deathly afraid of rejection, abandonment.
I’m growing now, as it were. Sessions of course are always different but more intense, not so overwhelming, more intimate, more personal, more yielding. The bodies and attractions and the state of need set the whole course. If the desire to dominate meshes completely with the need to belong, there is no way to describe the interaction. Times like that you can feel how someone could end up dying in bliss. You wouldn’t remember the liebestod but you would have lived through it. Sometimes I get the feeling I could actually join a cigar group.