Jeff watched Mike pedal off into the morning haze, his letterman jacket flapping as he headed for Westfield High. The kid was thriving—16, linebacker, owning his swapped life—and Jeff felt a surge of pride, hairy hands gripping his coffee mug. Day two of this reality stretched ahead, and with Mike’s thick, mature cock now his, Jeff was ready to dominate. He finished his eggs, rinsed the plates, and grabbed his suit jacket—navy, crisp, the Lead Architect badge clipped to his chest. The firm awaited.
The drive downtown was smooth again, the city waking up as Jeff pulled into the garage. His new package shifted in his slacks, a heavy reminder of Mike’s midnight gift, and he grinned, adjusting himself before stepping into the lobby. Karen greeted him with her usual warmth. "Morning, Jeff—team’s buzzing. High-rise snag hit overnight."
"Figures," Jeff said, hairy forearms flexing as he took the coffee she offered. "Details?"
"Client’s freaking—east-side supports miscalculated. Tim’s already on it," she said, nodding toward the elevators.
Jeff’s grin widened. Tim—eager, crushing-hard Tim. Perfect. He rode up to his corner office, the glass walls framing a view of the skyline he was shaping. The team was already huddled—Sarah scribbling load calcs, Priya sketching facade tweaks—and Tim stood at the drafting table, tablet in hand, tie askew, sweat beading on his brow.
"Jeff!" Tim’s voice cracked as he spotted him. "The specs were off—contractor used old data. I caught it, reran the numbers—steel’s still good if we shift the load here." He tapped the blueprint, hands shaky but precise.
Jeff leaned in, hairy arm brushing the table, close enough to catch Tim’s quick breath. "Nice catch, Tim. Walk me through it." His voice was steady, authoritative, the beard framing a faint smirk as he loomed—rugged, in control.
Tim swallowed, flushing as he pointed. "Uh, yeah—east side’s overburdened, but if we redistribute to the north columns, it holds. I double-checked—should keep Hargrove happy." His eyes flicked to Jeff’s hairy forearm, then away.
Jeff nodded, tracing the line with a thick finger, letting it linger near Tim’s hand. "Smart fix. Saved our ass—you’re on fire, kid." He clapped Tim’s shoulder, firm but slow, feeling the junior tense under his grip. The team murmured approval, but Jeff’s focus stayed locked—Tim was instrumental, and Jeff saw an opening.
He called it then, voice cutting through the room. "Alright, Sarah, Priya—run with Tim’s fix. I want updates by noon. Tim, you’re with me." The women nodded, scattering, and Tim blinked, tablet clutched tight.
"Me?" he stammered, following Jeff to the office.
Jeff shut the door, leaning against his desk, hairy arms crossed over his chest. "You heard me. That catch? Top-tier. You’re the best junior we’ve got—proved it today. I’m taking you under my wing, personally. Mentorship, one-on-one. You’re going places, Tim."
Tim’s jaw dropped, then split into a grin. "Seriously? Jeff, I—thanks, man. I won’t let you down."
"I know you won’t," Jeff said, stepping closer, voice dropping low. "Stick with me, you’ll run this firm someday." He let his hairy hand rest on the desk, inches from Tim’s, the sleeve riding up to show more rugged skin. Tim’s eyes darted to it, pupils dilating, and Jeff’s grin twitched—he’d clocked the crush yesterday, and now he’d play.
The campaign started subtle. He leaned over Tim’s shoulder at the drafting table, breath brushing the kid’s ear as he murmured, "Good eye here—keep that instinct." Tim stiffened, red-faced, and Jeff pulled back, all business. Later, passing files, his hairy fingers grazed Tim’s, a fleeting touch that left the junior fumbling. "Staying sharp, Tim," Jeff said, voice warm, eyes locked just a beat too long. Plausible deniability—mentorship with an edge—and Tim’s flush deepened, his tie tugged loose like he couldn’t breathe.
By noon, the fix was locked—Hargrove called, gruff but pleased—and Jeff clapped Tim’s back, letting his hand linger. "You’re my guy now, Tim. We’ll make waves." Tim grinned, dazed, and Jeff felt the thrill—38, bearded, hung with Mike’s cock, and turning this kid into putty without crossing a line. The firm bowed, Tim swooned, and Jeff ruled.