Jeff strode into the firm Wednesday morning, the glass lobby catching the glint of his charcoal suit. The breakfast scene lingered—Mike’s crew deferring, awed by his hairy, hung swagger—and it fueled him, Mike’s thick, 38-year-old cock a steady weight in his slacks. Day three of this swap and he owned it, hairy forearms flexing as he waved at Karen. "Morning—team ready?"
"Morning, Jeff," she said, handing him coffee, her smile warm. "Tim’s in your office with high-rise updates. New client just called, wants a rush meet at eleven." Her tone sharpened—business—and Jeff nodded, sipping the brew.
"Perfect—Tim’s with me today. Send the client brief up." He rode the elevator, hairy hands adjusting his tie, the firm’s pulse his to command. His corner office glowed—blueprints sprawled, awards gleaming—and Tim waited, tablet propped, tie still crooked, nerves buzzing as Jeff walked in.
"Morning, Tim—high-rise stats?" Jeff said, dropping into his chair, hairy legs sprawling as he leaned back. Tim flushed, scrambling to pull up the file, his mid-twenties frame tensing under Jeff’s gaze—a master mentoring his prize.
"Uh, yeah—north columns are locked, permits cleared," Tim said, as Jeff rolled up his sleeves, hairy forearms bared. "Hargrove’s happy—facade’s next." His eyes flicked to Jeff’s thick fingers tapping the desk, and Jeff grinned, leaning forward, close enough to catch Tim’s quick breath.
"Good work—your tweaks were gold," Jeff said, voice low, hairy hand brushing the blueprint near Tim’s, a subtle graze. "Let’s push the facade—client wants flash, and you’ve got the eye." He lingered, sleeve riding up, rugged skin flexing, and Tim swallowed, stylus subtly trembling. Jeff’s campaign rolled—mentorship with a tease, deniable but sharp—and Tim was hooked.
They dug in, Jeff standing behind Tim’s chair, hairy arm resting on the backrest, breath warm near his ear. "Curve it here—softens the skyline," he murmured, thick finger tracing the screen, brushing Tim’s knuckles. Tim stiffened, "Like this?" his voice cracked, and Jeff nodded, letting his hand linger. "Spot on—you’re my guy, Tim." The kid’s crush deepened, tie tugged loose, and Jeff pulled back, grinning—power, lust, all his to wield.
An hour ticked by, Tim showing both his crush and talent, when Karen buzzed. "Jeff—new client’s here. Conference room one." Jeff clapped Tim’s shoulder, hairy grip firm. "You’re with me—could use your fresh eyes, big chance for us. Let’s move."
They hit the conference room, glass walls framing a wiry man in his fifties—Mr. Ellison, sharp suit, sharper eyes. He stood, shaking Jeff’s hairy hand, grip testing. "Jeff Parker? Heard you’re the man—got a problem thar needs your brain."
"Always up for it," Jeff said as he sat, Tim beside him, tablet ready. "What’s the brief?"
Ellison slid a file—sketches, specs, a tangled mess. "Old textile mill, edge of town—I want it reborn as a mixed-use hub. Retail, lofts, green space. Catch is, it’s half-collapsed—structural nightmare, and a tight deadline. Six months, tops." His voice was brisk, challenging, and Jeff’s grin widened—interesting, messy, his kind of gig.
He flipped the file, hairy fingers tracing cracked beams. "Tricky—the foundation’s shot, but there’s bones to work with. Tim, thoughts?" He leaned back, tossing it to his protégé, hairy arm flexing as he watched.
Tim blinked, then rallied, stylus tapping. "Uh—steel reinforcements could stabilize things and keep the old vibe. Lofts up top, retail on the ground—green space out back if we shift the load here." His voice steadied, eyes flicking to Jeff’s hairy forearm, then back, blush faint but there.
Ellison nodded, impressed. "Kid’s sharp—your call, Jeff. Can you pull it off?"
Jeff grinned, hairy hand clapping Tim’s shoulder, lingering a beat. "We’ll pull it—Tim’s on it with me. Six months, mixed-use, done. We’ll draft by Friday." His voice was firm, and Tim flushed, caught in the glow of mentorship, a new client, and Jeff’s subtle teases stoking him.
Ellison stood, handshake sealing it. "Good—Friday, then. Don’t fuck it up." He left, and Jeff turned to Tim, hairy arms crossing.
"You’re in deep now—you're my right hand on this. Ready?"
Tim nodded fast. "Yeah, Jeff—thanks."
Jeff leaned back in the conference room chair, the glass walls still humming with the echo of Ellison’s exit. The textile mill file sat open—cracked beams, ambitious specs—and Jeff’s hairy fingers tapped the table, his beard glinting as he eyed Tim across from him. The new project was a beast, and Jeff saw the play—time to shift gears and mold his protégé.
"Tim," Jeff said, voice deep and steady, hairy forearms flexing as he slid the high-rise file over. "You’re taking point on Hargrove’s project—day-to-day’s the team's now. You'll lead the team and make decisions, but keep it tight. I need both our hands free for the mill."
Tim blinked, tablet clutched, tie askew as always. "Me? Lead it?" His voice hitched, mid-twenties nerves sparking, but Jeff grinned, leaning forward, close enough to catch the kid’s quick breath.
"Yeah, you," Jeff said, hairy hand resting on the file, thick fingers brushing Tim’s knuckles—a subtle tease, deniable but deliberate. "You saved it twice—caught the miscalc, locked the north columns. Team trusts you, and I trust you. Step up and run the show." His tone was firm, warm—a mentor’s push—and Tim’s flush deepened, eyes flicking to Jeff’s rugged skin, then back.
"Uh—okay, Jeff. I can do it," Tim said, swallowing, stylus trembling as he pulled the file closer. "What about you?"
Jeff stood, hairy arms crossing, suit jacket stretching over his broad chest. "I’m on the mill with you—big picture stuff. You handle Hargrove’s grind, free me up. We’ll meet daily to work on the mill together while the team wraps up the other project." He clapped Tim’s shoulder, hairy grip lingering, firm but slow, and Tim tensed. Jeff’s mentoring technique kicked in—authority layered with trust, a nudge of heat to stoke the kid’s fire.
They moved to Jeff’s office, blueprints sprawling, and Jeff laid it out. "Sarah’s your muscle—load calcs, structural calls. Priya’s your flair—facade tweaks. You set the pace, delegate, decide, and I’ll back you." He leaned over the desk, hairy arm brushing Tim’s as he pointed, breath warm near his ear. "Start with a team huddle. They’ll follow if you lead." The graze was fleeting, the tone pure mentorship, but Tim’s flush said it landed—Jeff’s hairy, bearded presence a hook he couldn’t dodge.
Tim nodded fast, rallying. "Got it—I’ll call ‘em now, set the schedule. Updates by three?" His voice steadied, eyes locked on Jeff’s, and Jeff grinned, pulling back, hairy hands on his hips.
"Three’s perfect—you're really stepping up," Jeff said, voice low, a mentor’s pride laced with that subtle edge. Tim bolted, newfound purpose in his stride, and Jeff watched—sculpting a leader and maybe something more.
By noon, Tim was thriving. He huddled the team—Sarah and Priya at the drafting table, juniors trailing—and took charge, voice firm. "Sarah, lock the east-side specs—Priya, flash the facade by Friday. Kyle, chase permits—Jeff’s with me on the mill, so we’re tight here." Sarah smirked, nodding, "Kid’s got it—nice, Tim." Priya sketched, grinning, "You’re doing great now—don’t screw it." The team clicked, Tim’s nerves melting into command, and Jeff peeked from his office, hairy arms crossed, savoring it—his guidance blooming.
Afternoon hit, and Jeff pulled Tim for the mill—sketches spread, showing a structural puzzle. "Old bones, and we're on a tight clock—your take?" Jeff asked, leaning close, hairy forearm brushing Tim’s as they traced beams. Tim rallied, stylus steady. "Steel frame—keep the shell, gut the core." Jeff nodded, thick finger lingering near Tim’s hand. "Smart—run with it. I’ll draft the pitch, you spec the frame." Tim nodded, thriving—Jeff’s trust, his tease, a dual fuel.
By day’s end, Tim owned Hargrove’s project—team on track, updates crisp—while Jeff cracked the mill’s spine, Tim at his side. "You’re killing it," Jeff said, hairy hand clapping Tim’s back, lingering a beat. "My right hand—I'm proud, kid." Tim grinned, steady, stepping up under Jeff’s wing.