My boss, Mr. Moore

With a drop of Diego's cum still on my chin, I turned to find myself face-to-face with my boss. Of all the people to bump into at a nudist resort, I would have had Clayton Moore low on the list of possibilities. In his late 50s, he was seemingly happily married with five kids, and very active in his local Baptist Church.

"Mr. Moore?" I asked in surprise.

He might be knocking on the door of 60, but his body didn't know it. Mr. Moore was muscular and fit with a well defined chest and abs. If not for the grey chest hair and the mound of silver over his swinging 10-inch limp cock, he could have passed for 25 from the neck down.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," Mr. Moore said, his eyes darting over to the young man he had just caught me sucking off. "Especially not like that."

My face reddened and I found myself at a loss for words.

Without even realizing it, my eyes dropped to his big limp cock. By the time I caught myself, so had he.

"I'm up here, son!" he said, rather loudly.

"I-I-I'm sorry, sir," I mumbled.

"You need to tell your friend good bye and come with me," Mr. Moore said. "We have to have a serious private discussion about your position with my company. I have certain standards that must be maintained."

I mumbled a goodbye to Diego and then quickly followed my boss back towards his own beach house, my face burning now and not from the sun.

What was I going to do? Would he seriously fire me because he caught me sucking another man off? If he did, what would I tell Susan? What if he went back and told everyone at home?

Mr. Moore scanned us into his beach house and ushered me inside, closing the door behind us.