Who's The Boss: He's The Boss Part 1 - Elijah Must First Cum (no sex)
by Pred

And they asked him, saying, "Why say the scribes that Elijah must first
And he answered and told them, "Elijah verily cometh first, and restoreth all
things..." (Mark 9:11-12)

"SAM!" Tony Micelli shouted up the stairs. "Come on, Sam. He's going to
be here any minute." He paused and looked about the empty living room
desperately. "ANGELA!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Jonathan!

"Just little old me," Mona Robinson cooed as she swept into the living room
from the kitchen with a tray of coffee and pastries.

"Oh... Mona," Tony looked annoyed. "I thought you were sleeping in your
coffin til sunset. You know, I think you could still catch the matinee of
Night of the Living Dead III. Who knows, you might see some old friends...
catch up?" he laughed to himself. "Catch up?"

"Now you know I wouldn't miss the opportunity to meet Leroy Hightower.
Imagine, Leroy Hightower in this house. He played baseball, you know?" she
quipped. "We've never had a REAL ex-professional baseball player in this
house, have we?"

"Har har," Tony grunted.

"Now let's see, have I slept with anyone in the Baseball Hall of Fame?" She
thought a moment, and then shook her head. "No, they were in the Football
Hall of Fame. Baseball's the game with the tiny white balls, isn't it...?
And the big long bats," she smiled.

"Please leave, Mona," Tony begged his employer's mother. "I'm begging you.
I'll serve you breakfast in bed for a month."

"Wearing a frilly pink apron?"

"Yes," he nodded desperately. "I'll wear the apron."

"And a wig and make-up?"


"I wonder if Leroy Hightower likes backrubs... mmmm, I can almost feel those
big strong shoulders melting like butter beneath..."

"Okay, the wig and make-up. I'll wear the wig and make-up!"

"What wig and make-up?" the voice of Samantha Micelli, Tony's 14-year-old
daughter sneaked up behind him.

"Your father and I are discussing his new look for the fall season," Mona cut
in before Tony could stop her. "Don't you think he'd look good in Revlon
Raspberry Number 7 with just a touch of eyeliner to bring out his eyes?" She
began pantomiming the application of make-up to Tony's face.

Tony shook his head away frantically and turned to his daughter. "Wha...?"
His eyes bulged out when he saw his daughter's outfit. She had on her most
ragged pair of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, hiking boots and her hair was back
in a pony-tail. "You're wearing that?"

"What's wrong with this?" Sam spread out her arms, curtsied, cocked her head
slightly to the side, and gave her father an annoyed look.

"I can't believe this, Sam" Tony pouted. "This is Leroy Hightower. LEROY
HIGHTOWER! He's going into the Hall of Fame next week. He hit .321
lifetime, 360 career homers, two gold gloves in right field... his own tennis

"Listen, dad, it's no big deal. He's your friend. He's here to see you.
He's not going to care what the heck I look like. Besides, Angela and I are
going on the Nature Walk. We're not even going to be here..."

"ANGELA!?" Tony turned around in exasperation and bellowed.

"What is it, TONY!" Angela Bower appeared from the kitchen, also wearing a
sweatshirt, jeans and hiking boots. Like Sam, Angela's hair was also in a

"This is a nightmare," Tony grabbed Angela's purse off the mantle and began
rummaging around inside.

"What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?" Angela started towards her

"We still have time," he replied, withdrawing a tube of lipstick and a
compact. "Quick, get some of this on," he began trying to draw the lipstick
across his daughter's lips while she struggled to get free.

"Tony, stop that!" Angela grabbed his arm. Tony flailed about and deposited
a big puff of make-up from the compact onto her exasperated face.

"Daddy, you are way too weird?" Sam wrinkled her nose and tried wiping off
the lipstick smeared across her face.

"I believe the correct word is insane," Mona quipped.

"Now listen, nobody's weird or insane or anything around here!" Tony flew off
the handle. "Were just a nice, normal American family who dresses nice when
important company comes over and shoves their old folks out on an ice floe
like the Eskimos." He lifted the refreshment tray from Mona's hands and
began pushing her towards the door.

As Mona struggled, Tony pushed harder. When they reached the door, he
yanked it open, they collided and the tray went shooting out of his hands...
directly into the large, 6 foot 8 black man standing on their porch. He was
dressed in a long, flowing white robe with gold trim, which provided a stark
contrast against the deep ebony hue of his skin. On his head he wore a
circular hat that was ornately decorated, almost as if it were a crown.

"Uh, oh..." Samantha couldn't help giggling when she saw the look on her
father's face.

"Oh my gosh, are you all right?" Angela sprang into action immediately. "Did
that coffee burn you. Oh my gosh... TONY!" she scolded. "Look what you did.
Get me a wet cloth with cold water... now!" She began fretting over the man
while Tony balked for a moment, then hurried into the kitchen. "Mr.
Hightower, I am so sorry. I... I don't know what to say," she apologized as
she dabbed at his face and the stained robe with a handkerchief.

"I can see Micelli's coordination has not improved," the enormous black man
flashed a perturbed look in the direction of the kitchen door. He stood
there and let Angela dote on him, as if it was only natural for him to be
attended to by attentive female hands. He extended his powerful arms and
hands and allowed tall, beautiful and blond Angela Bower to wipe his sleek
ebony skin with the handkerchief. "You missed a spot," he observed with a
stern voice Angela seemed compelled to heed. He lifted his arm and flexed
the bottom of his bulging bicep.

"I am so sorry," Angela repeated mindlessly, wiping his arm in an almost
hypnotized fashion, stroking the handkerchief up and down the length of his
massive arms like she was worshipping a fertilty idol.

Angela Bower's were not the only pair of transfixed eyes in the living room.
He mother, Mona Robinson, a woman well past her prime but still alive and
kicking, kind of shuddered, her gaze following Angela's strokes while her
lips trembled. Trembling troubled lips also played across the face of
Samantha Micelli. The dark-haired, dark-eyed, 14-year-old beauty smoldered
where she stood, shivering slightly as she felt a now-too-familiar dampness
moisten the inside walls of her blooming womanhood. Instinctively, she
rubbed her fingers across the crotch of her jeans, unable to control the
reflex reaction, yet managing enough willpower to make only a fleeting swipe
at her bothered privates.

The last set of eyes in the room belonged to a male, a boy who had only begun
to see the faintest glimmerings of puberty, but who nonetheless was subject
to the vague yearnings which would completely occupy his mind as he grew into
adulthood. This boy was Jonathan Bower, Angela's son and only child. Years
later, perhaps, he would recall this day and this moment as the most
formative event in his life - the day when he realized he was attracted to
men, not women, and black men, not white. His tiny, two-inch penis stiffened
in his jeans, unnoticeable on the outside, but sticking out like a sore thumb
in his embarrassed mind.

"Jonathan," Angela noticed the boy standing on the stairs, and waved him down
the steps. "This is my son, Jonathan," she shot the nervous boy an annoyed
look and waved him closer. "He's a big fan of yours."

"I can see that," the black man almost sneered.

"I'm Angela Bower," Angela had not let go of his arm, moving her fingers down
his forearm, gripping his huge hands and trying to shake his arm vigorously.
"And this is my mother, Mona, and Tony's daughter, Samantha." She was
finding his arm as immobile as a steel girder.

"I know you all," he nodded. "I have learned all about you... in preparation
for this day," he added quietly, almost as an afterthought.

"We've heard a lot about you, too, Mr. Hightower," Samantha choked through
her dry throat and smiled.

"My name is no longer Leroy Hightower," his eyes bored into the girl's awe
and made her knees wobble. "I have discovered the teachings of the Prophet
Yahweh ben Afrika. I share the birthright of Yu'dah, progenitor of the Lord
Yeshua ben Afrika, Deliverer and Conqueror. I now answer to only one name,
the name bestowed upon me by my Most Reverend Father, Yahweh ben Afrika.
That name is Elijah Boanerge, or Elijah 'Son of Thunder.' As you are yet
unbonded, you may address me as 'sir,' although I must insist, as daughters
of Esau and thus my scripturally-ordained bondwomen, that you presently refer
to me properly as 'Prince,' or 'Your Most Reverend Highness.'"

"O..kay," Sam stammered.

"Do not worry, bond-maiden," he reached out and stroked Samantha's quivering
pale cheeks with his huge black hand, the size of which seemed able to
encompass her entire skull. "This will all make sense to you very soon."

"What will make sense, Leroy?" Tony emerged from the kitchen. Elijah's eyes
bristled with rage when he heard the name.

"Ah, Tony, maybe we should have a word together in the kitchen," Angela tore
her hands away from Elijiah's bone crushing biceps and started waving Tony
back into the kitchen.

"Come on, Angela," Tony flashed her an annoyed look. "Leroy is covered in
coffee over here. 'Maybe we should have a word in the kitchen...?'" he
dismissed Angela's suggestion with a mocking tone. "Hey, old buddy, I'm
sorry about that little... accident." Tony tried handing his old teammate
the damp washcloth, but Elijah just stared at him, extending his arms with
a perturbed look. "Here let me wipe that off," Tony began dabbing the wet
rag on his ex-teammate's arm anxiously. "So how you doing, Leroy?" he asked
uncomfortably, noticing that everyone else in the room suddenly cringed.
"Nice duds," he commented as he wiped at the stained white robe. "What's
shakin', brother?"

"Ah, dad..." Sam started.

"Sam, can't you see Leroy and I are talking," Tony cut her off.

"But dad..."

"SAM!" Tony caught himself. "Sorry, Leroy. Teenage daughter, you know."

"I know," Elijah glared down at Tony in amusement. "I have 31 of them."

"I... uh... 31?" Tony did a doubletake.

"Why, yes, all totaled, 31. Many are the daughters of my bond-women. They
become my bond-daughters by default."

"Why, yeah... I mean of course," Tony stammered. He shot a confused glance
back at Angela, Sam, Jonathan and Mona. They all gave him
"we-tried-to-tell-you" shrugs.

"At puberty, these bond-daughters become my bond-women and thus my wives,"
Elijah seemed to be explaining to the women and especially the girl in the
room. "At your age, Samantha, you would have already served your third year
at my service." His eyes lingered on Sam after he spoke, and the 14-year-old
girl's legs became absolute jelly. She swooned a little and righted herself
against Angela's shoulders, waving her hand in front of her flushed face.
"Currently, I have 4 wives, and 15 bond-wives."

"So, you've been pretty busy, then?" Tony filled the awkward silence, not
understanding a word of what the black man had just spoken, and totally at a
loss as to what he should say.

"Restoring the Original Order requires 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and 365
days a year," Elijah explained.

"Man, I would have thought the Cards worked out a better front office gig
than that for you, Leroy. You've gotta learn how to say 'no' sometimes, you
know... negotiate. All work and no play..."

"I no longer work for that oppressive ofay organization," Elijah interrupted
Tony. "I have found a much higher calling, one that brings respect to my

"Pennant race?" Tony's eyes widened. "You mean the Yankees?"

"Tony?" Angela tried to interrupt again while Mona, Sam and Jonathan
continued cringing. "I think maybe..."

"Angela, can't you see Leroy and I are talking pennant race here," Tony cut
her off. "Women, you know how they are."

"Yes, I do," Elijah smiled.

"Of course you do. You have 4 wives and 15 whatever. Man, your alimony
payments must be like the national debt... national debt," Tony repeated his
witticism and looked around the room for a laugh. There was none.

"Elijah, would you like to sit down?" Angela broke the awkward silence.

"Yes, I will allow you to show me to a chair," he fixed his eyes on Angela as
he spoke. This time, the attractive platinum blond felt her legs go limp,
and steadied herself against Samantha's shoulders. Elijah extended his arm
and awaited her hand.

Angela grasped his huge hand with trembling fingers and led him into the
living room. Tony moved in behind them, followed by Mona and then Samantha.
Jonathan remained slightly behind, fidgeting about uncomfortably. Elijah
entered the room and stopped, forcing Angela to choose a seat for him. She
decided to show him to Tony's favorite chair, the leather Barca-Lounger he'd
saved three months to buy. Elijah looked at the chair a moment, determined
it suitable and seated himself. He casually waved over Samantha.

"Wine?" he ordered, more than asked. "You will get bring me a glass of white
wine and an apple," he instructed Samantha. "You will section the apple into
8 equal pieces, and the wine glass will be chilled." Then he waved his hand
to dismiss the teenage girl.

Sam just stared.

"Sam, you heard Leroy," Tony scolded slightly. "Get the man some wine and an

"O... kay," Samantha looked askance at the adults in the room. "Come on,"
she gestured to Jonathan, and the two young people left the room.

"She is quite a lovely young maiden," Elijah commented. "She will do very
nicely." He looked up at Angela. "I would prefer you kneel here on the
floor while I sit," he pointed to a spot at his feet.

"I most certainly will not," Angela shook her head. Elijah's overwhelming
physical presence had now been diminished since he'd taken a seat.

"No matter," he smiled. "You will. Micelli, sit!" he practically barked.

Tony looked wistfully at the black giant sitting in HIS chair and lowered
himself to the sofa. Elijah looked up at Angela and Mona, perturbed that
they were still standing, their white female bodies in a superior position.

"Oh, what the heck," Mona shook her head. "I'll play along." She sank to her
knees at Elijah's feet and looked up at him. He smiled back nad patted her
on the head.

The gesture freaked Angela out. "Listen," she started, "I don't know who the
heck you think you are, but..."

"I will show you who I AM," Elijah interrupted her, bristling at the fact she
had spoken without being addressed first. "Will you please... sit?" He
struggled over the word 'please,' as if he hadn't spoken the word in years
and wasn't quite sure how to use it.

Angela glared at him defiantly.

"ANGELA!?" Tony pleaded.

"Just so you know, Mr. Boanerge," she stressed his new name so that Tony
might actually formulate a clue as to what was going on. "I am a strong
proponent of racial and ethnic diversity, and I respect your customs and
beliefs, but this is my house and I will sit where and when I want to."

Elijah just smiled at her patronizingly, as if he was listening to a small
child demand to be treated like an adult. "We will look upon this moment
later and laugh," he nodded his head.

Angela didn't know how to take that comment, but since it didn't seem overtly
arrogant or demanding, she decided a truce had been reached and sat down next
to Tony on the couch.

"What did you call him?" Tony suddenly awoke from his stupor and turned to
Angela. "What's 'boa-whatever'?"

"Bo-a-ner-ges," Elijah pronounced the name slowly, as if Tony Micelli were

"That's his new name now, Tony," Mona was more than a little amused by the
situation. She was actually resting her head against Elijah's massive thigh.
He reached his huge hand dow and petted her gently on the head.

"New name?" Tony didn't seem to notice the "play" between his employer's
mother and his ex-teammate. "What's she talking about, Leroy?"

"I am no longer Leroy," the black giant explained. "My name is Elijah
Boangeres. I have reclaimed my birthright as a prince of the Tribe of
Yu'dah. I am preparing the way for Yeshua ben Afrika to restore the Rightful
Kingdom of the Original Order."

"I get it," Tony began laughing. "Guys," he spoke to Angela and Mona,
"Leroy's playing a joke. Good one, Leroy. He was always doing this in the
clubhouse. Remember when you put Ben Gay in Lou Brock's shorts? You should
have seen that? Leroy was always cutting up in the clubhouse. Tell them,

"I do not answer to that name anymore, Micelli. You may call me Elijah...
for now. Where is your daughter?" he suddenly raised his head and glared at
the kitchen. "She will learn to be more prompt with simple tasks. Quite
typical of new bond-maids, actually," he observed to no one in particular.
"They have been brought up to be lazy in these households," he sneered
slightly. "I only hope I am not too late and that drastic discipline is not

"What are you talking about?!" Angela suddenly exploded. "Why are you
talking about Samantha like she's your property or something? Who the hell
do you think you are, anyway, Mr. Boanerges? Tony, I think you should ask
this... gentleman... to leave right now. I no longer want him as a guest in
my house."

"But Angela?!" Tony pleaded, still not absorbing what was transpiring.

"TONY!" Angela put her foot down.

"I don't know what to say, Leroy," Tony shrugged his shoulders and shot
Angela an angry look.

"You take orders from this woman, I see," Elijah smiled. "That is good.
That will make Reinstitution so much easier. The submissive, weak pale man,
as it should be. Half the Natural Order is at work here already. You only
need the Head restored, and your House will be in order. You," he patted
Mona's head, "see what takes the young bond-maid so long. Tell her I am
waiting. Go," he patted her on the shoulders, and Mona rose instinctively,
bowing slightly and hurrying off to the kitchen. "She has served before, I
see," Elijah smiled at Mona's posterior as it disappeared through the kitchen
doors. "She takes to this naturally, as you all will after Order has been

"Listen, if you're not going to throw this arrogant... ass out of my house,
I will," Angela jumped to her feet and grabbed Elijah's arm. "You will leave
my house now!" she tugged at his arm desperately, trying to move his body
even an inch. She may as well have tried to lift a marble statue. While she
pulled, Elijah shook his head and chuckled. "Are you even going to help me,
Tony?" she hissed at her male housekeeper.

"Listen Leroy, I think maybe you should leave, okay. This is Angela's house,

"Correction, Micelli, this is my 'house'," Elijah stressed the word 'house.'
"And I will take my leave when my House has been restored to order. Ah.." he
proclaimed when the kitchen door opened and Mona, Samantha and Jonathan
appeared bearing his apple and wine. "Now I shall refresh myself." With a
casual flick of his forearm he sent Angela tumbling to the couch like a
bothersome lion cub being batted away by the King of the Jungle. "Come," he
gestured to Mona, Samantha and Jonathan. "Sit here on the floor at my feet
and let us rejoice at this new Restoration."

Before Angela could say or do anything, she saw her mother obey, dropping
down to her former position at Elijah's feet, quickly followed by Jonathan
whose eyes would not leave Elijah's majestic black body as he prostrated
himself before the immense black god.

Only Sam remained standing, not out of defiance exactly, but more out of
confusion and anxiety. She didn't know what was happening in the house. In
the space of a few short minutes, her entire life had been thrown into chaos.
This huge black man was no ordinary guest, and no ordinary man. Despite her
natural teenage inclination to rebel against authority, this man's words
seemed to carry a weight she felt compelled to obey.

She locked eyes with Elijah Boangeres, and he smiled, patting his knee, as
if he were calling a playful puppy into his lap. She hesitated another
moment, resisting every urge she felt to jump in the black giant's lap and
feel his massive hands pet her pale white skin. She shivered, a cold shock
stabbing up her spine and through her brain when his impenetrable eyes would
not release their hold on her gaze. Her knees grew wobbly again, and she
shuddered as she knelt down to him and offered him the tray with his
precisely sliced apple and chilled glass of white wine.

He grasped her in his strong hands and forced her onto his lap, the crack of
her soft, teenage bottom resting directly over what felt like a lead pipe.
She tried to jump in a start when she realized what was pressing between her
ass-cheeks, but the black titan's inexorable grip pinned her helplessly to
his fearsome lap. Then she felt one of his hands leave her body and watched
it encircle her tiny, pale hand.

He guided her fingers to a section of apple, pinched it between her index
finger and thumb and then brought her hand and the piece of fruit up to his
mouth. Powerless to resist him, Sam could only stare as he compelled her to
insert the apple section and the tips of her fingers into his mouth. He
trapped the succulent fruit morsel between his thick lips, then sucked the
juice from her fingers with a loud and sustained slurp.

Samantha's stomach fluttered with the sensation, and she felt herself
fidgeting as her panties dampened with moisture. Not able to control
herself, she ground her wet, irritated snatch against the rampaging length
of cock-pipe upon which she perched. Elijah still had not let go of her
eyes, and she saw him sneer with a look of utter triumph.

He forced her fingers to wrap around the wineglass now and bring the drink
up to his lips. Then he let go, and Sam found herself pouring the Chardonnay
carefully between his thirsty lips, instinctively mindful not to spill one
drop. In the few seconds which she found herself unconditionally serving the
mammoth black god, all time stopped, and everyone else in the room - her dad,
Angela, Mona, Jonathan - ceased to exist. It was as if her entire life's
purpose had crystallized into one pure moment, when the rest of her future,
her life's sacred calling, was laid out before her very eyes.

"Samantha!" Angela's voice burst through the teen's blissful quietude like
the screech of a harpy. "Get off his lap this instant!"


Back 1 page

Submit stories to: [email protected](dot)com
with the title heading "TSSA Story Submission"