Disclaimers: The story below may contain scenes, language and situations not suitable to minors and is intended for mature reading only. This will also depict homosexual interactions between consenting male adults, although power play is heavily featured. If you are offended by the content of this story or under legal age, you are kindly asked not to bother reading further. This story is pure fiction and characters are not based on any real people.
This is part of a continuing story, planned to reach novel length.
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OFFICE POLITICS: Chapter 1
Good things come to those who wait.
A sentiment Wyatt Green believed with feverish intensity. This sentence kept him on track and in a wrinkle-free suit waiting to be called in the interview room, even though what he felt like doing was stay in bed with no pants on and mourn his stillborn career over disappointing Chinese takeout.
Wyatt had expected to encounter some challenges post-graduation, but that eventually he'd start in an established company and rise, faster and harder than the cocks of all the anonymous gym bunnies he'd suck off in bathroom stalls. He had the looks and the diploma to pull it off. Wasn't this why he got an MBA in the first place – secure income? Instead, he got diagnosed with a case of terminal unemployment; a curse he was hoping to break in this neutral waiting room right now.
The two main colors were beige and a muted mint green, which had claimed every single inch from the uncomfortable faux-leather seat Wyatt occupied to the large desk next to the HR's frosted glass door, where a small, sedated-in-manner woman commanded interviewees with the iron fist of bored efficiency. Of those, there were only two left – Wyatt and this cute blond girl fresh out of college and soured by a very palpable desperation for work experience.
He tried not to engage with small talk, crease his suit or pop an erection. Not because he found the girl irresistible, but because that was how he reacted to most situations, good or bad. What he did do was focus on his job prospects. T&M wasn't Wyatt's, nor anyone's for that matter, first choice of employment and the position of an office assistant far beneath what he wanted, but it was either pushing papers for an insurance company that had seen better days or misspelling names on Starbucks lattes for kicks.
If there was anything Wyatt was sure of, it was that a white collar was the only collar he'd wear in this lifetime, so here he sat with legs crossed and eyes fixed on the glass door. The cute blonde got called up and along with her went Wyatt's confidence. What she had working in her favor and against his was a good set of breasts and the good sense to leave the top two buttons of her pale pink shirt open. The late June heat waves justified that many. Three would have been pushing it.
Smart girl and judging by the time she spent inside, she most certainly had impressed the recruiter. After what seemed like a trip to the DMV – unnecessarily prolonged for the position and bordering on infinity – she strode out the room with a third button on her shirt unbuttoned and flashed Wyatt a smile that said `sorry, buddy, but I have to start paying my student loans off'. The bored secretary did her best to turn the blindest eye in history.
Good on you, girl. You do what you have to do.
Either she really gave the recruiter head, or Wyatt had been watching porn for too long. It didn't matter though, because blood rushed through his body with extreme prejudice straight to his cock – a situation he wasn't prepared to handle in any way. No matter how skintight his underwear or how he adjusted the bulge in his pants, his trousers clearly outlined an erection and not even the disguising properties of the dark blue material hid it. He considered heading to the bathroom to rub it out, when the secretary motioned him to enter.
Wyatt rose and straightened. His suit was far from expensive, but tailored with sufficient skill to evoke the prosperity he aspired to reach and because of the fit, his cock was highly visible. He angled himself so the woman wouldn't see his predicament and entered the room in a rush. Better think him nervous than a pervert, but his outlook on his erection changed as soon as he met his interviewer.
Danny Savage – or at least that was how Wyatt knew him as when they had fucked a good five years back when Wyatt had moved for college. The metal name tag spelled out Howard Miller. Unassuming and forgettable, much like the man himself. Danny was rugged, sure, but lacked character – a good combination, because those qualities made for a generous lover.
Patches of red had broken over his face. The blowjob really must have been something else to get him so flustered. What a whore! Wyatt remembered the effort it took to get him to that stage, or maybe it were the years talking now. What Wyatt found even more intriguing were the family photos on his desk – a wife and three children. Oh, and a cute dog. How idyllic.
Good things did indeed come to those who wait. Mr. Miller's face paled fast as recognition spread on his face, prompting Wyatt to smile his politest smile and take his seat in front the man's black desk – legs spread, erection in full view. What a thrill. He really was going to do all the things that registered you as a sex offender. What a day.
"Wyatt Green. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He introduced himself to further twist in the knife. Wyatt hadn't lied about his name during their relationship. Wyatt even extended his hand, but Mr. Miller couldn't even close his mouth.
"Though I do believe we have met," Wyatt said louder so the secretary might hear, though it didn't matter if she did. What mattered was furthering the danger that Miller could be found out and the man leaned back as far as possible, as if his proximity to Wyatt would incriminate this upstanding citizen in sodomy.
Wyatt masked his nerves with stifled confidence, sizing up the situation – testing out the strength of his virtues. He had been unemployed for seven months, excluding the stints with his father fixing friends' houses that barely paid for happy hours, and he'd been ignored or rejected by pretty much all his choice companies. He'd have to compensate for the voluptuous breasts of the blonde, if he wanted the job and chance presented him with the best tool.
His erection throbbed, suggesting what needed to be done.
"No, we haven't and I'd suggest you don't be so familiar." Miller sounded authoritative, almost menacing, but his eyes jumped from Wyatt's crotch to his face and back to the crotch. His power was wasted, though. Wyatt knew how the older man's voice would go into falsetto once he came, and instead leaned back himself, opening his legs even wider.
Miller's attitude pissed Wyatt off. These men in their closets thought they could screw all the young bodies they saw fit and then slither back to their positions of power, not suffering the same consequences. Wyatt bore no illusion he had a moral high ground, but he wanted to punish this man, if not for making people audition with blowjobs, then for leaving him over text message.
He took hold of his erection through the fabric, which had already heated, and tugged at its length. His eyes surveyed Miller, who in spite of himself was now completely transfixed by the sight. The notion that the secretary might enter at any moment, made Wyatt's heart race fast and wild.
"Danny." The name made Miller flinch and it tasted weird to pronounce after vowing never to, but Wyatt was not backing down. "After all the things I've done with and to your cock, I'd consider us at the very least acquaintances."
The red returned and Wyatt was sure Miller's dick jumped to full attention, though he had yet to see it. It would be impressive, if the geezer recuperated this fast.
"I still have those pictures." Who the hell made incriminating sex pictures, if they had a hidden life they wanted to protect? Good thing Wyatt didn't delete them when Miller. "I'm sure she'd agree that we were pretty close," Wyatt said and tapped the picture bearing the wife's smiling face. Oblivious her husband played all fields.
"She won't," he grinded the word with steel in his voice. A pause. Then just to clarify. "Because you're not sending my wife anything."
"You sound really confident about my life choices. Were you so sure I wanted you gone that you decided to leave on your own accord?"
Miller's angry silence said it all. Wyatt had the upper hand. Five years too later when it didn't matter as much, but he did and he'd use it.
"Right, I'm a fucking asshole. Now stop smiling like an idiot and tell me what you want."
"A job, Miller." Wyatt pronounced his name real slowly, tasting it around in his mouth. "You have my resume. I know. It's not impressive. I'm overqualified for this position and I haven't worked as anything other than a barista. Not awe inspiring, but I am eager to work."
"I can throw you out." His finger hovered over the button for his receptionist. A very risky move. Both knew it. Was he bluffing? Wyatt decided he didn't want to wait to find out.
"Do it. I dare you, Howie." Wyatt stood up, taking Miller and himself by surprise. "I need this job," he whispered. "and right now I'm horny and spiteful enough to send the pictures to your entire family. Really weigh your options here and decide for yourself whether pushing that button is the best thing to do."
"You, fucking piece of shit," Miller said as Wyatt assumed his seat, shaking all over, he'd never felt so horny. He could unzip his fly at any moment and just cum on the desk. Without touching himself.
"Don't get melodramatic. I just want you to hire me. No cash under the table. No playing favorites. You give me the job and we'll be strangers. That's it."
Howards lifted his finger from the button, sighed and moved away from the phone. In doing so, Wyatt saw the man sprouted a hard-on. He smiled.
"When can you start?"
"Tomorrow is fine." Wyatt said and stood up again. Miller followed suit and extended his hand for an unexpected handshake. Wyatt rubbed his crotch fiercely in mock attempt to wipe off his sweat, but really just trying to rub his dick on his palm, and shook Miller's hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Miller. You won't be disappointed."
Wait for me by my car, bitch. Don't fucking touch yourself.
That was what his text said and Wyatt did wait for him. He wanted to see him. His dick needed to. The underground parking lot buried lines of expensive cars of yesteryear in near dark, but he immediately recognized his former lover's ride. Generic and forgettable as it was, the grey Honda Civic had burned itself into Wyatt's memory so he could never ever mistake it. He waited, back against the wall.
Excitement galvanized him, so he couldn't stop tapping with his foot on the pavement. If he stayed here, he'd give up his power. His words wouldn't matter. He wouldn't hold any authority over Miller, not that he ever could, not even with the threat to send the pictures – a legitimate threat, but Miller, no Savage, knew how to get the better out of every situation even when he drew the short stick.
Almost a full hour later, he arrived – a brooding shadow clutching his suitcase. He moved with vicious speed towards Wyatt, closed off the final distance, breached his personal space so close their lips almost touched. They stayed like this for what felt years and Wyatt darted his tongue out – stealing a taste of his ex's salty lips. This triggered Savage, who grabbed him by his tie and pulled him like a misbehaving puppy to a distant corner of the parking lot behind a column where the lights had no dominion and Savage could do all he wanted.
All boundaries had been crossed, Wyatt knew that much. Scenes from criminal shows flashed through his head, but at the same time, the sensation that he was in power propelled him forward, following the angry man. An agent of lust that had a mighty thirst. Wyatt yipped when the older man slapped his ass and held his hand there, squeezing one butt cheek firmly in one hand. The pants' material slipped in his grip, so soft and sweaty from the heat. The hold was meaner than he remembered it being, but he realized he missed this sensation – the desires this man kept hidden deep down. For the first time, though, Wyatt understood them and submitted when the hand moved from his ass to his shoulders and pushed him down.
"You got the job, boy, but I get to fuck you every day," he growled as he nodded to his fly.
Cause that's all you can do, Wyatt thought, but didn't say. Both of them knew it and the it was a fair trade. Wyatt only had to confirm it; unzip his future boss' pants and suck his dick as if the world was going to end. He did exactly that – it was a second nature to him.
Musk and heat rose strongly from Miller's crotch. Wyatt fished in enough to loosen the stiff cock from the confines of the cotton briefs, which had been stained by precum. The musk hung in the air, enveloping both of them in a cocoon. Wyatt darted a tongue to lap the tip and then focused on sucking at the wet spot in the underwear. Not a drop would go to waste. His hand worked itself over the shaft, which burned with wanton in his palm, already sleek.
"Look at me, boy." Miller said with a low, seductive voice, and then rammed his cock to its base in Wyatt's throat. Caught off guard, Wyatt gagged and pushed himself off.
"Don't tell me you've lost practice. You used to swallow it like it was nothing." Miller teased and slapped his cock against Wyatt's clean-shaven cheek. It used to drive the man insane and the barely suppressed moan that reverberated in the garage made Wyatt all the more hungry.
He didn't bother to reply. Let Miller have this.
Wyatt dove down. It had taken a few years after he'd broken up with Miller to learn a few new tricks, but he had mastered oral sex and wanted to show off how easy he could take his cock now. He went straight for the deep end and buried himself in Miller's pelvis, until his nose touches skin and cotton. The smell of him blurred everything else. Wyatt clutched at both Miller's legs for support, the fabric bunched, and held himself there for a few breaths, which inspired Miller to thrust in an out.
He palmed Wyatt's head and pressed even further.
"So good." He commented as he pulled himself from Wyatt's mouth and then thrust back in without protest. "I'm starting to think this could be good."
Wyatt purred as he picked up speed and sucked on the cock, taking a few seconds to swirl his tongue when he backed out over the head and taste the precum. Miller didn't last long. He twitched all over, grabbed Wyatt's head in place and shot his load down his throat, not even giving Wyatt the chance to taste it.
It was done.
Miller hastily put his cock back and zipped it up. He almost looked presentable.
"We don't know each other. And I better not hear rumors about myself," he said and left Wyatt on his knees, eager and untouched.
The main office of T&M resembled an excavation from the 90s – beige and green in the most uninspiring shades acted as anesthetic for the soul and augmented the depressing air of obsoletion that was the gridlock of cubicles and frosted glass. It was as if Wyatt's floor was an anachronism made flesh and forgotten in the shuffle. You could see signs of modernization spreading slowly around the edges. Hints of open office and fresh coats of paint, whose colors didn't belong in a hospital mental ward, but overall, his floor embodied dullness, stunted growth and mediocrity.
The same description applied to his colleagues, plain and numbed. Whether it was boredom or the increasingly sexualized tasks Miller burdened him to perform in between checking printer toners and devising elaborate traps to catch the floor's notorious creamer thief (it was the janitor, but Wyatt really needed some sort of entertainment), Wyatt thought about sex a lot. His pants strained against an erection every time he pushed the mail cart down the hallway (the mail cart was never used to carry mail anymore, but still came in handy) and imagined his tongue along not-so-closely-shaven jawlines, the hiss of a zipper and the starch white of cheap undies almost luminescent as they peaked above from black pants lines.
When your workplace transforms into an improvised lover's nest, where your immediate boss bends you over a desk for fifteen minutes like clockwork and sometimes depositing a small vibrator in your ass for the most of your shift, you find yourself triggered to arousal by something as innocuous as a stapler – the most phallic of office paraphernalia.
Between filling in for sick secretaries, running for paper and quick squeezes in Miller's office, Wyatt met the big boss. The managing director – Ross Gavin. Wyatt remembered staring at his ass and wondering how the hell he wasn't like other men in power – impossibly white and old enough to volunteer as an exhibit at the Smithsonian. Mr. Gavin knew how to fill out a suit and the salmon-colored dress shirts he wore brought out his dark complexion, the perfect tan encoded in DNA.
His favorite pastime? Fuck the moderately pretty women in short skirts. Those T&M had quite a few of as those reflected Miller's taste in women when he wasn't busy fucking Wyatt in the meantime. Wyatt had seen the director only exit certain rooms at random times after a woman of certain slim proportions did so first, face flustered and skirt in wrinkles. After, the room would smell of smoke and something more devious, which the smoke could never cover up. Sure enough the bin would have a used condom tied and wrapped in a paper ball at the bottom. This was another thing about Mr. Gavin – he vaped a lot indoors and no one did anything about it. Was this Mad Men for the 21st century?
Although Wyatt played detective too well, he needed confirmation in case being a paid sex slave wasn't messing with his sanity already. One lunch, he cornered Sylvia, the big-breasted blonde from his interview who somehow still managed to get hired. She certainly didn't mind talking freely about it. Wyatt guessed `don't kiss and tell' was wasted on her. He launched the attack between bites of a grilled cheese sandwich. He wasn't making enough for good lunch.
"So how big is the big boss?" Wyatt had thought about all the ways to ease in the topic but somehow this felt the best strategy.
Sure enough she choked on her veggie burrito and looked guilty.
"The office drones might not notice," or they did and didn't give a fuck, which would be quite interesting, "but I sure as hell do. He must be a good lay." One dash of shit-eating grin and an envious tone made her relax her face and Wyatt knew he had her.
"He's big," she said with a smile and mimicked grabbing a beer can.
Of course she exaggerated, but it was good to hear he was packing on girth. Unlike most women, Wyatt welcomed bigger sized cocks. He knew what to do with them and the thing about Mr. Gavin was that he fucked guys. They'd both catch each other's gazes and those light brown eyes had a hunger to them that transcended heteronormativity. But Mr. Gavin never approached. Wyatt had to make the first step.
It was time to audition. Wyatt was months into this job and already detested the way Miller abused his sex privileges. He could threaten to send the pictures again, but what he wanted was power, so getting Mr. Gavin interested would solve two problems.
He hovered around the small meeting room, which no one really used after the large one got a renovation and the newest policy had cut meetings to half their original number. Mr. Gavin had taken on a perky accounts manager – newly promoted to boot. They spent more than usual and Wyatt got worried someone might call him away, but as he circled around with a brown folder underneath one arm feigning activity, the perky brunette, Florence, slinked out and did her best to tie her long hair in a ponytail. The barest waft of vape smoke drifted in the air.
Now was his moment.
One heartbeat, two, three. He strode with forced bravado completely easy and relaxed. Mr. Gavin stood with his back to the door and barely registered the intrusion. If he feared he'd get caught, he gave no such indication.
"Whatever you want, now's not the time." Wyatt caught his reflection, the boss sizing up the newbie. The hunger showed.
"This is urgent, sir," Wyatt said and tossed the folder on the table. The slap reverberated in the empty room.
"No file is important enough to give me that tone."
"It is, if you don't want me to sue you for sexual harassment."
Mr. Gavin laughed and turned around, his vaporizer hanging off the edge of his lips. He took the steps to the table, where Wyatt could distinguish pearly puddles twinkling in the early afternoon light.
"I never laid a finger on you," he said and flipped through the folder, which contained only pictures of Wyatt – naked, without and with sizeable toys disappearing in his ass. Surprise dilated Mr. Gavin's eyes and he whistled.
"Isn't this a crime in on itself?" Wyatt walked to the cum stains. "You lift every skirt here and leave me with a set of blue balls. How can I work in a place that clearly discriminates sexually." He scooped up a bit of cold cum with a finger and made a show of licking it clean.
"And this is?" Mr. Gavin pointed at the pictures.
"My application, sir. I think I've the skills and experience to excel as your personal office assistant and cock attendant. I also think you run fewer risks being associated with me rather than all these women. Your wife is running for local office – a sex scandal, even the smallest rumor of one, is the last thing you'd want."
If nothing else, Wyatt's MBA has taught him how to sell himself; he only wished he didn't have to do it quite so literally. Of course, this could backfire horribly and he could have licked off cold, bitter cum off the dirty table for nothing, but this was far from the worst Wyatt had done for a partner. The prognosis seemed to be in Wyatt's favor though, because Mr. Gavin never lost his smile.
"Ballsy move, kid. I have enough here to fire you and blacklist you from ever getting a job in an office." Mr. Gavin said and closed the distance, so his eyes bored into Wyatt's.
"An entrepreneur has to believe 100% in his product and be willing to risk all. I'm more than a first-class lay. I'm a drug. FDA approval pending."
There was a tagline to last through the ages.
"You can have a test run. 5:30 in the old archive storage. Floor 15."
Mr. Gavin laughed. "Giving orders, too. Sure thing, kid. Let's see what you got."
Wyatt snapped the folder and slinked away from his presence. Strut on, not too fast. Not glancing back. It's what confident people did.
At 5:31 pm, Wyatt was nude from the waist down, shaved like a porn star. If he were to be a good substitute to women, the only difference he should offer is only an erection. The old archive room sprouted stacked boxes on all walls, a sturdy desk, cracked leather chair and no windows. The light looked sickly on the yellow, dust-covered walls. It was a room that had fallen through the cracks. Far removed from office traffic. Painfully overlooked. Perfect.
Wyatt straddled the leather chair, ass high, rosebud pointed at the door with a large dildo slid in to stretch for the event. Condoms and a bottle of lube flanked him on both sides of the table in front. He was ready and so was Mr. Gavin.
"You do know how presentation works," the man said.
God, why were these cheesy lines making Wyatt even harder.
He stayed silent and arched his back even further, giving invitation. Mr. Gavin's footsteps grew closer. The noises told the story. The rustle of cloth, the sigh of a zipper and the clink of a buckle, the gentle pops of shirt buttons. Wyatt could almost imagine him. His height eclipsed the fluorescent light, his shadow hulking over Wyatt. Then came the rip of the plastic condom package and its fall to the ground. The lube's cap popped with a hardness and then Wyatt felt the dildo sliding out and cold globs land on his crack.
The sensation made him gasp and then some when the heat of foreign fingers spread the gel over his sphincter, slipping a fingertip fast to tease him. Wyatt pushed against the touch. The trick in Wyatt's plan lied in making his boss believe he wanted this more than he did, which was probably true, but he wanted to leave nothing to chance.
Mr. Gavin fingered him in silence and it was up to Wyatt to supply the erotic acoustics of quiet moans, gasps and whimpers to urge him on. Sure enough, he got slapped on the ass, hard enough to warm it.
Wyatt had not seen the man's cock, which was a first and the titillation made him harder than he'd ever been in a while. The tip connected and Wyatt still imagined everything from a micropenis to weirdly curving bastards and fat destroyers. He burned hot as the head slid in with ease. Hard as steel, hot as a furnace. Wyatt shuddered as his boss pushed to the base and rested, his fur scratching Wyatt's skin. Big hands seized his hips and leaned over.
"This is a good fit." Mr. Gavin whispered.
Wyatt grinded against his boss' hard body, his breath hitched. Electricity ran through him. His words failed him yet he muttered.
"Fuck me like an animal."
Mr. Gavin didn't.
His fingers moved under Wyatt's shirt, right hand following the curve of his back until he found purchase on his shoulder and steadied himself with a firm grip. The material of Wyatt's shirt had bunched to the top, constricting him at the front, adding another dimension to his stimulation. The sharp scent of Gavin's cologne overwhelmed him. He held his breath in anticipation for the cock in his ass to pound him, but that didn't happen either.
Instead, he rocked back and forth almost imperceptibly, pulling out by the smallest degrees, barely moving the chair, then grinding back on Wyatt. That was the moment Wyatt learned Gavin preferred a good, slow, maddening fuck. Circumstances rarely allowed for him to enjoy himself and enjoy he did now. Gradually, his hips picked up the pace and the chair creaked. Wyatt still had not seen his face when Gavin lost himself in the motions. Brief stops where he'd stand still, just breathe or lean in to lick and kiss Wyatt's neck, were his only punctuation.
Wyatt followed this program and didn't dare finish before his boss. He wanted to see how high all this could push him once Mr. Gavin decided to tip himself over. The sex made him sweat and the heat and friction melted his concept of time.
He only came to from his own trance when Mr. Gavin thrust viciously and rested on top, torso glued to back. The director embraced Wyatt, grabbed him by the knees, lifted him as if he weighed nothing and Mr. Gavin plopped on the chair in one swift maneuver, dick buried still deep inside. That signaled the mounting finale.
He fucked Wyatt like a jackhammer and Wyatt did all he could to pant, rather than moan loud enough to draw attention. What drove him over the edge was his boss' hand on his cock. Two strong strokes made the office assistant shoot a stream that flew well above the table, hit the floor and streaked the desk behind and their bodies. Inside him, he felt Mr. Gavin reach a thunderous climax.
They remained in this position until their breathing calmed and Wyatt pushed himself off. His legs and thighs burned, but he stilled himself from tilting to and fro. He dressed quickly under his boss' watchful eye. Silence was part of the game even though the outcome was clear. Once he was done, Mr. Gavin rose to do the same, but Wyatt had a stroke of genius.
"Allow me." Wyatt pushed his boss' hands from the shirt and worked his way down the buttons to his crotch. He smelled his sweat and wanted to lick him, but railed himself in.
The condom's tip hung heavy with sperm on his boss' deflated cock. He pulled it off, tied it up and then engulfed the spent member for a second to clean it off. The taste was salty this time. All the while, Mr. Gavin watched on as Wyatt tucked his penis back in his underwear, tucked his shirt in and zipped him up.
"All ready to go," Wyatt said and looked directly into the other man's eyes.
The wild hunger still lingered.
"Come first thing in the morning," Ross Gavin said, circled the kneeling Wyatt and headed for the door.
Oh yes, time to rise through the ranks, Wyatt thought to himself, fully satisfied with where his career was heading.
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