Thanks for reading my second story on Nifty. My first story is called How Martin Blunt Learned to Live and you can read it here. Like that story, this one is a story about love and discovery and relationships with some sex in it. I changed my email since writing that one, and welcome all comments and suggestions to my current email JJ.Writer76@yahoo.com. I'll try my best to reply to all of you. Enjoy! -JJ
Climbing the Corporate Ladder
Chapter One: Will's Story Begins
Will climbed the stairs from the N train subway two at a time and ran down Lexington Avenue as quickly as his dress shoes and slight hangover allowed. He glanced repeatedly at his watch navigating the crowded Manhattan sidewalk still fighting an ache in his body from too much expensive scotch and hardly any sleep. In most professions, 7:45am is not late for work. At Atwater Strategies, it was beyond late. He had a good excuse, and the boss, Brian Atwater would protect him in case someone complained. But still, after last night, he wanted to impress the boss even more than ever.
In the lobby he noticed one of the elevators cordoned off with tape and a small crew of repairmen. It made him laugh and burst into a devious smile which caught a few odd glances from the people waiting for an available, working elevator. He fixed himself in the lobby's mirrored walls as he was slightly untucked from the 3 block sprint. His short brown hair had messed a little, and he tried to comb it back with his fingertips. He fixed the knot of his yellow tie and adjusted his blue pinstripe suit jacket. His face had become flushed and his pale complexion contrasted the red circles in his cheeks. On the 40th floor he swiped his badge at a back entrance and ran silently down the stark white hall to his work space. At the "door" to his cubicle he stopped short.
"Can I help you?" he said with a confused and quizzical expression to the unfamiliar young women sitting at his desk.
"Are you the guy who used to sit here?" she asked between bites of a baby carrot. She stared intently at three computer monitors where blinking numbers and colorful bar charts drew zig-zag lines spitting out data from the international stock markets.
"Yeah, did they move me?"
"Margaret said to go see her." She reached over for another carrot and munched away, not so much as giving Will a glance.
Will swallowed hard and felt his pulse quicken. He began to fear the worst. Margaret was the VP of Operations, and Will had only met her twice: when he signed his contract and when he got his first year review. Other than that, he didn't believe Margaret knew he existed. No she wanted to see him and his desk was gone... last night was beginning to look like a huge mistake.
Will McIntyre was a dime a dozen in Manhattan: well educated, hungry, driven financial analyst trying to make it big in a city and industry that ate more people for breakfast than offered them success and fulfillment. While finishing his MBA at Wharton he had received an offer from Atwater Strategies, a boutique, fairly prominent PE (private equity... for those in the biz...) firm on East 58th Street with assets hovering around $35 billion. Its 200 employees worked ridiculously long hours trying to predict what the fickle and frustrating financial markets would do so their clients could turn a $10 million investment in January into $13 million by Christmas.
The corporate structure of Atwater Strategies was extremely hierarchical, and 20-something year olds with Ivy-league credentials like Will and this woman in his cubicle were not given more than a polite nod until they had landed a serious client or had gained significant increases in their portfolios. Will was making close to $100k a year- a fortune if he were still in his native Iowa... but in Manhattan, it was chump change- enough to afford a 400sqft studio in "trendy" Astoria, Queens and hump it in on the subway every day. He thought that maybe by 30 years of age he could live in Brooklyn, and in Manhattan itself by the time he was dead. Will worked for two junior partners in the commodities practice and spent 10-12 hours a day staring at computer monitors, calling brokers across the world to talk speculation, and consolidating complicated research into 4 line paragraphs of financial acumen. Any more than 4 lines and the partners (whom Will began to call Dick 1 and Dick 2) would not read it. Imagine writing an entire analysis on corn price speculation, and all the contributing factors: fuel costs, ethanol mandates, weather patterns, regulation, global markets, etc. etc. and consolidating it to 4 lines. It maddened Will that Dick 1 and Dick 2 were so lazy and unwilling to understand an inch of financial depth.
The mastermind behind the highly successful, painfully secretive, exclusive firm was Brian Atwater, a 55 year old former Goldman Senior VP who jumped ship 12 years ago taking $150 million of client assets to start his own shop. Since then he had grown it into a top tier firm, and Brian had become one of the gods of Wall Street. Brian was a very attractive older man who started going grey early in life (the stress of Wall Street, or just genes...) but maintained a youthful and physically fit appearance. He worked out daily at a private gym he had built out in the building (for senior partners only) and was often seen with socialites and models half his age. He had never married, and was frequently ranked as one of NYC's most eligible bachelors.
If Don Draper had a slightly older, slightly less attractive, but more arrogant brother, he would be Brian. Good looks can only get you so far, and despite his good looks and enormous personal wealth (Forbes estimated him to be between $600 and $700 million) he had become quite lonely as friends, and even some relatives, had grown distant focusing on families and kids while Brian advanced his career.
Brian realized this. He saw himself with a hundreds of invitations to events (mostly charity) but very few, if any, invitations from actual people. At the last dinner party he hosted for the firm's Senior Leadership he could feel an obligatory attendance. People felt compelled to be there; they didn't want to attend, and neither having Eric Rippert personally cater nor serving 2005 Rothschild made Brian a more likeable guy. His closest "friend" was his first hire, a 48 year old named Sam Tang, and he retired to Palm Beach last month. "Pressure", he cited. Too many missed family events, too much time in the office, 1 heart attack was enough. "I've got more money than my kids could ever spend, Brian. But it's no good if I'm dead. I just need to retire for my wife, for my kids, even for me."
Brian had everything in life, and it wasn't enough. Therapy? Yeah right. Page 6 would love a picture of him coming out of a shrink's office. Church? Stopped going long ago.
Work! Work was the solution to everything.
"Will, I got a call from Mr. Atwater last night telling me to promote you to Manager of the Executive Committee. Allan!!"
Margaret's assistant came to the door. "Allan, tell them Will is here. Will, Mr. Atwater will outline your responsibilities more clearly. It's a new position, he's been considering it for some time and he thinks you are the right fit."
"They are ready for him", Allan shouted from his desk.
"They are ready for you in his conference room. Go", Margaret ordered.
"Who's ready for me?"
"The Executive Committee. Go. Wait- here's you contract", she said handing Will a red folder. "You have 24 hours to decide. Go- they are waiting for you."
Will walked briskly to the conference room passing several desk and cubicles along the hall. He could hear whispers as he passed. His buddy Steve shouted out "Nice job McIntyre!" to which a few others shouted out "Good job Will!" with some whistles. Word of his enormous promotion must have spread already. He smiled and blushed slightly as he walked the hall which suddenly seemed to be ¾ of a mile long. He could vaguely see the outlines of several heads through the frosted glass. Should he knock or just walk in? This was all so fast! He took a sneak peek inside the red folder before entering. Job description, responsibilities, skip, skip, skip. He flipped the papers looking for a number... base salary! There it is... $225,000 annual. $225,000? He looked again- that can't be right. $225,000! `Holy shit' he thought. He stared flabbergasted at the figure when the conference room door opened. It was Brian Atwater himself who greeted Will with a warm smile, his salt and pepper hair perfectly parted. He had reading glasses at the tip of his nose, and wore a dark grey flannel suit with a bold burgundy pattern tie. When they made eye contact, he gave Will a slight wink, which made Will relax. His dark black eyes were vivid and alive. "Good, Will, you are here. Come in. Gentlemen, I've asked Will McIntyre to take the position of Executive Committee Manager, and he'll start sitting in on these meetings and be one of my right hands. Will, sit, we were talking copper. Tell them about Mongolia."
One job perk Will appreciated at Atwater Strategies is the chance to work out during the day. He took advantage of it to blow off steam and stay in shape. Will wasn't a muscle man- at 5'10'' he weighed only 160, but he was tight and had virtually no body fat. He looked great with his shirt off, not broad and beefy, but defined and taught. The definition in his arms was so intense that he looked like he had muscles, when it was just serious tone. In college he had gotten his first tattoo, and now at 26 he had his entire right arm from shoulder down to 2 inches above his wrist covered in a colorful patterns, swirls, images, an eagle, an American flag, an ear of corn inside his triceps (Iowa, remember?). He loved changing in the locker room and catching the occasional wandering eye sparkle as they saw this clean cut all-American farm boy with soft brown hair and a wholesome face sporting a vivid tattoo sleeve. It was unexpected. A lot about Will was unexpected.
He grew up to a single mother on his grandfather's farm in Iowa. He hated to think his mom got knocked-up, but when he was 12 and celebrated his mom's 27th birthday, he did the math and realized something was wrong. He never knew his dad. Later in life his grandpa told him it was an army guy- or a marine- he couldn't remember- who was in town for a few days visiting and he had met Will's mom at the drive-in. And that was that. "We could probably try to find him if you want", grandpa had offered half-heartedly. "Maybe", was all Will answered. It was still a `maybe'. He hadn't given up interest in meeting his real dad. It just never seemed like the right time.
Will's mom had pushed him very hard his whole life from sports to studies to farm chores. At 16 he was state champion in wrestling for his weight division. He got a full scholarship to Northwestern, and went straight to his MBA at Wharton. He loved Iowa, he loved the family farm and his family on the farm, but he wanted to see the world. One day he would return to Iowa, but that day was still some years away. There was money to be made for aggressive guys like Will.
Wrestlers are an interesting breed. They tend to be very `by the book' people, but scrappy, confrontational instigators. Will was not afraid of anyone, and had had fights with guys much bigger than himself, and won. He didn't look tough, but he was uncommonly strong and aggressive, and a little bit of a daredevil. That adventurous side is how he first had sex with another man.
In rural America everyone starts having sex young as there is nothing else to do. And Will was a hot young man, tanned from the outdoor work, fit from wrestling. Girls wanted him, moms crushed on him. Dads? Not so much. Something about his wild eyes and sinister smile made them think Will was more interested in their daughter's business than hearts. At 17 he was regularly banging Cindy McAdams from Canterville a few miles down Route 22. Cindy was crazy into sex, and she couldn't be satiated. Not even by the spitfire Will.
"I can't right now- you gotta give me a couple minutes to get it up again", he said to her wiping the cum from her stomach with a tee shirt.
"Damn it baby- you got me so close again – you finish too quick"
"You take too long"
"Eat me out at least- let me cum one more time"
"I'm telling you, you need another guy in here to finish you off once I'm done", Will responded lowering his face to her spread legs.
"I'd do that. Would you?"
"What? No- that's a joke. I'm not sharing you with another guy"
"You think he'd be better than you! You afraid of a little competition?"
She hit a nerve. Will approached a challenge like a fly approaches a steaming pile of shit: no matter how bad it smelled, he had to dive in head first. It was his nature. So the next weekend Cindy had recruited Will's buddy Trevor to tag her and see who did a better job. That experience, the three of them naked in her parent's empty house, was like a graduation day. Will didn't know what the future held, but he knew a certain stage of his life was over. Will won the bet- and he got Cindy to cum "better" in her words, but not because of Cindy... but because of Trevor. While he was banging Cindy he looked over and watched Trevor stroke his cock keeping it hard... it was a new sight that made his spine tingle and heart beat faster. He had seen Trevor naked hundreds of times in the locker room. But seeing him hard, seeing his balls swell up, his cock throbbing red, dripping precum from the slit, seeing a glistening sweat across Trevor's chest and shoulders, a redness and ruddiness in his face as he tried to gain his breath back, it was too much.
He invited Trevor to take a turn on Cindy and he watched longingly as his cock entered her, admiring the slight glisten along the shaft and his tight stomach muscles quiver as the sensation of penetration took over his body. Trevor's ass cheeks were tight and clenched firm with a slight sheen of perspiration Will wanted to taste. He couldn't believe the thoughts he was having: `Here's Cindy one of the hottest and horniest chicks in the county and I'm more interested in Trevor's ass' he thought. He wasn't ashamed or confused. He was just surprised.
The feeling was mutual. Trevor was watching Will watch him- and he made a slight pass while fucking this girl. He winked at Will. Will smiled and began to stroke his cock in such a way that he looked to be offering it to Trevor. Trevor blushed- blushed! Imagine being so innocent that a 17 year old in a three way could blush! And that brought Trevor to climax.
"Ahh!! Fuck! Fuck, I'm cumming!", he shouted, shooting load after load inside Cindy.
"Goddamnit- no! I said not to come inside of me!" Cindy protested pulling herself away. She got up and ran to the bathroom complaining. "Trevor you asshole I told you not to." She slammed the door, and Will and Trevor heard the shower turn on knowing she was trying to flush herself out. They stared lustfully at each other's naked bodies, and the mutual attraction turned into animal instinct.
They attacked each other. Will jumped onto Trevor going straight for his mouth. Between tongues intertwined in kisses and licking each other's lips, he could only mumble "You are so fucking hot". Trevor replied a muffled and breathy "I want you so bad". Will used a wrestling move and had Trevor on his stomach, lowering his face to that shiny and tight ass. He licked up the moisture, tasting his sweaty cheeks, savoring the tangy and pungent flavor while his hands ran up and down Trevor's lower back and side. What an aroma! It was instinct, he didn't know how he knew, but he knew to spread those fine cheeks and stick his finger in the hole. Trevor thrashed on the bed as Will fingered his hole continuing to lick his cheeks and thighs. "Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" was all Trevor could moan. "You gotta hurry- stick it in before she gets back!" Trevor ordered. Will obeyed. He grabbed the lube they had nearby and coated his dick, and without warning or mercy inserted his meaty 7 inches in one steady thrust. Trevor's back arched, his head and shoulders rising up like a yoga position as Will mounted him from behind. He began to moan, then groan too loudly. Will spun his head to the side and kissed him, shoving his ass flavored tongue into Trevor's mouth to keep him quiet. Will had never felt anything so tight- not a girl, not his hand, nothing. The pleasure was immense, and he didn't last but a minute, 4 or 5 thrusts if he was lucky.
"I'm gonna cum, man. Fuck! I'm gonna cum!" He whispered with tears and sweat streaming down his face.
"Cum inside me!", Trevor ordered. Again Will obeyed, and with each final trust he launched a shot of white hot jizz deep inside Trevor's bowels stifling his own moans. Never had he cum so powerfully. Trevor could feel the warm liquid inside him and loved it. Will pulled out and turned Trevor onto his back revealing a dripping, aching cock that looked so beautiful, so tasty and inviting. He took it in his mouth in one shot, swallowing deep to the pubes, tasting precum, pussy juice, and desire. Trevor ran his hand over Will's short haircut, feeling the muscles in his neck and shoulder. What a blowjob this guy could give! He didn't last long, and he blurted out "I'm gonna cum!" Will popped the throbbing cock out of his mouth and jerked it frantically watching the cum spray Trevor's chest, then pour out over his own hand, running milky white streams down his clutched fingers. He continued jerking while Trevor groaned loudly in pleasure.
Will put his cum coated hand over Trevor's mouth and said "Shhh!" They listened for the shower. When they heard the water still running, Will smiled, took his hand away, rubbed some of the cum off Trevor's lips and lay down romantically on top of him in a passionate, post coital kiss.
"Want to get out of here?" he asked.
"Yeah. My folks are gone for the weekend, if you...ugh...want to do it again", Trevor said meekly. Will smiled, nodded his head and they quickly dressed and split living Cindy alone. She wouldn't be the only one with some cum inside her that day. By the time they fell asleep that night, Will had two and Trevor three.
Those young boys fucked one other through the rest of junior and senior year, sneaking away to barns, farm yards, creeks, backs of cars, rural spots where they could be safe. It wasn't uncommon for teenage boys to spend the night together, and no one suspected they weren't watching a movie or playing video games. Will went off to college, and Trevor stayed at home to work his family farm like most of the boys in rural Iowa, and their love affair came to an end.
Some years later when Will was already living in New York he got a wedding invitation with a note from Trevor: "Will- I hope you can come home for this. If you want to get me a gift you know I'd be up for it one last time. –Trevor". Will used some points to purchase a flight out to NYC for Trevor's "bachelor party"- or so they told the fiancé. It had all the elements of a bachelor party: booze, nudity, strippers, a little pot. Will took Trevor to a hot spot in Chelsea to show him a world he was sure Trevor had never seen nor imagined before. The club had naked men dancing in cages, couples hooking up on the dance floor, and porn star bartenders in speedos. What a hoot seeing Trevor get a lap dance from a g-string clad, oily, muscle stud! Judging by his furrowed brow, Will was sure Trevor was fighting off an erection.
"Ever done a body shot?" Will scream over the deafening thump! thump! thump! of the music.
"A what?" Trevor screamed back into his ear, staring wildly at all the meat and beauty around him.
"A body shot... just take off your shirt".
Trevor looked confused. `Did he say take off my shirt?' he thought. He looked at Will who talking to the hot bartender. The shirtless hunk brought over tequila, salt and a lime and screamed out "His first time, huh?!" Will smiled and winked at him.
"Take! Off! Your! Shirt!", he ordered, pulling Trevor's flannel shirt out of his jeans. He had a cute body- toned from the farm work. His skin was wind burnt, but he had nice pecs, shapely shoulders and arms. Just a terrible, terrible farmer's tan. No one in all New York could have such a bad farmer's tan... except for another Iowa tourist. Will thought it was hot. It reminded him of their youth. He sat Trevor on a bar stool, and pushed him down to lay flat. Another guy two stools over, clearly intrigued by the out-of-towner, gladly let Trevor put his head in his lap.
`Ok', Trevor thought. `This is now officially weird' as the stranger began to rub his temples and neck. Looking straight up he could only see the ceiling and the outlines of men who had gathered around to watch. Will knelt down and screamed into his ear.
"I'm going to pour tequila in your belly button, lick your nipple and put salt on it, and put this lime wedge in your mouth. Hold it in your teeth. Don't choke and stay still!" Before Trevor could process what would happen on his body, he felt a cold, wetness in his belly button and he tried not to shiver when Will sucked his nipple. He held the lime wedge in his teeth as told, and in less than 3 seconds Will had licked his nipple again, slurped his navel, sucked the lime out of his mouth, spit it on the floor and had his tongue deep down his throat. It was a buffet of sensations warm and wet, and the thrill of public eroticism and subsequent cheers gave him a massive hard on. The bartender reached down and patted it- patted his hard on! In public! and offered another shot on the house. Several men and a few ladies watched these two cute young studs do another round of body shots and cheered again while they made out.
Trevor was so turned on. He wanted his chance. He sat up waved to the crowd and screamed "Who wants ME to get a turn?" Everyone cheered- and Will gladly took his shirt off revealing his ridiculously tight body and crazy tattoo sleeve. He didn't even have to look around to know the guys were turned on. And the girls, too. He did see one guy mouth a slow-motion "Fuuucckkk!" in pure lustful desire to touch such a hot body. Not tonight though- tonight he was all Trevor's. It was his bachelor party, after all. Will lay down, and the kind stranger 2 stools over did more than hold his head in his lap, but he ran his hands down Will's chest unable to control himself. Three rounds of salt, shot, suck later, with some great kissing and giant cheers for their new fans, and Trevor felt really good about his party. Will stood up and pressed his torso against Trevor's and kissed him deeply letting his hand grab his ass while people patted them on their shoulders returning to the dance floor.
"That was so fucking hot. You guys are hot", a woman in a red mini dress scream into Trevor's ear grabbing his ass. He looked at her surprised. No girl in Iowa watching two guys kiss would dare say it was "hot". She'd call the police. He just smiled incredulously. "Hot!" she screamed one final time.
They spent the remaining hours of that bachelor party weekend in Will's apartment having so much sex they were both sore. It was better than Trevor had remembered, and he thought himself lucky to have had Will as a lover and still have him as a friend. He would always remember the touch and feel of his body, his scent when he sweats during passionate sex, the taste of his balls, taint, hole and cock, the look in his eyes when he cums and the devious smile he had afterwards. And he would miss it.
Will didn't describe himself as gay or straight; he was just himself. He dated women. He dated men. He had sex with both, and enjoyed both. He enjoyed taking control during sex and making the other person feel things, respond, quiver, twitch, moan, shake, cum, at his command and decision. He liked being the cause and knowing the effect, and not letting the other person have any say in the matter. It was a dominance factor, a power, alpha male factor. And both sexes tended to submit to Will's command. Maybe it was his tight and powerful looking body, maybe the psychedelic tattoo sleeve intimidated, or his crazy eyes and sinister smile caused people to yield. Whatever it was, people who slept with Will always wanted to come back. Trevor did, even though he was in love with someone else. Will offered a sexual bond that no one else could. Men and women, whoever was lucky enough to sleep with Will McIntyre would be sucked in by his sexual talent, his power, his stamina, his creativity. Will had a gift of love making that would make even a straight, powerful, wealthy Wall Street mogul fall captive.
Just ask Brian Atwater.