Date: Thu, 7 Dec 2017 18:55:30 -0500 From: a4f tales Subject: "12 Tales of Christmas II: Negotiating the Bonus" Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com. You can find this one, and the pic that inspired it, here: talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com/post/161786492579/ You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for 'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing. This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2017. I own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age. Nifty is an incredible free service that depends on your donations to survive. It changed my life, and maybe it's changed yours too. Please help them to keep providing this awesome resource for all of us: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html I love hearing from you guys. a4ftales@gmail.com. Enjoy. ***** Masterson was pouring us all drinks from the wet bar in the corner of his office suite when we heard the chime of the elevator arriving on 60, and the doors rumbling open. He looked at Santelli, a quick, eager grin passing between the two of them, before they turned their smiles on me. "Are we ready?" I said, settling into the low leather couch across from the small conference table, Santelli sitting side-saddle on the armrest at the other end of it. The overhead lights were mostly turned off, just a few downlights that illuminated the table, and a table lamp behind my shoulder. Outside the wall of windows, the lights of FiDi twinkled, and the Statue of Liberty shone in the dark of the harbor. A hell of a setting for a hell of a meeting. Masterson handed me a glass, another to Santelli, and raised his in a toast. "Here's to a great end to the year," he said. "And an even better start to the new one," Santelli grinned. "For all of us," I chimed in, watching their grins stretch wider. A soft knocking on the half-open door to Masterson's suite, and then the door pushed open to reveal him. He looked utterly perfect, standing up straight and proud, grey sweatpants and a light warmup jacket over his Oakview Dynamos team T-shirt. It was well-worn, the form-fitting old high school shirt skimming his muscular college-kid frame perfectly. He looked like he was lining up by the wrestling mats, ready to prove himself, and in a lot of ways, I guess he was. "C'mon in, Tim," Masterson said, and the hungry looks on his and Santelli's faces didn't deter the kid one bit. He gave them a small grin and a nod of the head, and stepped into the big office suite, closing the door behind him. Nobody needed to say anything to him - Tim knew exactly what to do, shedding his warmup jacket and laying it over the back of one of the leather chairs that lined the table. He stood under one of the overhead lights, turning slowly around, letting the handsome middle-aged men admire him, the swells and contours of his 19-year-old body, accentuated more than hidden by the athletic gear he was wearing. "Damn, buddy," Santelli said, his voice low and deep and appreciative, raising his glass. "Can we get you a drink or something?" "No thank you, sir," Tim said, quiet and polite. "I'm training this whole off-season, and trying to keep myself clean." "Not too clean, I hope, kid," Masterson said with a wolfish grin. "Not in any of the important ways, sir," Tim grinned back, giving him a direct look that was equal parts youthful self-confidence and respect. Masterson nodded approvingly, then stepped up close and trailed his fingers over the swell of Tim's pec. I smiled to myself and sipped my drink as I watched Tim subtly flex his chest up, and when Santelli stepped in on his right side, the way the kid flexed his right arm up, making his biceps bulge like a softball, for the man's inspection and approval. Santelli's big hand squeezed the firm, thick young muscle with an approving growl, him and Masterson shooting each other a big, eager "can you believe this shit?" grin as they fondled the college jock. "What are you wrestling at?" Santelli asked, reaching around behind Tim to feel the left bicep the kid was flexing up for him now, a classic doube-bis pose. "165, sir," Tim said. "I'm carrying a little extra right now, but I think I can get it off before school starts back." "I think you look just damn fine the way you are, son," Masterson growled, running his big hand down over the muscled flatness of Tim's stomach. "But I don't doubt you'll get there." "Shit, the things I had to do just to keep myself at 170," Santelli chuckled. "You and me both, bud," Masterson said, his big hand still working a slow rub on Tim's stomach. From the steady rising swell in his grey sweatpants, I could see my boss's attentions were having the desired effect. Hell, they were having that effect on me, sitting there watching the two handsome, middle-aged bosses feeling the hot kid up, sipping on Masterson's top-shelf whisky, my own cock firming up nicely in my suit pants. "But you know how it is with the glory days - they're always behind you." "I hope it's not too forward of me to say, sir," Tim said politely to Masterson, his eyes moving over the man's handsome face, his graying blond hair, his big ex-wrestler frame. "But I think you look great. You both do." "A sweet-talker, huh kid?" Santelli grinned, then leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of Tim's neck. The way Tim shivered and let his eyes drift closed, you could tell he wasn't putting it on for the man's benefit. "Bet he gets it from Mark here," Masterson chuckled, raising his glass in my direction. Tim dropped his flexed pose, reached out to squeeze the beef of Masterson's shoulder with his left hand, and behind him to touch Santelli's thick flank with his right. "I learned a lot of things from him," Tim said, as the men pressed in closer on either side of him, allowing the hot jock to join them in the hands-on experience. "Most of all, saying what you mean, and meaning what you say." "A good trait to have, bud," Santelli rumbled, grazing his trimmed dark beard up against that spot on the side of Tim's clean-shaven neck, the one that made him shiver again. "One we admire in him. One of the reasons why we're all up here together, talking about his bonus, and not down at the Christmas party with everyone else." "What else did your big brother teach you, bud?" Masterson said, sliding his hand up under Tim's T-shirt, baring his hard-carved, mostly smooth young abs as he ran his hand over them. Tim looked over at me. I loved that look he was starting to get, his eyes heavy-lidded, a light flush to his cheeks, the unmistakable sight of his big young cock hardening up. I loved making him get that faraway, pleasured look, and seeing others make him show it maybe even more. He smiled, and I could see how much he was loving being the center of attention like this. How much he loved doing this - not just for himself, or my bosses, but for me. "Mark taught me everything, sir," Tim said, that husky edge I knew all too well coming into his voice. "How to wrestle. How to drive. How to kiss. How to fuck." He looked back and forth between each of my bosses, reaching up to cup the backs of their necks with each hand, opening his body up even more for them to explore him. "But maybe instead of telling you what my big brother taught me," he went on, "I could show you." I'd fully briefed my little bro on the hierarchy here, the way things should go. Masterson was the big boss, Santelli his second in command, and no matter what the letterhead or the list of muckety-mucks on our incorporation documents said, these two called most of the shots from the 60th floor on down. The next couple floors up were mostly just there for show, offices and boardrooms for the old blue-bloods we wheeled out to impress the Chinese and the Saudis, and the flunkies who attended to them. The guys with the big Bentleys and the yachts and the Hamptons houses, who spent most of their time golfing and fucking around on their wives. For all the rarefied air up there, it was Masterson and Santelli who made the whole machine run smoothly, a couple of brawny ex-Ivy League wrestler bros who liked hiring other ex-wrestlers, like me. I'd known since I'd interned here my sophomore year of college that this was the place I'd wanted to be, especially once Masterson and Santelli had taken me under their wings - and once I'd let them take my ass, four weeks into that first internship, after a boozy lunch at Peter Luger, in one of the rooms the firm kept at the Andaz. "Jesus Christ, two rounds and he's still good to go," Masterson had panted that afternoon, naked and still sweating on the hotel's king bed, watching me sit back on my haunches and stroke my rehardening 19-year-old cock for them, grinning proudly as I showed them what a hard and willing worker I was. "I think we got a future recruit here, Bill," Santelli had said, running his fingers through the fresh-shot streaks of my cum in the thick, dark curls of fur on his beefy chest, before reaching for my tight college wrestler's frame and pulling me to him for a third round. That was five years ago, and the two of them had made good on their promises. They'd hired me right out of college, and I'd proved to them time and again that I wasn't just another hot piece of ex-jock ass - I could fuck, and I could work deals, and just like them, putting the two things together was one of my favorite things. So I'd put this deal together. My initial contract was up, and it had never been a question of whether they'd keep me on - just how big my bonus was going to be. I wasn't the only ambitious, hard-working ex-jock bro in our shop, and I for sure wasn't the only one these hot, middle-aged married guys were "working late" with. But I liked to think we had a pretty tight thing, the three of us, and I had something extra in my back pocket - a hot, horny, and best of all willing younger brother who was wrestling at Penn, just like I had, and starting to think seriously about the next phase of his life. I'd told Masterson and Santelli I'd have a gift for them at the office Christmas party, and here he was, just shy of six feet and a shade over 170 pounds, allowing my bosses and mentors to strip his old high school wrestling team T-shirt from his tight-muscled frame and feel his exceptional young body up, mature hands roving over his firm skin, down to rub the big bulge he was sporting in his close-fitting old sweatpants. It had been Tim's idea to wear his old high school gear for the guys, and given they each had two strapping sons either in or just out of high school teams, it was an inspired one. Tim knew the hierarchy, so it was Masterson he turned to first, his mouth opening, a hot look on his handsome young face, my big boss meeting him with a deep, hungry, grunting kiss as he squeezed the hard bulge in Tim's old sweats. I could see Santelli was boned in his suit pants, the thick, hard mound of it pressing into my little brother's hip as the dark-haired stud swiped his tongue over Tim's bare shoulder, up to that spot on the side of his neck again. "You taste good, kid," he growled, that trace of the Bronx that he usually tamped down pretty well coming out now in his husky, excited voice. "I worked out at Mark's gym right before I came down here," Tim said as he separated from my big boss' kiss and turned to Santelli with a hot, enthusiastic smile. "Yeah, you know exactly what's up, bud," Santelli grinned, pulling my kid brother into a sloppy, insistent man's kiss. Masterson pushed Tim's left arm up and buried his handsome face in the sweaty tuft of dark fur in the kid's pit, letting out a lusty sound of approval as he inhaled his jock sweat scent. Santelli's thick fingers undid the knotted drawstring of Tim's sweatpants, as I proudly watched my kid brother hungrily kiss the swarthy stud right back, his arm slipping around the back of Santelli's bull neck as Masterson started tugging his sweats down over his high, tight, classic wrestler's tail. "Aw fuck, he's strapped, Joey," Masterson grunted to Santelli, the sweats slipping down to reveal Tim all jocked up, a well-worn but clean strap that I remembered well from his high school days, MITCHELL inked into the waistband in faded black Sharpie. Well-worn indeed, by me for two years before I graduated high school. I'd hung onto it, and when he'd made the high school team, I handed it to him almost ceremonially one hot summer afternoon, then made him cum in it repeatedly. The old strap barely fit him now, but in the best possible way, the old elastic still tight, digging deep into the sides of his ass, which was bigger, stronger and thicker than it was when he'd first slipped it on in my old bedroom back home. The pouch of it was stuffed absolutely full of hard college-jock dick, growing even harder as Santelli's thick fingers strummed the shape of it while Tim sucked on his tongue, Masterson's hands roving over his bare torso, his strong thigh, the hard swell of his perfect wrestler's ass. When the two men peeled themselves off of him, faces flushed with the fine liquor and their own heady lust, Tim smiled and turned around for them again under the overhead light, showing off his utter fineness to their grunted approval. I saw each of my bosses grope the bulges in their suit pants, gazing lustily at Tim's perfect form. He reached a hand out to each side, running them lightly over those big suited bulges, making my bosses grunt again, deeper this time. I spread my own muscled thighs a little wider as I watched the show, thick and hard myself, loving every second of this. Even more as Tim stepped over to me, bending over double as he reached me, tilting my chin up and meeting me in a kiss that started out brotherly, but then went a whole lot further. Our tongues slipped into each other's mouths to meet and mingle as I sat my drink down on the side table, ran my hands up his muscular young thighs, and squeezed the twin, steely mounds of his strapped ass while my bosses watched us make out. "Aw fuck, that's something," Santelli rumbled, squeezing his cockbulge as Masterson sipped his drink, nodded, and did the same. "Never thought I'd ever see it," Masterson said. "Not in the flesh, anyway." "Fuckin' Mitchell," Santelli chuckled, shaking his head with a wicked, hungry grin as he groped himself. "You ready, kiddo?" I murmured to Tim when we came up for air. He blushed a little, but smiled and nodded firmly. "Yeah," he murmured back. "I've been looking forward to this, bro." I guess he had, because there was no mistaking the lusty, sexy way he moved back to the mature men watching him from the table. He kissed Santelli first, hot and open-mouthed, then Masterson, while Santelli's hands stroked over his muscular back and ass and thighs. Then Tim stepped away from them a little, leveling his gaze at the horny, beefy businessmen as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of our old jock and slid it down his athlete's thighs. "Damn," Santelli grunted at the sight of Tim's handsome, hard young cock, snapping out and up and beautiful, just this side of seven ample inches of 19-year-old jockboy dick. "I gotta meet your Daddy sometime, boys. At least thank him for turning out two specimens like you." Tim looked over his shoulder at me and we chuckled at each other. Yeah, the apples hadn't fallen very far from the tree, but the last place either of us could imagine our hard-working, rugged construction-guy father was a boardroom like this one. But me and Tim had always tried to make him proud by giving it our all, no matter what we did, and now was as good an example of that as anything. Tim reached for my bosses, snagging their belts and tugging them closer to him, their hands falling instinctively to his fine-honed, naked flesh. "Mark says you guys have sons too," he said, flexing up his big young bis for them again. "If they're half the men their fathers are, I'd like to meet them too." "Fuck," Masterson growled, no doubt picturing his two big blond wrestler jock boys tangling with my little bro, and I think everybody in the room could appreciate that particular idea. But for now, my brother was there for these men's pleasure, and they guided him to Masterson's big, polished table to take it, and him. Masterson liked to watch in particular, and he let Santelli take the first round with Tim, my brother propped up on the table and getting thoroughly manhandled, his muscles stroked and squeezed and hefted, his mouth probed by Santelli's thick, expert tongue. The lights over the table really turned it into a display, making the light-brown hairs on Tim's stellar young thighs glow almost golden, accentuating the flex of his muscles as the handsome Italian stud worked him over thoroughly. The contrast between hot, moaning, squirming jock flesh and the well-dressed mature men handling it was an outstanding sight, and I could feel my cock leaking a steady flow inside my trunks when I gave it a periodic squeeze, like my bosses were doing. "Can I fuck you, kid?" Santelli asked, the Bronx showing through again in his gruff, husky voice as he wrapped his fist around Tim's big young dick and slow-jacked him. "That's why I'm here, sir," Tim half-panted back, because Santelli really knew how to handle a dick. "Here for you and Mr. Masterson both." "That's why I brought him to you," I said, and my bosses looked at me with meaningful nods. This whole deal was more than just a ploy to one-up my hyper-competitive peers downstairs and pump my bonus - it was a kind of thank-you gift to these men, who'd mentored me in and out of bed, and set me on the path to success. Santelli made to undo his pants, but Tim stopped him, sliding off the table and dropping to his knees, taking slow, serious care as he unlaced the man's oxfords and slipped them off, followed by his socks, before turning his attention to Santelli's belt and his strained suit pants. He laid the pants almost deferentially over the back of one of the chairs, then stood up close to Santelli, palming the man's big, hard bulge in his boxer briefs with one hand, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt with the other as he leaned in to kiss him. Tim undid most of the buttons, but not all of them, leaving Santelli's silk tie in place as he pushed his undershirt up, baring his barrel chest, the thick, beefy ex-jock torso covered in thick, dark Italian fur. Tim grunted with genuine pleasure as he felt up my boss' plush bulk, their kissing intensifying, until Santelli backed Tim up against the table and laid him out on it. Tim sprawled out, beautiful under the overhead lights, on full display as Santelli dropped to his knees between the kid's thighs. I watched Tim's face as Santelli set to work on his cock, slurping up and down its handsome young length, savoring his gym-fresh young jock taste, before opening his mouth and suckign him down almost to the root. "Aw shit," Tim hissed, because Santelli had a fuckin' magic throat, and he put it to good work on my fine-assed little brother. I looked past them to Masterson, who stared raptly at the display before him, the mansex happening right on his private conference table, slowly handling the big bulge in his pants. "Aw yeah, eat my ass, sir," Tim groaned, writhing on the table as Santelli buried his handsome, bearded face in my little bro's cleft, the sounds lewd and sloppy as my other boss enjoyed himself thoroughly, getting lost in Tim's tight, willing young jock hole. When he came up after a solid ten or so minutes of chowing down, his cock tenting his designer boxer briefs even more obscenely than before, he looked to Masterson. A silent communication passed between them, hot and electric, and then Masterson nodded, set his drink down on the wet bar, and stepped up to the other side of the table, unbuckling his belt. Sure, Santelli wasn't in the kind of shape he'd been back in his grappling days in college, but you never lose an ass like that, and the layer of plush middle-aged beef that coated his frame just amplified the chunky power of his big, dark-furred glutes. They flexed and jiggled and thrust, dimpoling hard and deep, as Santelli plunged his big, uncut Italian cock up inside Tim's willing hole, the kid's athlete's thighs scissoring around my boss' waist and squeezing as the big man took him to town. Meantime, Masterson's trousers were puddled at his feet, along with his silk boxer shorts, and his own big, hard, blond-haired cock jutted upright and red-tipped, as Tim reached up for him. Like Santelli, Masterson was all thick thighs and ass and barrel chest, sporting a solid cut seven-incher that Tim took skilfully in hand, then sucked down to the root, his throat working, muffled moans emanating from it as Santelli fucked him fast and thoroughly. Masteron leaned in to run his hands all over Tim's primed muscles, reaching down to fist his big young dick, and I wasn't the least bit surprised when my bosses leaned in over Tim's prone body, fucking him at both ends, and met in a sloppy, heavy makeout. I'd taken that particular ride with them before, more than once, and when they got into the zone together, they broed out just as hard as a couple of horny college dudes. Once a wrestler, always a wrestler. "I'm gonna cum in him, Bill," Santelli panted. "Breed this hot kid up." "Yeah, go for it, fucker," Masterson growled back. "Get him all slick for me." "Yeah, you gonna take sloppy seconds on this jock fuck?" Santelli grinned, fucking harder and faster now. Tim's sweaty skin made squeaking sounds on the highly-polished surface of the table as Santelli dicked him, moaning his encouragement around Masterson's fat cock embedded down his throat. "If you don't hurry up and get that fuckin' nut, I may not get a chance," Masterson groaned, squeezing Tim's had young pecs. "Kid can suck cock almost as good as his big brother." "I'm the one who taught him how," I said, grinning from my ringside seat. "Aw, fuckin' shit," Santelli half-moaned at that. His hips pumped a hard, rapid one-two-three-four fuckstroke, and I knew he was good to go. He tossed his head back, his brow beaded with sweat, and let out a low, guttural growl as the big muscles of his ass clenched tight and he pumped my kid brother full of his executive cum. No soon had Santelli pulled out, half-staggering back from the table with his big, wet cock bobbing angrily in the air, than Masterson had muscled his way between Tim's sweat-matted thighs. He pushed them open a little wider, pulled Tim a little closer, lined his big blond dick up to the kid's cum-sticky hole, and slid inside him in one long, slow, deep stroke. I saw Tim's toes curl as he moaned and dropped his head back on the table, but he took my boss' big dick like a true pro. I'd never been prouder of him, as I groped the throbbing bulge in my pants. Masterson had been well-primed by Tim's expert throatwork, and as big and hard as Santelli always shot, I knew my little bro was tight and pulsing and thoroughly slicked with hot, fresh cum. I doubted the big boss would last more than five, maybe ten minutes in the saddle, and I was already standing, loosening my tie, my cock leading the way, as the big blond businessman started to hit his fuck stride. Santelli looked up from his perch on the side of the table, next to Tim, where he'd been fondling and kissing the sweaty jock, and watched me approach with that sexy grin of his. "Breed his ass good, boss," I murmured in Masterson's sweaty ear as I slid my arm around his shoulders and squeezed. He was in the zone, red-faced and sweating, eyes locked hard on the sweat-gleaming mass of young muscles underneath him. "The only thing I like better than watching a real stud dick my kid bro is taking my turn afterwards, sir." "Ah Jesus," Masterson growled, giving me a hot, lusty look. "You like fucking your little bro, huh Mitchell?" "I do, boss," I grinned, leaning in close to murmur, low and deep. "I'm the one who taught him how to do this, too." "Fuckin' fuck," Masterson growled as I squeezed my arm round his shoulders again, rubbing his broad, sweaty back encouragingly, and just like Santelli before him, my boss pumped a big, grunting, heaving load inside my hot little jock brother. Santelli retrieved a couple bottles of Fiji water from the bar fridge, and my bosses sagged down onto the couch together, their dress shirts clinging to their bulky ex-jock frames, big cocks softening as they rehydrated. They watched as I stripped myself naked, my big, hard dick leading the way as I spun Tim's sweaty frame around side-on to them and climbed up onto the table, running my hands up and down his muscled thighs as I smiled proudly down at him. "You gonna fuck me, bro?" Tim said, grinning right back. "Fuck me in front of your bosses?" "Damn straight I am, kiddo," I said, taking his big, angry, leaking young dick in one hand as I lined my cock up to his hole with the other. I didn't need any lube - there were two very thick, prodigious boss loads slicking the way for me as I pressed the bare, leaking tip to his freshly fucked, but still tight young hole. "Come on then, Big," he said, craning up to snake one arm around the back of my head and pull it to his. "Let's show `em how brothers fuck, dude." I kissed him, hard and hungry, as I pushed up inside him, and my god, he was so warm and wet up there, slick and tight and hot and perfect. My senior year of college, Tim had come down to Penn for his campus tour, spending the weekend in my dorm room, and fucking his ass after my best bud had bred him had been a really memorable experience. But this was even better, even wetter, two grown men's cumloads making his tunnel all creamy and warm and even more welcoming. Me and Tim were always good together, always hot, our hard-muscled young bodies in well-practiced sync with each other, but we really put on a show for my bosses, Tim twining his arms and legs around me and moaning my name as I fucked my way up into his wet, welcoming depths. "God damn, can you believe this shit?" I heard Santelli say. I looked over to my bosses as they watched our bro show, and gave them a big smile as I set to work inside my kid bro in earnest. They'd watched me fuck before, a bunch of times - like I said, they liked to hire wrestlers, so intern season was a real fuckin' treat for a number of reasons - but this was something extra special. I was showing them something that could get me arrested in most parts of the country, showing them how committed I was to the firm and to them. How much work I was willing to put in for them. How far I was prepared to go for these guys, who'd given me so many opportunities these past few years. I was starting to get lost in the fuck, lost in Tim's sexy eyes as they gazed up at me with that insanely hot mix of little-bro adoration and manly lust, lost in the taste of his tongue as it worked mine over inside my mouth, lost in the feel of his sweaty athlete's muscles shifting against mine. The sensation of hands sliding up the backs of my legs, over my ass, up the straining muscles of my arms as I held myself up over my little brother and fucked the lights out of him, was a surprise, but a welcome one. "Fuck your little bro, Mitchell," Masterson said, his voice deep and lusty and intimate. "Breed him up for us, kid." "You know we're gonna make it worth your while, big guy," Santelli grinned, leaning in to kiss me, hard and wet and lusty, his hand reaching between me and Tim for my little bro's hard, wet-tipped cock. "You're going to be very pleased with your bonus check, believe us," Masterson said from the other side of me, and I turned my head and kissed him, hard and deep. Just then, I felt Tim tensing up around me, heard his husky moans go up a notch, as Santelli's seriously skilled hand worked his cock over the edge. "Yeah, cum for us, kid," Santelli said, his voice low and deep and encouraging, almost the exact same words he'd crooned to me in that room at the Andaz Wall Street five years ago. I felt Masterson's big hand slip into the cleft of my ass, thick fingertips sliding down the sweaty skin between my flexing, thrusting glutes, grazing lightly over my hole as his lips pressed to my shoulder. "Cumming!" Tim half-wailed, that intense look in his eyes as his insides clutched around my cock, and watching his O-face as he unloaded in my boss' stroking hand, all over his fine-formed young muscles, brought me up to, then over the brink with him. "Fuckin' cumming in you, little bro!" I growled through gritted teeth, as Masterson's thick fingers rubbed at the tight clutch of my hole, and I lost it. I pumped what felt like ten shots of cum up into Tim's pulsing, thoroughly-creamed guts, grunting and shuddering and trying to get purchase on the sweat-flecked polish of Masterson's conference table as my big bosses rubbed my sweaty back and murmured encouragingly to us both. When I climbed down off the table, glowing with sweat and feeling pretty fucking amazing, my dick still big and hard and now very wet with multiple loads of cum, I guess my bosses assumed the show was over. They each clapped us on the back, and stepped over to the bar to fix another round of drinks. "Aw shit, Bill," Santelli said when they turned around, seeing Tim propped up on his hands on the table, his thighs hooked over my broad, bare shoulders as I buried my face in his sticky cleft and lapped at him. Three loads of cum leaked from his hole and onto my tongue as I looked up at my little bro's pleasure-creased face and cleaned him up, his hand on the back of my sweaty head as I wormed my tongue up inside him and tapped the rich vein of executive cum that filled him. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," Masterson growled as they crowded in close, sipping on their drinks as they watched the lewd fraternal display. When I came up, my mouth full, my lips and chin streaked with cum, Tim was ready, grinning as he opened his mouth and leaned into the kiss, all hungry and sloppy with cum as we shared it together, grunting lustily into each other's mouth as we shared and savored the salty, tangy funk of three big man loads. "That was a hell of a show, fellas," Masterson said a few minutes later, handing me and Tim towels from the bathroom off the office suite. "We know what Mark's getting out of this," Santelli grinned, back in his boxer briefs and sprawled comfortably on the leather couch, thick, hairy thighs spread. "We're gonna juice his bonus very handsomely," Masterson said, raising his glass in my direction, as I smiled and raised mine back in return. "And he's gonna be doing a lot of first-class travel back and forth to Abu Dhabi when we make him lead on the Mubadala account," Santelli added, raising his glass at me too, and grinning at my look of surprise. Shit. Mubadala was very big business indeed - this was way more than I'd hoped for. "But what's in this for you, Tim?" "Twenty percent of his bonus," Tim said, with that mix of confident politeness as my bosses tossed their heads back and laughed. "And his GTI." "Don't worry about it, Mitchell," Santelli said, waving his hand at the slight frown on my face. I really liked that little car. "Your thirty-thousand-dollar-car days are behind you now. I think the kid's earned it." "Sounds like you've got a future in this business too, buddy," Masterson said. "Well, now that you mention it," Tim said, looking earnest and adorable as fuck as he blushed a little, looking at the plush carpet, before returning his level, confident, yet polite gaze to my bosses. "I was hoping you might consider me for an internship next summer." "Kid, I don't think that's going to be a problem," Masterson said, draping his beefy arm around Tim's still-bare shoulders. "That's how your big brother here got his foot in the door, and look how well it's turned out for him." "Look how well it's turned out for all of us," Santelli chimed in, raising his glass as we chuckled and joined in, me and Masterson with our Lagavulins, Tim with his bottle of Fiji. "To a great end to the year," Masterson said. "And an even better start to the new one," Santelli added. "And many fun and profitable adventures still to come," I finished, squeezing my arm around my kid brother's jock frame and giving him a smile. "Welcome to the wonderful world of big business, little bro."