by Gavin Atlas
I couldn’t help but wonder what had made Mr. Wesley stop on my floor. The distraction of his presence made the flurry of phone calls even more difficult for me.
“Yes, Mrs. Willoughby, I understand that you’re upset I didn’t recommend the same options to you that I did for your grandson. But you see, his time horizon is much longer, so it’s not too risky for him to invest in an aggressive growth fund…Yes, of course you can talk to my supervisor. One moment.” I sighed. I tried hard to be good at my job, but I wasn’t cut out for it. Other than Mr. Wesley, temperaments were testy around here, and I felt like I was always an inch away from termination. In this economy, every day was a bad day.
An hour later, I’d forced myself through the various financial newspapers we were required to read and handled several more calls from clients disgusted with the performance of their portfolios. The throbbing in my butt and my lack of sleep made me hazily believe each caller was screwing me. I realized at that moment my true vocation should be getting fucked for a living. Too bad it was illegal.
The intercom on my desk buzzed, and I was called into the office of my boss’s boss. My dick, which had been semi-hard at my fantasies of becoming a call boy, went soft. I barely communicated with Mr. Barnes. This couldn’t be good.
This was only the second time I’d been up to the twenty-eighth floor, the highest at Wesley-Shields that I’d visited. The halls were dark and cool. Instead of busy clatter, there was an imposing quiet. Large, probably famous, paintings covered the walls and every corner was festooned with massive flower arrangements. I wasn’t happy to be in all this luxury. My last visit resulted from an incident which led to the firing of ten people that nearly included me until it became clear I had nothing to do with the problem at hand.
I knocked on Mr. Barnes’ half-open door. I saw him sitting with a man I didn’t know. Mr. Barnes reminded me of a college professor who never gave good grades. He was tall and had a stern countenance. I’d heard he’d been a football player in college, and even though that must have been thirty years ago, he still had the build.
“Rory, come in. Do you know Peter Cowell, the new director of human resources?”
Oh, God. I really am being fired.
“Uh, no. If this is about Mrs. Willoughby’s call, I really thought—”
“No, this is an entirely different matter,” said Mr. Barnes. “Sit down.” He motioned to a third chair in close proximity to theirs. “Peter here played racquetball yesterday with an associate of yours named Eugene Choi.”
I felt my stomach lurch. “Um, really?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Cowell, “and I’m afraid he mentioned your indiscretions over the weekend.”
I felt stunned. Why would Eugene do that? I’d suspected from the way I’d been fucked that last time that Eugene had it out for me. “Oh my God. I am so sorry,” I stammered.
Mr. Cowell leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “From your apology it’s apparent you know it can’t become public knowledge that Wesley-Shields employees engage in such activities as the party Mr. Choi described in detail.”
“Y-yes. I’ll clear my desk out immediately.”
“That’s one possibility,” Mr. Cowell said, arching an eyebrow. “There is a potential alternative.” I noticed his hair for the first time. He wore it a bit long and rakishly styled for a Wesley-Shields executive. He had a regal bearing and the eyes of a hunter. It felt as if he were looking at me as prey.
“First, we need you to sign this confidentiality agreement,” said Mr. Barnes, handing me a two-page document. “Any infraction of the agreement could lead to severe penalties including, but not limited to, a law suit and possible jail time for divulging company secrets.”
“And I guess if I don’t sign, I’ll lose my job?” My question was met with grim expressions. “Well, then…” I took a pen from Mr. Barnes and signed.
Mr. Barnes gave me a significant look. “This is very serious. Utter and complete silence on this matter. Are we understood? Utter and complete.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good,” said Mr. Barnes. He steepled his fingers. “Now we are free to inform you that the firm has need for a young man with your proclivities.”
“My proclivities?”
“How do I put this delicately?” said Mr. Cowell as he ran his hand through his hair. “You provide certain services in a semi-public environment.”
I felt my eyes widen in surprise. Once again, my dick began to harden. “I’m sure I’m interpreting this incorrectly.”
“Then let’s make sure there’s no room for miscommunication,” said Mr. Barnes. “You let guys fuck your ass at parties. From now on, your job at Wesley-Shields is just that. To get your ass fucked.”
“What!” I looked at them in disbelief. My breath had become shallow, and I was conscious of the throbbing in my hole again.
“Yes,” continued Mr. Cowell, “frequently. And sometimes at social functions. The company has a few important clients at different firms who will want to pump those buns of yours regularly.”
“Oh…my…God…” I whispered. A wet spot formed in my briefs.
“Of course, there will be some other light duties,” said Mr. Barnes with a small nod as if this were a normal conversation. “Answering phones, perhaps some typing.”
“A receptionist job? But I have a professional degree! In fact, I won’t even be treated with the respect a receptionist receives if I have to give up my ass all day long!”
Mr. Barnes nodded as if he sympathized. “True, but we’ll compensate you for the respect you lose with a doubled salary.”
Whoa.
Mr. Cowell leaned forward and grabbed my thigh. “You know, Rory, it’s a tough job market out there.”
“True,” I said, gulping as he started massaging my leg, his hand inching closer to my crotch.
“And you went to that insignificant Briggs State,” added Mr. Barnes, grabbing my other thigh. “These days, if firms are hiring anyone at all, it’s graduates of Wharton or Harvard.”
“Not to mention when the word spreads about what you like to do in your private time, you won’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell.”
I wanted to say “You can stop with the blackmail. I’m into it,” but their veiled threats were turning me on as much as their hands. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I’d be the one going to jail for this kind of proposal, but I certainly had no intention of squealing. They had a firm grip on my thighs now and they parted my legs.
“So, you’re saying either I lose my ass to you two or I’ll be flipping burgers?”
“Precisely.”
“I…I guess I have no choice. My ass is yours.”
“Excellent.” With deft motions, Mr. Cowell unfastened my belt and unzipped me. “Of course, we’ll have to give you a test drive to make sure you’re right for the position.” He yanked my dress pants down around my butt and revealed my erection. “Stand up,” he commanded. “That will make stripping you easier.”
I stood obediently as Mr. Cowell and Mr. Barnes took everything off me but my tie which remained loosely around my neck. Then with a firm hand, Mr. Barnes pushed me down on all fours. He unzipped himself and began poking his large, stiff dick in my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Cowell produce a condom and a tiny bottle of lube from his jacket pocket.
“Show me your skills,” Mr. Barnes purred as I took him in my mouth, tasting salt and sweat. I nearly choked at his first thrust, but it struck me as appropriate. Of course, a powerful man would have a powerful dick, and naturally it was my lot to kneel before it. I would have gladly run my lips up and down his shaft, but he held my head steady so he could push in and out at leisure.
“You know, this ass would look amazing framed in a jockstrap,” Mr. Cowell observed as he lubed me up. Then I felt his dick graze my crack as he covered it in the condom. He guided himself inside me on the first try. “Mmmm, nice,” he said, running his hands up my back. I shivered with pleasure.
They fucked me from both ends, each with their own animal rhythm. Mr. Cowell felt about as big as Mr. Barnes, but much more ruthless. His motions pushed me forward, forcing me to take more of Mr. Barnes down my throat. I moaned and grunted, doing my best to please both men.
“Oh, God, this is heaven,” said Mr. Barnes, his head tilted up in ecstasy.
“Eugene…said…you had an incredible ass,” Mr. Cowell said, his voice ragged, “but that’s an understatement.” The compliment made my stomach flutter, and I arched my back to allow him even deeper access. “That’s it, boy,” Mr. Cowell said with a growl.
Mr. Barnes’ breathing sped up and so did the pace of his strokes. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered. He grunted loudly and then jerked his dick roughly out of my mouth in time to shoot his come all over my face and shoulder. He bent over me in exhaustion, pressing his strong hands on my back and kneading my muscles. “Ohh, I needed that.”
“Me, too,” Mr. Cowell replied, gasping. “I can’t believe I get to nail this ass every day now.”
Every day? Oh my God, what have I got myself into? Again, I tried to pinch off my dick so I wouldn’t come, but I let out a keening moan and shot white gobs all over my stomach and the carpet.
Mr. Cowell shouted three times as I felt his come flood the condom. His last thrusts were so forceful I would have fallen over if Mr. Barnes hadn’t been holding me up.
“Excellent,” said Mr. Cowell again, his rough fingers pulling on my hair. “Your body will suit our purposes perfectly.”
After their “test drive,” I was allowed to clean out my desk and go home. The next morning I still felt sore as I made my way to the twenty-eighth floor, but I had never been so eager to get to work in my life. I practically ran to Mr. Barnes’ office.
“Good morning, Rory. This isn’t where you’re working today,” Mr. Barnes said to me, “but this is where you’ll leave your suit. You do have your jockstrap on?”
I nodded and undressed. Mr. Barnes unlocked a door in his office and led me through a hallway I didn’t know existed. He used the same key to open an elevator. There were no floor buttons listed.
“When you arrive, face the window, lie back on the desk and put your legs in the air. Unless told otherwise, that’s what you will do every morning.”
As I stepped out of the elevator, I realized the entire floor was one office. The huge windows overlooked Central Park. I heard footsteps on the other side of the room. I scrambled to get on the huge mahogany desk just as I heard a door unlock.
There was Mr. Wesley! I immediately dismounted from the desk and apologized profusely. This was certainly a prank, and I’d been a complete fool.
“No, no. As you were, Rory Caulfield,” Mr. Wesley said. He walked in and gave me a simmering look.
“R-Really?”
“Oh, yes. You are as beautiful as they said,” he murmured. “If I’d only known what you liked to do earlier, you could have had this much sooner.”
He reached over and delicately touched my face. “I’d like to call you ‘sweetheart,’ but from what I’ve heard, you’re the kind that would rather be called ‘a pussy boy party bottom.’ Which is it truly?”
I moaned. “I…I’m too embarrassed to say…”
“Don’t be. We never get what we want if we don’t ask.” His fingers grazed the inside of my left thigh.
“Yes sir,” I said, spreading my legs wider. I felt such disbelief at what was happening I kept forgetting to breathe and then had to gasp in shock. My dick was so hard it throbbed.
“I’ve waited so long for a young man like you to come along.” He gave me a feral smile. “A pussy boy party bottom,” he said, his hand moving to my hole, “is just what I need.”
“Oh, yes, sir!” I said, as he ran his hand over my dick, which strained against my jock.
Mr. Wesley hit an intercom button. “Barnes, it’s time to mix business with pleasure. Send up my two guests. They’re in for the treat of a lifetime.”
I closed my eyes and moaned. I imagined I’d never have a bad day at work again.
Lust Like Moonlight
I could barely figure out these online chat rooms, but there I was. There was a young man that my friend, Richard, said I’d have a good chance with. I was excited when he appeared in the chat room. As I stared at the picture of his face, I realized Richard hadn’t exaggerated about how handsome the boy was. His brown eyes were vulnerable and fawn-like, framed by beautifully curled lashes. He had a pretty mouth and chestnut hair just long enough to run my fingers through.
His screen name was EeyoreBottom, a moniker that made me imagine his skin was soft for some reason—maybe like a stuffed animal. It also made me think that, like the donkey, he suffered from low self-esteem, but Richard, who was the one who told me “EeyoreBottom” would like me, said he got the nickname from “always losing his tail.” I didn’t know Eeyore’s real name, but I already wanted him so much my chest was tight. I’d been rejected so frequently I barely had the courage to send a message. I sighed and opened a message window. Richard said the first thing I should say was: “I’d like to fuck you.” I decided on, “Hi.”
Five minutes later he hadn’t responded. I was about to shut down the computer in disgust and call someone I’d have to pay for in one way or another. Then words appeared on the screen. “Hey! Sorry, I was on the phone. Nice to meet you!” He put in a smiley face. I’d heard he was a sweetheart. He’d have to be to take pity on someone like me.
I typed. “Is it true you like older men?”
“Yes,” he responded right away. “They’re my weakness.”
My fingers tensed on the keyboard, and my heart sped up. “Young fellows like you are mine.”
“Awesome!” he typed.
I breathed in and out deeply to calm myself, but I couldn’t keep my dick from stiffening. I shook my head. He still might not like me. I wrote back, “Awesome, huh? You’re very kind. But I’m really old. I’m sixty-five.”
“But you’re interested in me, right?” he typed.
“Very much.”
“Well, that’s what matters. Are you aggressive?”
I usually wasn’t, but, for this boy, I wanted to be. I began to type “May I have sex with you?” but I erased it and typed “Yes, I’m aggressive. I’m going to fuck your ass. What’s your address?”
Richard told me the boy lived nearby, but when Eeyore gave me directions, it surprised me exactly how close. I could be there in five minutes. He said he needed ten to get ready, but he’d unlock the door for me.
I stared at the computer screen wide-eyed. I couldn’t believe my luck. I looked in the mirror to comb my hair, which had never looked grayer. Was I really that frail? Calm down! I took deep breaths while tying my shoes.
When I arrived, he was naked, wet from a shower and busy changing his sheets.
He smiled and asked if he could give me a hug. He pressed his warm, damp body into mine in a soft embrace. I couldn’t stop my right hand from sliding down to his ass and squeezing.
“My name is Troy,” he said. His brown eyes captivated me.
“Rudy,” I said.
He pulled away and went back to his sheets, giving me ample opportunity to look at him from head to toe.
His body wasn’t perfect, but his face was indeed as beautiful as his picture online. From his dark features, I guessed he was perhaps Greek or Italian. He was shorter than I expected, and also a bit heavier. Still, it was just a small paunch, and his thighs and ass were so amazing they could have been sculpted. Gorgeous hair covered his legs, but I noticed his stomach, ass, and back were quite smooth. He almost certainly waxed.
His mattress and box springs were on the floor, and to tuck in his sheets he had to bend over, thrusting up that magical ass. I tore my eyes from his body and looked at my surroundings, noticing several bottles of medication on a cardboard box he used as a nightstand. All of them anti-depressants.
Eying his trash can, I said, “You’re a busy lad. Three different men hav
e fucked you since the last time you emptied this.”
He blushed. “That’s right, but how do you know it’s not the same guy three times?”
“One regular Trojan wrapper. One extra-large. And the third is some other brand. My guess is that fellow brought his own.”
“Good work, detective. I ran out earlier, but I just bought some more. Have a seat while I find them.”
I sat at his computer and saw our conversation was still up on his screen. He also had a photo folder open, and I froze. All naked pictures of muscular young men. No one older than maybe thirty-five.
“Aha. Found them,” he said, picking up a pharmacy bag from the floor.
“You’re not attracted to me at all, are you?” I said. “Why am I even here? You like young guys like yourself.”
He fell onto his bed face up and spread his legs. “No, those aren’t guys I want to be with. Those are guys I want to be. Those are all pics of porn star bottoms.”
Now that I looked again, they were mostly pictures of naked backsides. “So that’s your goal in life? To be in porn?” Maybe if he worked out a lot he could have a chance, but I didn’t say that.
“No, my parents would kill me.”
I nodded. I approved of young people who still respected their parents’ wishes. “So what is your goal?”
“I don’t know. I guess to make guys happy by giving up my ass to them.”
I looked at him lying there naked, waiting for me. My dick was rock hard, but I felt a knot of anger gnawing at me. “That’s it? That’s what you’re going to do with your life? That’s absurd.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You have the freedom to do whatever you want and this is what you do? God, take some responsibility! When I was your age, I’d already had ten times the pain you’ll ever have and none of the pleasures.”
Annoyance creased Troy’s brow. “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”