In my company, I had a reputation as the mediator, although some staff members jokingly call me the beast tamer. I have a way of making furious clients forget why they were angry in the first place. Bring me the worst case, the loudest complainer, the one everyone swore was impossible… and I’d walk them out smiling, shaking my hand, convinced they’d gotten justice.
It wasn’t magic. It was presence. The lean-cut body in a tailored suit, the friendly face, the voice that could pivot from firm to coaxing, the subtle innuendo that melted tension like heat on ice.
An overall, quiet confidence. I will use every tool at my disposal to ensure the client leaves happier.
So when I heard a new client was coming in, so impossible “even I” might not be able to fix this situation, my only reaction was a quiet thrill. I love challenges. And I never found one too big
I was skimming emails when Tyler, my assistant, buzzed in.
“Sir… he’s here.” There was a wobble in his voice, a note of concern. “I’d be careful not to make him wait too long.” Although I trusted Tyler's instinct, I knew I was ready for whatever was coming. Tyler worked for me for a while, so he knew the game and was very professional about all situations. He was also a walking distraction, slim, pretty, and a bubble-assed that was always poured into a suit that did nothing to hide it. I kept him because he was excellent at his job, but also because watching him walk out of my office was sometimes the highlight of my morning.
“Send him in then,” I said.
When the doorway darkened, I understood the tremor in Tyler’s voice.
The client filled the door frame. Not metaphorically—literally. Broad. Thick. Brutal.The kind of presence that felt like a shadow swallowing the light.
Unlike my regular client, who shows up in power suits, he was all in black, Black boots, black jeans, black shirt, black leather. His face was carved hard, flushed with anger. Light-brown eyes locked on me like I was prey stepping into his territory. He didn’t wait for permission; he grabbed a chair, dragged it back, and straddled it—legs wide, shoulders spreading even wider. It was clear he knew how to command the space.
Assessing the situation, trying to regain some power in space, that’s when I saw it. His crotch. It strained the fabric of his pants with a bulge so massive it looked almost unreal. For a second, I wondered if it was padded—until I saw the shape. The outline. The weight of it.
He caught me looking. He didn’t flinch, didn’t smirk, just stared, daring me to react.
Trying to regain my focus, I straightened my tie, leaned back, and met his gaze head-on. There was no doubt he was a force, a kind of man who walked into a room and made everyone else feel small. He knew he had an intimidating aura about him and used it to his advantage, trying to control the space between us.
I am used to this kind of power play. Most clients try it with me. They came in angry, puffing themselves up, expecting I’d fold under the heat. I never did. I’d built a career taming men exactly like him, breaking their tempers down and turning fury into cooperation. That is why I was known as the beast tamer.
I leaned back in my chair, calm, my confidence a weapon. “What can I do for you today?”
He unloaded everything—every issue, every failure on our part, every reason he had to be livid. And the thing was… he was right. We had screwed him over. So I got to work. I laid out solutions, concessions, and fixes. Every time I gave him something, the tension in his shoulders eased. The mountain in front of me became a little less jagged.
But like every negotiation, we hit the wall, the one demand that was too much.
As he realized I was unlikely to budge, he leaned back, eyes dark and challenging. “Well… this is going to be a problem. How are you going to fix this? What can I get instead?”
That word—instead—always meant trouble. Always meant something not reasonable, something unspoken. My heart beat a little harder. I tried to reason with him, pushing logic, reminding him how much he was already getting, but I could see the shift in his posture, the tightening of his jaw, the possibility of the deal blowing apart.
And then I made the mistake of looking down.
That obscene bulge in his pants. Thick, heavy, packed as if the denim was barely holding him in. I stared for half a second too long. When I looked up, he was watching me with the slow, predatory smile of a man who finally saw the weak spot in my armour.
“Looks like we might have another arrangement on the table,” he said.
He stood up. I felt small for the second time today. Up close, he was massive. His broad shoulders stretching his leather jacket, his powerful chest straining his shirt, his thighs like tree trunks filling those dark jeans. He rounded the desk, boots thudding on the floor. I moved my chair aside to accommodate him in my space without even thinking. He leaned on the edge of the desk, one leg crossing over the other. His jacket fell open, revealing a T-shirt pulled tight across enormous pecs, his nipples pushing boldly against the fabric. He settled there casually, but there was nothing casual about the dominance in his stance.
The balance of power had shifted. He knew it. So did I.
I swallowed, trying to sound composed. “What are you proposing? What would… resolve this for you?”
Before answering, his eyes flicked to the small cedar humidor on the desk. He reached over to retrieve it, opened it without permission, and scanned the cigars like he was inspecting weapons.
“A man of taste,” he rumbled.
He picked a thick, heavy cigar from my case—a bold ring gauge, and clipped the end off cleanly. He took the cigar and slowly and sensually rolled the thick stick between his lips. Then he reached for my torch lighter like it already belonged to him. When the flame hissed to life, and he brought it to the cigar, I managed a weak, useless protest. “You can’t smoke in here.” He turned his head slightly, took the first long, steady draw, and exhaled a slow, heavy plume of smoke, thick, confident, unapologetic.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate that anymore.”
This power play he was running was almost textbook—invading my space, using that massive frame to intimidate, taking the alpha stance, wielding the cigar like a dominance prop. I saw through it, and so I should’ve been immune. But it worked. It worked on me perfectly.
He slowly uncrossed his legs. Spread them, highlighting the obscene mound between his thighs like it was negotiation collateral. My gaze dropped before I could even think to stop it. He caught the flicker of my eyes instantly.
That’s when the game changed. His hand reached, slow and certain, the way a man does when he already knows the outcome. Fingers wrapped around my wrist, strong and possessive, guiding me, he pressed my hand down onto him, firm, deliberate, letting me feel every inch of him through the denim.
I felt everything. Heat. Weight. Size. A monster trying to break free. My breath hitched audibly.
Chest swelling, eyes locked on mine like he was claiming something. The room filled with the scent of cedar, leather, and smoke. It hit me like a drug. He tilted the cigar away and spoke with quiet command. “Well? What are you waiting for? You know what needs to happen next for me to walk out here a happy man.”
There was no hesitation. I knew the negotiation was over. I unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking in the quiet room. I hastily undid his top button and then slowly pulled down the fly. His jeans parted, revealing a thick, white jockstrap stretched to its limit.
The pouch was swollen, full, obscene. Up close, there was no mistaking it.
No padding.
No enhancement.
Just a man built to ruin others.
I hooked my fingers under the waistband of his jockstrap and peeled it down slowly, dragging the fabric inch by inch until it slipped past the thick curve straining beneath it.
When it finally cleared, I reached inside, took hold of him, and freed him from the tight confinement—letting everything drop heavy over the front of his open jeans.
That’s when I really saw him. All of him.
His cock hung long and thick, even in semi semi-soft state. The weight of it was undeniable, swinging low over a pair of massive, full balls that looked almost too big for any man to carry. The whole package was warm, heavy in my hand, the skin slightly damp from heat and sweat—an obscene, masculine display of size and power.
I froze for a moment, staring, letting the reality of him settle in my mind. It wasn’t just impressive. It was intimidating. And I felt my breath catch as I realised just how much I’d unleashed.
Jesus.
Up close, he was overwhelming.
Then instinct took over. I buried my face in his pubic hair, inhaling deep, taking the scent of him in. Raw, masculine, intimidating. It filled my lungs. His hand settled lightly on the back of my head, just enough pressure to remind me who was in control.
With a quiet grunt of approval from him, I lowered my mouth to his cock. It was still soft, but thick enough to stretch my lips as I sucked him in. I felt it pulse, felt it swell, felt the first signs of it hardening on my tongue. Even half-hard, it was already a challenge. Warm and weighty, it was growing thicker with every second.
Wanting to taste more of him, I let his cock slip from my mouth and moved down to his balls. Up this close, they were massive—dense, overfilled, almost too big for my mouth to handle. I tried to take both at once, but there was no way I could comfortably do it, so I took them one at a time. I sucked on his testicle, taking it deep into my mouth, rolling it gently with my tongue, coating every inch of it in spit. His skin was warm, tight, and sensitive, and I explored every contour, every groove, every firm muscle underneath. His moans made it clear, he was a man who liked the attention to his balls.
They filled my mouth to the point of stretching my jaw, and I moaned softly around him, lost in the taste of him—leather, sweat, heat, and pure male.
I was lost in the moment, in a blissed-out haze, worshipping this beast of a man. They were heavy, musky, perfect, and I sucked on them like they were ambrosia. Every inch of him tasted like raw, unfiltered masculinity. When I looked up, he was watching me through a haze of smoke, cigar clenched between his lips, exhaling slowly and confidently. The man was dripping testosterone.
This wasn’t a negotiation anymore. I’d surrendered. Whatever he wanted, it was his.
He caught the way I looked up at him. He saw the hunger, desperation; he knew he already owned me. He grinned around his cigar. His hips shifted, presenting himself fully. Then he took his semi-hard cock and slapped it across my face as I continued to suck on his balls. I moaned into his balls, taking them deep into my mouth, tongue working it slowly. Each smack was deliberate, his thick meat bouncing off my cheek, my lips, my jaw. The weight of him, the sound of it, only made me hungrier. He saw exactly what I wanted. He rewarded me by guiding his cock to my lips. I opened wide, eager, begging without words.
With one sharp thrust, he rammed his cock straight down my throat. My mouth was already stretched from his massive balls, but his cock, now fully erect, was even thicker, longer, and heavier. A true monster. No man should have been built like this.
He grabbed the back of my head with one huge hand and began to fuck my throat with long, brutal strokes that made saliva spill from my mouth and drip down my chest. He pushed harder, deeper, using me like a hole that was only meant for him. My mind dissolved. My thoughts blurred. I was floating in that dazed, euphoric state.
As he took long inhales of his cigar, He shoved his cock deeper down my throat
And deeper.
And deeper.
My throat opened for him as it belonged to him. I could have done this for hours.
Then—the phone rang.
The sudden sound jolted both of us. I choked back around his cock as he paused, annoyed. I was thinking the same thing: Fuck. What now?
He glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Tyler,” he said. My assistant.
I reluctantly pulled his cock from my mouth, a long string of drool dangling from my lip to the head of his dick. I wiped nothing away. He watched me, amused, cigar smoke curling around his grin. I answered, voice shaky, breathless.
“Tyler?”
“Sir… I… uh… smelled cigar smoke. Just wanted to check if everything’s okay.”
My eyes lifted to the man towering over me—his cock mere inches from my face, slick with spit, his heavy balls resting against my chin. The cigar hanging between his fingers, smoke curling around his grin, said everything.
“It’s fine,” I said, forcing calm. “Everything’s… better than okay. The client decided a cigar would help with negotiations. I agreed. You can just ignore it.”
I could practically hear Tyler’s confusion—and the edge of jealousy in his voice. He’d only ever smelled cigar smoke in my office after a deal was closed, when victory meant a shared celebration, a signal he could step in and help me unwind. This time, the roles were reversed. This time, I was the one orchestrating the celebration.
I could hear the disappointment in his tone, the silent acknowledgment of a missed opportunity. That’s when the idea hit me—the perfect way to turn up the heat and seal this deal permanently.
Keeping my voice steady, even with the client’s cock still slick against my lips, I said, “Actually, Tyler… come in. I might need some help finishing the final steps of this negotiation.”
I could hear the eagerness in his voice instantly. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.”
The client paused mid-thrust, cigar between his teeth, giving me a look like, What the fuck are you planning?
I didn’t bother to explain. I just went right back to swallowing his cock, mouth stretched wide and drooling. He leaned into it, understanding that whatever I had planned, he’d probably enjoy it.
Then Tyler walked in.
The shock on his face was priceless — his boss on his knees, throat full of the client’s massive cock, spit running down my chin. I looked up at Tyler with a filthy, knowing smile, then went right back to devouring the client’s cock, letting him hear every wet, hungry sound. Tyler always saw me in control, always obeyed me. Seeing me overpowered, used, dominated… it stunned him.
His gaze turned to the client, the giant, dressed head-to-toe in black leather, leaning casually against my desk, smoking a cigar like he owned the building. Tyler just stood there staring at the size of the man — the width of his chest, the thickness of his thighs, the sheer mass of his cock disappearing into my mouth.
I pulled off the cock with a wet pop and looked up at him.
“Come in, Tyler. Shut the door.”
He obeyed instantly, pausing only for a heartbeat as he tried to figure out what he was meant to do. “Turn around,” I instructed.
He did, and the client’s smirk curled around his cigar, eyes dark and hungry. He immediately recognised the view before him—and it was clear he wanted more than just my mouth. Tyler was skinny, but his ass was tight, round, perfect, and almost impossible to look away from.
I turned to Tyler. “The client needs a little more convincing,” I said, voice low. “Thought you could help us out.”
Tyler’s eyes flicked to the monster cock still slick with my spit and pre-cum. Fear, arousal, and hesitation battled in his gaze. “Sir… I don’t know. That’s… that’s a lot,” he admitted, voice trembling.
The client dwarfed him completely—height, muscle, presence. Next to that beast, Tyler looked delicate, almost fragile. “Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I’ll get it ready for you. I’ll make sure it’s nice and lubed up.”
The client let out a deep, amused grunt at that — the smirk on his face saying everything.
“Drop your pants,” I told Tyler. “Bend over the desk.” He did as he was told, shaking slightly as he exposed himself. He positioned himself next to the client, arse hanging over the desk.
The client’s big hand moved over to Tyler’s ass, completely covering one cheek. He rubbed it in slow circles, warming the skin. He then slid his thick index finger between Tyler’s cheeks. Tyler gasped the second the client’s finger pushed inside — barely getting it in before his eyes rolled. His fingers were as big as the rest of him, stretching Tyler open instantly.
The client pushed a second finger in, sinking both deep. Tyler whined, the sound raw and desperate, his ass spreading around his fingers. Watching this giant of a man casually open my assistant with two thick fingers hit me hard. Seeing his hole twitch and stretch around those fingers got me horny enough that I almost forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I tried to focus on the cock in my mouth, but watching those thick fingers work Tyler’s hole made my own cock throb.
I moaned around his cock, unable to hide how turned on I was. I sucked harder, throat opening as the client started face-fucking me again with one hand while the other kept pumping into Tyler, working him open. I didn’t want to give up that cock — But the alternative was watching this beast fuck Tyler. The idea of him breaking him open was even more exciting.
The client finally pulled me off his cock. A firm yank by the hair—no hesitation. He positioned himself behind Tyler, his legs planted wide, his boots solid against the office floor. His shirt stretched over his chest and arms, muscles tight, looming like a damn titan, smoke billowing from his lips. I was reminded of how much of a giant he was next to Tyler. I almost felt bad for the boy, but mostly, I was jealous.
I got up and grabbed Tyler’s ass, spread him wide for the client, holding those cheeks open so the man could line himself up. He took his cock, massive and thick, and ran it up and down Tyler’s hole, smearing precum and my saliva as he went. The kid whimpered as the client’s huge cock was pressing right against his huge, round ass. They matched like they were built for each other.
The client stopped teasing. Centred his cock on Tyler’s hole. A perfect bullseye. And then he pushed. Slow. Deliberate. The thick head stretched Tyler inch by inch. Tyler gasped, breathing sharp and desperate. “Deep breaths,” I reminded him. “Take it. Take him slow.”
The client kept pushing, deeper… deeper… until half that monster was inside Tyler. It looked impossible—Tyler’s body straining, that tight hole forced wide open, pain and pleasure fighting across his face. Tyler’s hole stretched unbelievably around him. This was likely the biggest cock the boy had ever taken, and he was still taking more. Finally, the client was buried to the base. Balls-deep. Watching a man that size fully inside Tyler was a sight, and the jealousy burned hotter than the lust.
I moved around to the front of the desk and caught Tyler’s eyes. His face was dripping with sweat, mouth open, chest rising in quick, desperate pulls of air as he tried to adjust to the size destroying him.
I was rock hard now. The first slow withdrawal was stunning—watching that enormous cock slide slowly out of Tyler’s hole. This scene was driving me to a frenzy. I unbuckled my belt, pulled out my cock, and pushed it straight into Tyler’s mouth. He took it instantly, grateful for the distraction, gagging around me as the client started to move.
Then the client slammed back in, hard, brutal, merciless.
Tyler nearly choked on my cock, his whole body jolting as the beast drove into him. His eyes rolled up, tears forming, spit running down my shaft as he tried to focus on sucking me while being pounded from behind.
The client fucked him like a man, releasing weeks of frustration with deep, furious thrusts, shaking the desk. Tyler’s ass, round and perfect, swallowed that monster over and over like it was made for him.
The giant leaned forward, grabbing Tyler’s shoulders, bracing himself so he could fuck Tyler harder. Sweat dripping from his jaw. The cigar was still hanging from his mouth, but he was working too hard to keep it steady. Not wanting to break his flow with Tyler, I took it from his lips and brought it to my own. I tasted it, tasted him, his sweat, his spit, the heat of his breath on the tip. He looked at me with that smirk—the one that said everything
I knew he was close. At that moment, I decided to capture his attention. His cock buried deep in Tyler, I lifted my gaze, cigar between my lips, and stared him dead in the eyes. Every exhale of smoke was deliberate, every glance a reminder of who was in control.
His face was full of ecstasy, lost in the rhythm of fucking my assistant, and I let myself break through that haze. “So… are we good now?” I asked, my voice low and teasing. “Did you get everything you wanted from us? Are our negotiations complete?”
He inhaled deeply, my cigar smoke curling around him, eyes flicking between us. Then it happened, that slow, spreading smirk. The kind a man wears when he suddenly understands what was going on.
“Yeah…” he said, voice low and satisfied, “I think I got what I wanted.” His gaze lingered on Tyler’s ruined hole, then on my lips still shiny from him. “I’m not finished yet… but I will be. And trust me—” he exhaled, “—I’ll be damn happy with what I got. This was better than I expected.”
I grinned. “Good. Let’s get this deal completed.”
I pulled my cock from Tyler’s mouth, hearing the muffled moan as the giant continued to thrust. Tyler was gasping for air, chest heaving, his ass stretched impossibly wide under that relentless pounding. I sank back against the wall, cigar smoke curling around me, watching the spectacular display unfold.
The client’s eyes caught mine, and his smirk told me he was amused at what I had done. I had taken charge of the negotiations entirely, orchestrated this whole scene, but he didn’t even care anymore.
With a loud groan, he shot his first load deep inside Tyler. The relief on Tyler’s face was instant; the sensation of that thick cock filling him made him exhale with a mix of pain, pleasure, and release. The giant kept thrusting, pumping load after load—two… three… four, right into my assistant, and Tyler’s eyes found mine each time, a knowing smile passing between us.
When he finally finished, the client didn’t just collapse—he folded over Tyler, chest heaving, muscles trembling, his massive frame blanketing Tyler’s smaller body. Tyler let out a tiny, broken sound under the weight of him, face pressed to the desk, legs shaking. The room felt thick with heat, sweat, and the ghost of every thrust he’d driven into my assistant.
Eventually, he pushed up—slow, unhurried, still drunk on release. His hands braced on the desk as he straightened, shoulders rolling back, regaining that effortless, terrifying composure. When he slipped out of Tyler, his cock emerged slick, swollen, and still obscene even at half-mast. It glistened in the low office light, a thick, dripping testament to what he’d just done.
I sank to my knees without a word.
He didn’t ask.
He didn’t need to.
I cleaned him slowly, reverently, tongue tracing every thick vein, savoring the taste of him and Tyler. The taste was heady—salt, musk, sweat, power. He watched me the entire time, approving.
When I finished, I eased his jockstrap back over that heavy, half-soft weight. He tucked himself in, pulled up his jeans, cinched his belt with a satisfied grunt, and adjusted the outline with a casual confidence that made my pulse jump again.
He reached for his jacket, slinging it over one shoulder.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll finish the contracts and send them over for you to sign.”
He paused mid-step. Turned. Smirked.
“Why don’t you just call me,” he said, low and certain, “I’ll come by and collect them when I’m ready.”
I laughed under my breath. “Looking forward to it.”
He picked up the still smouldering cigar, brushed a hand over my shoulder in a way that felt more like a claim than a goodbye, and walked out with that heavy, controlled swagger—looser now, satisfied, but still radiating authority like heat.
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled.
Tyler was still bent over the desk, breathing hard, legs barely holding him up. I stepped behind him, smoothing a hand down his back.
“I think you earned a bonus for this one,” I murmured.
He turned his head, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. “I think I got my bonus already…”
A tiny smirk. “…but I’ll take whatever else you want to give me, sir.”
I chuckled, pulling a fresh cigar from my drawer. Ready to celebrate our win. Another beast tamed, another happy client. The flame hissed softly as I lit it. Smoke spiraled upward, warm and slow, filling the room like a victory flag.
Tyler straightened himself up with care, gathering his clothes, slowly getting dressed. I leaned back in my chair, watching him move, savoring the wreckage, the scent, the echo of dominance hanging thick in the air.
The negotiation was over.
ut the aftermath… that was all mine.
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