David Marlowe had been on the forty-third floor for barely a week, but already the executive suite felt smaller every time he stepped into Simon Camden’s office. David knew he was nothing like the other interns Simon had mentored. He didn’t fawn, didn’t flatter, and certainly didn’t shrink in the shadow of power. In his late twenties, David carried himself with the kind of confidence that couldn’t be taught—an effortless swagger honed on the track and in the courtroom-style classrooms of his Ivy League alma mater. He had the sharp mind of someone who could go head-to-head with partners twice his age, and the body of someone who could make them forget what they were saying mid-sentence. He wanted to intern with no one else but Simon – might even be falling in love.
Simon Camden was fifty-two, the bank’s senior managing partner— He was a man carved out of power, and he wore it like a second skin. He didn’t just work in high finance; he commanded it. He was broad-shouldered beneath his tailored charcoal suit, every line on his body and every stitch of fabric sharp, precise, and expensive. His movements were efficient, never rushed—he was a man who had mastered time, who made others wait without apology.
Broad-shouldered with a naturally athletic build, David filled out his navy dress shirt in a way that felt almost indecent—like the fabric was constantly negotiating how much it could hide. His torso tapered to a narrow waist, and his slacks clung just enough to make turning around a calculated move. His skin was warm olive, his dark hair cropped short on the sides but rebellious and textured on top, like even his grooming had boundaries he refused to respect.
Simon’s silver-streaked hair was swept back with the same discipline that governed his million-dollar deals: clean, deliberate, controlled. No hair out of place, no gesture without purpose. His jaw, still square and strong, bore the faintest shadow of stubble by five o’clock—just enough to hint at the man beneath the polish. And his eyes—ice blue and unblinking—had a way of lingering just a fraction too long, as if he was already four steps into your next move, measuring whether you were worth the investment.
Simon noticed early on that it was David’s eyes that made people stumble. Warm brown, rich with intelligence and spark, they always seemed to know more than he let on. He looked at people the way a man looks at a closed door he already has the key to. And when he smiled—slow, crooked, unapologetically sure—it wasn’t deference. It was a dare, but kind and somehow playful.
And David knew that Simon kept his emotions locked tight behind that unreadable gaze. People didn’t tell Simon what to do; they waited to be told. He never raised his voice in meetings. He didn’t have to. The weight of his name did the work. The boardroom fell silent when he entered. Assistants stiffened when his door opened. More than one young associate had tried to impress him—many with ambition, a few with charm—but none of them lasted long. He had no time for weakness.
That was what made him so irresistible to David.
David hadn’t taken this internship just to add a bullet point to his résumé. He was playing a longer game—one that involved corner offices, private elevators, and boardrooms where people listened when you spoke.
Simon was everything to which David was drawn: older, incredibly masculine, carved from discipline and dominance. But David knew there had to be a place beneath all of Simon’s outward control, and he wanted to crack him open and share it. Because for all the power Simon projected—for all the men who feared him and the women who flinched under his stare—David could sense something else simmering just below the surface.
Control. Tension. Restraint.
And something told him that, given the right moment, the right pressure… Simon Camden might finally, deliciously, snap.
Over the first week, flirtation had become an unspoken ritual. A brush of shoulders when passing in the hallway. A low, knowing laugh from David that drew Simon’s gaze from his spreadsheets. A subtle pause at Simon’s desk as David bent just enough to point out a number on a report, the scent of his cologne lingering long after he’d gone. Simon, in turn, found himself offering unnecessary “mentoring” meetings, leaning closer than strictly necessary, letting his gaze flick downward before returning to David’s eyes with the faintest smirk.
It was a game, and they both knew it. Simon relished the illusion of control—he was the one with the corner office, the influence, the authority. But David was certain he saw it—the pause before Simon responded, the barely-there flicker in his gaze when David entered the room, the way he sometimes adjusted his cufflinks twice instead of once when David spoke.
David’s eyes couldn’t conceal the other story being told, the one where the older man’s power was a prize he intended to share. And somewhere beneath Simon’s polished composure, the thought thrilled him more than he wanted to admit.
The moment that confirmed it came on Friday.
Friday evening found the floor nearly deserted, the city’s lights glittering beyond the wall of glass in Simon’s office. He was packing away his laptop when David appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. No tie, top two buttons of his shirt undone, a shadow of stubble on his jaw and a wicked smile.
“Working late again, sir?” Ethan’s voice was smooth
Simon was standing at the window, one hand in his pocket, the other cradling a tumbler of something dark and expensive, the city lights reflecting off his cuff. “It comes with the territory.” He said, allowing himself a measured glance down Ethan’s torso before meeting his gaze again. “Shouldn’t you be out enjoying your Friday night . . .drinks and dinner with some hot date?”
David stepped inside, and said, “Maybe I am.”
He took a few careful steps toward the desk, hesitating just enough to betray his nerves, though his smile stayed easy. His eyes flicked up to Simon’s, unsure but bold enough to hold the gaze. “I mean… I think you’ve been watching me all week,” he said with a soft laugh. “Like maybe you’ve been testing me? Seeing how far I’d… maybe go?”
Simon’s mouth curved. “And?”
David stopped in front of him, close enough that Simon caught the faint scent of cedar and heat. “Could I take a turn at testing you?” His tone was low, steady - command wearing the mask of suggestion.
Simon raised a brow. “But aren’t you the intern and I’m the one in charge.”
“Oh, I know, sir…” David said, leaning in just enough for his breath to graze Simon’s ear. “But have you ever wondered what it would feel like if you weren’t?”
Simon felt his pulse spike, his carefully cultivated authority teetering. David’s hand rested lightly on the edge of the desk beside him, his posture loose but his eyes sharp. That did it. A beat passed. And for the first time, Simon didn’t answer.
David leaned in just a fraction closer, breath grazing Simon’s neck. “And what if you just needed the right intern, sir”
Simon simply looked at David—measured, tense, locked in a moment where decision and desire collided. The silence between them was heavier than anything David had heard all week—thicker than spreadsheets, tighter than deadlines. It was loaded. Waiting. And David, steady and patient, stepped fully into it.
“Why don’t we make this interesting?” David murmured. “Let’s pretend, that tomorrow night, the man who signs the checks is the one who follows orders.”
Simon swallowed, a flicker of heat running through him. He should have laughed it off. He should have sent David home. But instead, he found himself leaning back in his chair, a slow, dangerous smile touching his lips. “Then tell me, Mr. Marlowe… what’s my first order?”
He reached up and loosened Simon’s tie—slowly, deliberately—his fingers brushing against the strong column of the older man’s throat. Simon didn’t stop him. He stood still, watching, breathing a little too slowly, his usual guarded composure stretched thin.
David slipped the tie free and let it hang from his hand like a strip of silk. “You know,” he said, circling around Simon, brushing behind him as he moved, “you have to spend your days telling rooms full of men what to do. Dictating policy. Commanding markets.” He reached the back of Simon’s chair and leaned down, whispering just above the rim of his ear. “But what if here with me… you’d get to really let go and be the one who obeys.”
Simon let out a slow breath - almost soundless, but not quite. It slipped past his lips like steam from a pressure valve, the quiet kind of exhale that only came after holding something in too long.
He hadn’t even realized how tightly wound he’d been - how the constant command, the endless decision-making, the weight of always being the one in control had settled into his body like armor.
And now, in the stillness of his own office, with David standing in front of him - so bold and yet uncertain, so unafraid to see him, really see him—that fortress began to crack. The breath he released wasn’t just surrender. It was relief. It felt terrifying. And it felt good.
And maybe, just this once, being the one who gave in wasn’t losing at all.
David loosened his own collar, eyes never leaving Simon’s. “You’ve been in charge for so long, Simon. No one questions you. No one dares. But I think…” He reached down, placing the tie across Simon’s lap again. “You’ve been waiting for someone who would.” He leans over and his lips touch Simon’s, tentative at first, but tongues collide as passions overtake them.
As some of the heat of the kiss fades, David breaks it, giving Simon one last peck, and slowly gets up and makes his way toward the door, turning to say, with a wicked grin, “Tomorrow night, sir, I give the orders.” He exaggeratedly adjusted the erection tenting the front of his pants. Simon just looks a little overwhelmed but smiling.
Executive Power Reversal
Simon’s tie was still knotted at his throat, though the weight of it felt like a noose after twelve hours of boardrooms, power lunches, and endless negotiations. His reputation as the man who never blinked had carried him through the day, but now every muscle in his body ached with fatigue, every nerve raw from the performance of authority. I mind went to David. The thought of surrendering to his intern’s quiet but unshakable authority was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Tonight, he longed for the strange relief of giving all that power up, even if just for a few stolen hours.
When Simon finally pushed open the heavy door to his office, expecting the familiar sanctuary of polished order, he stopped dead. David was sitting in his chair—his chair—leaned back with one ankle propped casually on the gleaming mahogany desk as if he owned the place. No one had ever dared to sit there; Yet here was David, all ease and insolence, his dark eyes glinting with a satisfaction that came from knowing exactly how much he was breaking Simon’s rule. The sight stole Simon’s breath, not just from shock, but from the surge of something dangerously close to excitement—Simon could feel the ground shifting beneath him.
David rose slowly from Simon’s chair, unhurried, as though the entire office now belonged to him. The leather creaked under his movement, the faint sound somehow louder than the city traffic outside. He just stood there, briefcase still in his hand, staring at the young man who had dared sit where no one else would. David didn’t rush to fill the silence; he let it hang heavy, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he knew exactly how much power he held in that moment. For once, Simon was utterly speechless, caught between outrage and an undeniable pull toward surrender.
David motioned for Simon to come forward to the front of the desk. He stood there facing David, his mouth dry. He nodded once, not trusting his voice. He just stood motionless before the desk.
David rose from the executive’s chair, the dim light overhead caught the hard lines of his face, casting his eyes in shadow. As David began to move slowly around the large office, his boots made a slow, deliberate and menacing sound against the floor.
“You know what I like, Simon?” His voice was deep, measured, like a man giving a verdict. “Men who are pussies.”
Simon groaned hard. “I’m …”
David’s eyes cut to him, stopping the words cold. “Well, I think you are.” He locks the door to the office and continues pacing around the room. David moves slowly, as if stalking his prey, getting closer and closer to Simon. He touches Simon’s ass through his pants, touching his hole as he slowly massages.
Without a word, David grabs Simon’s suit coat and rips it off his shoulders, wadding it up and throwing it into the corner of the room. Simon starts to interrupt with a complaint about the expense of the suit, but David covers his mouth with his hand aggressively. “Nobody gives a shit about your suit, Simon!”
David moves closer so that Simon can feel his hardon as he seductively works his arms around Simon and reaches deep into each pocket of his suit pants, grabbing his cock and playing with it. “You seem very excited about the possibility of me having yours, Simon. Your pussy that is.”
Finding some change in the bottom of each pocket, David pulls his hands out, making sure to hold and fondle the executive’s cock as he pulls out, holding on to some coins. The only sound that can be heard is Simon’s heavy breathing.
A soft metallic clink breaks the quiet — the unmistakable sound of coins scattering on the hardwood floor. David glanced down to see them rolling in uneven arcs, spinning before settling at his feet.
David quickly steps away from Simon and turns him around, taking a few steps back. Simon and David’s eyes lock, as David raises one eyebrow, the faintest challenge in his smile. “Pick them up,” he said, his voice smooth as polished steel. “Every last one.”
Simon’s pulse kicked up, as he slid to his knees with deliberate slowness, getting on all fours and starting to gather the coins
The wood felt cool under his palms. He reached for the first coin, letting his fingers linger on it as though weighing its worth. He could feel David’s gaze on him like heat. The intern sat on the desk watching. He sat on the edge, swinging his feet and then planted one on top of Simon’s head.
“You need to get down closer to the floor to get them all, Simon,” David said, pressing down on Simon’s head.
Simon bent forward and got closer to the floor to collect another coin, his tailored shirt stretching across his back, the movement unhurried — almost reverent. Inside, he savored the absurdity of it, the delicious reversal. The man who could make boardrooms hold their breath was now kneeling, obedient, collecting loose change from the floor.
David crouched beside him, his voice low and taunting. “I could get used to this.” He went behind the desk and pulled the chair out into the room, turning it so it faces Simon, and sits down. He leans back, feet planted wide, arms resting on the armrests like a judge waiting for an answer. David’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a warning as he said, “Right here in this hand, sweetheart. Get every single one.”
David’s tone wasn’t raised, but the steel underneath it left no doubt — whatever was coming next, Simon wasn’t the one holding the controls. He briefly closed his eyes, the corner of his mouth betraying the faintest upward curl. No, he wasn’t in charge — and for the first time that day, he felt completely at ease.
“It feels rather hot in here all of a sudden, Simon. Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable out of that shirt?” said David, leering at Simon, but leaving him no choice. You can do it…or I can do it for you?” Simon just stares at David. He doesn’t move. David violently grabs Simon’s shirt and rips it off; buttons flying everywhere and tosses it into the same corner as his coat. “Now that, chairman, was your fault.”
Simon, bare chested and sexy as hell, his slightly hairy chest glistening, stares at the scattered coins, their metallic gleam absurdly bright against the carpet. For a moment he doesn’t move—shoulders tense, pulse hammering—then, with deliberate care, he bends down. One coin at a time, his fingers lingered, the tiny clink of each piece dropping into his palm filling the silence like a drumbeat. Up and down. Up and down. Showing off his ass each time he gathers another coin.
“Show me that pussy, Mr. Chairman, “ says David, whistling. “Give me a view of what’s coming my way.”
When he’d completed gathering all the coins, Simon stands in front of David’s chair, holding all the coins in one hand – David, smiling wickedly, touches Simon’s dick and slowly unzips his pants, pulling his large, engorged cock and balls out, the orbs settle into his open pants – the cock stands straight up, the head glistening with precum. David touches the head of Simon’s cock, spreading the precum all around the head. He stands up and offers his finger to Simon who opens his mouth and sucks the finger clean. “Good boy!” David says.
David pulls his finger from Simon’s mouth and quickly pulls Simon into a passionate kiss, his hands grabbing his boss’ ass and forcing Simon’s cock and balls against his crotch, sharing the precum on their tongues. David breaks the kiss and steps back. He stands there with his hand out.
Simon drops the coins, one by one, into David’s hand. When the clink of the last coin drops into David’s hands, he sits down in the chair. Simon’s cock and balls now at mouth level – he leans forward taking one lick on the head of Simon’s penis – tasting precum that is spilling from the head.
David leans back into the chair and, never breaking eye contact with Simon, lets the coins spill slowly back onto the floor, one by one, the metallic clatter echoing in the quiet office. He was smiling now, a wicked little curve that promised this was far from finished.
“Oops, look what happened?” David said. His tone was almost teasing, but the weight behind it was deliberate.
Simon’s eyes flicked to the floor. The coins were scattered wider this time, some under the desk, others near the windows. He realized he’d have to crawl for them.
“Better get out of those pants, Simon, “ David said, smiling, not offering his chair. Simon slowly sits down on the floor, taking off his shoes and socks, tucking his jewels back into his pants, and then shimmying out of his pants and underwear. He tosses them aside and stands up, smirking. He is a mouth-watering sight to behold.
Simon stares at David. David unzips his pants and pulls his own cock and balls out, settling them into his open pants. “I want you to see what you do to me, pussy boy” he says. After getting his cock and balls settled, his hands move to the arms of the chair and he spreads his legs, showing off the girth and length of his member.
“You want a little taste, baby? “purrs David. Simon just stares, clearly wanting to kneel and taste the head of David’s large cock and maybe suck on his balls. “Not yet though, handsome. Gotta clean up this mess first.” David takes hold of his cock in one hand and shakes it at Simon. “All for you, baby boy. ”
Embarrassed for being caught showing his desire, Simon lowers himself fully onto his hands and knees. His movements are steady, controlled — but each slow reach, each shift forward, sent a silent thrill through him. He could feel the tension in the air, the way David was watching not just his compliance, but the care with which he complied.
One coin had rolled nearly out of sight beneath the desk. Simon reached for it, needing to crawl under the desk to retrieve it. He could hear Evan’s quiet laugh above him — not mocking exactly, but certain, confident, savoring the sight.
He grabbed the coin. Before Simon could scoot back out from under the desk, David puts his foot on Simon’s ass, stopping him. Seizing on this most vulnerable of moments, “Now,” David said quietly, “I want to hear it.”
Simon tilted his head. “Hear what?”
“That you’re my pussy boy,” David replied, his voice low but unyielding. “Say it.”
Simon’s instinct was to smirk — to turn it into a joke and keep his pride intact. But he stayed still, feeling the weight of the request. It wasn’t just about kneeling. It was about admitting it. Out loud.
“I’m your pussy boy,” Simon crawled over to the chair where David sat on his hands and knees and attempted to hand David the coin. He stayed kneeling, his eyes lifted.
“Not there.” David murmured, indicating his hand. He motioned to the area at the front end of the chair where his cock was – “Here.” Simon reaches toward the crotch of David’s pants but his hand is slapped away. “Not with your hand, silly boy, with your mouth.”
Simon’s jaw tightened, his pulse was hammering with the kind of satisfaction he’d never get from winning a deal.
As he places the coin between his teeth, he moves toward David’s cock, but he stops and says, “May I? “ looking up at David for permission.
David looks at Simon, smiling and says, “How badly do you want to suck this cock?”
“I want it, sir, “ panted Simon. David nods his head, smiling.
“Good! I’m going to make you. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Simon?”
“Yes, sir, I do, sir, ” David goes to the corner of the room and retrieves Simon’s necktie. He returns to scene and wraps it around his wrist. He takes and puts the tie around Simon’s neck, using the tie to pull him down to his raging erection.
Tentatively at first, Simon takes David’s cock into his mouth, licking the head, sucking it slowly into his mouth. As he gets used to its size, he starts to suck on it, bobbing up and down. The seeping syrup coated his tongue as he slurped hungrily.
David tightens the tie and begins to face fuck, Simon. He finally let’s go of the tie and puts both hands on the back of Simon’s head, pushing down as he thrust his hips forward. He held it there until he started to scramble for air.
You’ve got a sweet, sweet mouth. Daddy loves it when his pussy boy sucks on his knob like that. Pull that load out of my nuts, baby!” David purred.
David grabbed the back of Simon’s neck and pushed him forward until his dickhead was banging the back of his throat and Simon’s nose was in his pubes.
“You need Daddy to fuck you too? Stretch that tight little hold of yours until you scream?” David panted.
He started vigorously fucking Simon’s throat. Simon frantically pushed down his shorts and jerked off frantically as he sucked David’s huge cock.
“Oh, fuck!” David groaned. “I’m going to blow, baby. I’m going to flood your throat!” he warned. He bucked hard three times. His cock flared even wider in his throat, and his hot cum came spurting down Simon’s throat. David pulled out and let out gasps as his cock kept spraying ropes of cum on Simon’s shoulder and bare chest. Simon held it and sucked it, feeling the surges of energy that poured through David’s shaft.
David noticed Simon’s hand frantically going up and down his large cock and said, “Yes, cum for me, baby. Cum for Daddy. He wants you to feel so good.”
David put his hand over Simon’s cock and the two of them stroked it together. “Ahhhhhhh! Sir! I going to shoot!” A huge load of cum came out of the tip of Simon’s prick, hitting David in the face. The next spurt hit Simon in the chest and the third covered both of their hands. “You have a mess to clean up, pussy boy. Better get to it.” David insisted.
Simon began to lick David’s hands clean. Going between fingers and then cleaned his face. David passionately kisses Simon pressing and spreading the cum between both of their faces. Simon licks David’s face clean.
“We are finished, baby boy. Daddy needs to go. But before I do, pussy boy. It’s time to clean my cock.”
David fondly let Simon feel his cock as it softened. Simon kept licking the head until Simon couldn’t coax any more cum drops out the tip. David even let Simon stuff his softening cock back into his pants and zip them up. “Tomorrow, pussy boy, your ass.” orders David.
David kisses Simon on the top of his head and exits the office, leaving Simon on the floor, naked, covered in cum and feeling free.
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