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Chapter 3

Fucking the Aspiring Tech Entrepreneur (Part 1/2)

The second rule in my rulebook is to be intentional about what you invest your resources into, whether it’s time or money.

It was a little past noon on a hot summer Friday, and I had finished up most of the work I intended on completing for that day. While my mind is generally focused during work, the summer heat got me feeling particularly aroused. With no urgent tasks waiting to be completed, my mind begins to wander and I think about who to fuck for the weekend. Whenever this happens, it gives me a peace of mind having a few reliable systems in place to make sure I will have someone in my bed by the evening. As I get up to stretch, I close my office door and have Anderson, looking pristine as always, call up Marty from HR to see if he can come in for a meeting.

About twenty minutes later, Marty walks in on me sitting in my chair, with Anderson sprawled on top of my desk, shirt unbuttoned, belt unbuckled, and pants unzipped.

“Ah, Marty,” I say with a smile as I notice him walk in and close the door. “You took so long, I was just about to begin fucking Anderson while I waited for you.” The 53-year old man, short and chunky with a protruding belly, chuckles. His Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts and cheap pair of sunglasses makes him look like he belongs at a backyard barbeque somewhere drinking a can of beer-- anywhere but a corporate office.

“Ahh, am I getting a free show today, Anderson?” His greasy, stubby fingers tweaks my secretary’s beautiful pink nipples. Anderson jerks his body up, zipping his pants and tucking his shirt back in. His hair is still slightly pulled back from gravity, and his disheveled states makes him look even sexier than usual.

“I believe it’s time for me to get back to work, sir,” he announces with a smile while swiftly fixing his hair, clearly unhappy from the sudden interruption. Marty, still leering at Anderson from over his sunglasses, makes sure to give my secretary a good squeeze in the ass before he recedes back to his desk in the corner of my office.

I smile at the playful exchange between the two. Marty Geier is D-BAG’s Head HR Manager, and if Anderson is my right-hand man, then Marty would be my eyes and ears. I’ve known Marty since before starting the company; in fact, he was the very first man I formally hired once D-BAG was established. As the HR Manager, his job is work is to find and hire the highest-quality men for the company-- not only in terms of skills and credentials, but also in terms of looks. His job has gotten quite simple over the years, as I’ve equipped him with an in-house team of highly-competent recruiting specialists that now does the bulk of the work for him. This is to ensure he can focus on his most important role: meeting 1-on-1 with the final candidates and rejecting anyone whose appearance isn’t up to par. I always have Marty meet privately with each and every candidate: it gives him a greater level of control, both over the candidate and over his own team, without leaving any traces of discriminatory practices behind.

When it comes to hiring, Marty is a tyrant without the consequences. If a candidate is qualified on paper but hideous in person, Marty simply has to tell his team that the candidate didn’t leave an impression after the interview. And if the owner of an somewhat unimpressive resume turns out to be a real hot piece of meat, he just has to say he ‘really felt the candidate’s drive, passion, and potential to growth.’

During the private meetings, Marty’s job is also to assess not just the candidate’s competence and appearance, but their manipulability as well. He’s brilliant when it comes to finding subtle ways to test men and their limits. From the way Marty carries himself, it’s no secret that he’s a crass, obnoxious guy. Whether it’s a subtly inappropriate comment or slightly unpleasant gaze, the way a candidate reacts to Marty in a private setting can reveal a lot of information about them. Unsuspecting men who give Marty the benefit of the doubt, hiding their discomfort and continuing on with the interview has promising potential. Finding a qualified candidate who is qualified, trusting and hot is like hitting the jackpot. The hiring process at D-BAG can be a tricky minefield to navigate, but I trust Marty’s judgement and experience-- he’s a shrewd pervert who knows exactly what to look out for without getting caught, and that’s why I provide him with the best stage to work his magic. He’s thorough and smart, and with his decade long seniority and me having his back, no one both within the company really questions his decision-making process. They simply assume Marty knows best about what I’m looking for... and they’re not wrong.

Marty’s real job, however, begins once a guy accepts a job offer and begins working for D-BAG. As the HR manager, Marty is responsible for periodically checking in with my employees and keep tabs on how they’re doing. Despite his crude sense of humor, Marty is actually quite a popular guy in the office. As a former high school baseball coach, he knows the ins-and-outs of how to build rapport with just about any guy, which is handy skill to have in an environment like ours where most of our employees were involved in some kind of sport. He’s got a solid reputation within the organization as someone who takes good care of my men, frequently treating them out to lunches and taking the time to get to know them on a personal level. (Or... at least he does so for the hot ones, anyway.)

And why wouldn’t he? He’s constantly on the lookout for any and all opportunities to fuck them himself. It can be anything-- a poor performance review, a terrible break up; a life-changing circumstance that leads them into desperately needing more money; any weakness that he can exploit, he will keep in mind and report to me. He’s truly my eyes and ears; by striking up informal conversations with my staff in passing or in the break room, Marty is not only earning my men’s trust, but also gathering vital intel about them.

Granted, we don’t begin the process of figuring out how we’ll get a guy to surrender his ass for us until we’re certain he’s in a vulnerable position where he cannot refuse, and even then, we need to be certain he’ll keep his mouth shut about it. Sometimes it takes a little bit of pulling some strings behind-the-scenes to corner them into where we want them to be. That’s where these meetings come in.

“The heat making you hornier than usual, boss?” Marty sneers as he pulls up a chair and seats himself. I smile. “Who’s ripe, Marty?”

He skims through his bag of manila folders, containing detailed notes for dozens of our employees. It’s a wonderful habit of his to keep a file for every employee who’s ever worked for us. Considering the ulterior motive behind why he’s diligently maintaining these files, you’ll be surprised at how innocuous and non-incriminating the notes inside are. Like I said, Marty is thorough and careful; that’s why I trust him.

“Hmmm… right now, no one’s within the company is exactly ripe for picking.” I frown.

“But,” he continues with a gin, “There is one guy currently outside the company who I think might be of interest to you, boss.” He hands me a folder.

The man is 25 year-old Siddharth “Sid” Arya, a former tech intern here at D-BAG. An MIT graduate originally from Mumbai, he moved to the Bay Area after finishing an internship within our IT department to pursue his Masters’ degree in computer science at Stanford. Upon graduating, he worked at one of the most prominent tech companies in Silicon Valley as a software engineer. He left the company after a year of service, and is now shifting his focus to move back to New York to develop a new app within the fintech industry. I chuckle as Marty briefs me about his backstory; he seems to be the classic example of the self-driven, aspiring start-up entrepreneur.

“How desperate is he?” I ask.

“Well, boss, according to some of his friends still here at D-BAG, that’s where his story gets a little interesting.” Marty smirks.

During his last year at his former company, Siddharth unsuccessfully attempted to file a lawsuit against a senior female executive for incessantly making ‘numerous lewd comments’ and ‘unwanted sexual advances’ to him. However, seeing how Siddharth was a grown man and an immigrant, no one took his claims seriously in court. In fact, the female executive countered by filing a sexual assault case against him, painting Siddharth as the true villain in the eyes of the jury and effectively destroying the aspiring entrepreneur’s life. The court battle costed Siddharth his job and sucked him dry of his savings. Now blacklisted within the tech industry, Siddharth’s been struggling to make ends meet in the Bay Area, hence, why he’s been trying to move to New York to rebuild his life and career.

“... But a prominent investor decided to pull out from his most recent project at the last minute, after finding out about his court case. Guess the ‘lil boy tried to keep it a secret. Since then, the poor dude has been trying to keep his project afloat, without much luck. He’s now behind on his rent in San Francisco and will likely be evicted within the next few weeks,” Marty concluded.

“Any photos?”

“His social media profile is pulled up right over here, boss.”

I smile as I skim through the page, pleased with what I’m seeing. The boy is undoubtedly fuckable material.

“He’s got a girl?” I note with an amused smile.

“Yes, boss, with an adorable baby boy due in a month. He’s a green card holder but his wife isn't, so she can’t legally work. I remember when he used to work for us, back when he seemed to have his life together. Believe me... you don’t want to miss this one. That ass was exquisite...” Marty closed his eyes and shuddered. I find myself adjusting my cock, unable to contain my smile.

“Wonderful…” I mutter to myself.

I call over my secretary. “Anderson, reach out to Mr. Arya and let him know that I’m interested in meeting with him this evening. Arrange his flight and accommodation for the weekend. Let’s get him a presidential suite at the Royal Grand Palace.... but only tell him that I’m covering these costs at the very end of the conversation, and don’t make it easy for him. I know he is low on money and I want to know how desperate he is to see me. Also, be sure to let him know that I am only available this evening. As for the restaurant… hmm, I’ve been meaning to try the steak they serve at the Palace’s observatory deck. I wonder if Mr. Arya practices Hinduism, Marty?”

“I recall he was pretty devout, boss.”

I grin at the comment. “Then steak it is. Good work, Marty; you’re excused. Anderson, when you’re finished grabbing a hold of him, come over here. I’m going to need your pretty lips to help me get this back down,”

Seeing me rubbing my stiffening rod, Anderson hungrily bites his lips with a soft smile.

The heightened arousal allows me to sustain my focus towards work for the rest of the afternoon. Around 8:00 pm, I’m informed that my private jet carrying my prime Indian meat has arrived to New York, on time and on schedule.

“Wonderful. Have Mr. Arya meet me at the hotel. I will be there shortly,” I tell my pilot through the phone. As I hang up, I grab a fistful of Anderson’s chestnut colored hair and peel his head away from my cock. “That’s enough, Anderson. I’ll be taking off now, but I trust that you’ll get the remainder of my work done for the night.”

“Of course, sir,” the boy replies. My secretary is indeed the prettiest when he is on his knees, shirt off and servicing my dick. I occasionally enjoy borrowing Anderson’s mouth for times like this, when I want maintain arousal, but not come just yet. After properly stowing my stiffened cock back into my pants, he puts his shirt back on and returns to work with a cool smile. His jaw must be tired from the hours of oral labor, but I appreciate his willingness to try his best to hide it. He too, is replaceable after all. I leave the office, cock still hard and ready to fuck.

I arrive to the hotel first. The Grand Royal Palace is easily among my favorite luxury hotels to stay at. Built in 1925, the Palace is known for its opulent and timeless architectural style resonant of the post-war boom that gave birth to the likes the iconic Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. I take my usual window seat in the corner of the restaurant, situated on the 75th floor on the observatory deck. You can get a truly magnificent view of the New York skyline from here, especially at night. I look out the window, the city lights still flickering in the distance. What a sight: here in New York, the city truly never sleeps.

From the corner of my eyes, I catch a figure cautiously approaching me.

“... Mr. Diamondfield?”

I glance over and smile; it seems my guest has arrived.

“Mr. Arya... Welcome back to New York.”

I could tell right away why Marty insisted I meet with the young Mumbaikar. At 6’1, with raven-colored hair neatly styled to compliment his golden brown, honey-toasted complexion, Siddharth looked like he was ready to be casted as the next big Bollywood filmstar.

Everything about him tore apart the cheap, paper-thin American stereotype of Indian men we’re constantly fed on television. His smoldering dark eyes radiated with gentle heat, and the richness of his hair, from his voluminous pompadour to his sharply trimmed beard, all seemed to beautifully accentuate his chiseled jawline and symmetrical features. His broad shoulder width and athletic physique was evident even when covered by his form-fitting suit, which I could see was tailored to perfectly match his exquisitely proportioned body shape. I have always believed a man is worth how much attention he pays to himself, and the small details I noticed about him-- such as his lustrous watch and polished leather shoes-- was enough to tell me he meant business. I smile as I shake his hand. With his firm, confident handshake and charismatic composure, you would never guess that this stylish young professional was on the brink of declaring bankruptcy. He needed this meeting more than I do, and I could not wait to undress him.

“Please, take a seat, Mr. Arya. I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to come meet with me, especially on such short notice.”

“Oh, please call me Sid, sir. And I should be the one thanking you. I never would have imagined I would ever get an opportunity to meet with you like this.” His polite accent and deep, husky voice were like music to my ears. If all goes well, this same voice will be begging for my mercy in bed in a few hours.

“Understood, Sid. And, well, what can I say... I heard from the grapevine that you were working on a project that piqued my interest...”

Siddharth’s face lit up upon hearing these words, and he took this as an invitation to dive right in and begin explaining his ‘revolutionary app’ with unbridled enthusiasm. My eyes glaze over. Truthfully, I could not care less about this topic, but I extend the courtesy of pretending to listen with a warm smile. As my mind wanders, imagining the various ways I was going to enjoy fucking this boy tonight, I decide it would be a fun idea to start off by testing him.

I let him talk for about fifteen more minutes. Just as Siddharth’s pace begins to slow down and it seemed he was just about finished explaining his app, I sigh, seemingly unamused, and ask him a simple question.

“... Is that all?”

My simple question has brought the warmth and excitement on the dining table to a sudden, icy halt. In that split moment, I sensed the panic overtake his body. This was not how the evening was supposed to start off, at least in his mind.

Siddharth clears his throat and begins elaborating on his business plan in greater detail, carefully selecting the main selling points he wanted to convey, like his life depended on it. That’s more like it. The nervousness and underlying tension in his voice makes me want to cream my pants rights then and there. I can sense him trying to silence his growing feeling of self-doubt as he proceeded to push through his well-rehearsed pitch. He needs me to be sold on his idea... desperately so. His eyes are now focused on my every move, trying intensely to read my body language to pick up on any signs of rapport. But I give him none, remaining neutrally silent. Eventually, I sense another wave of dread slowly begin to take over him— as he starts to run out of things to say, he realizes he has been the only one talking for the entire conversation.

Without a choice, he cautiously concludes his impassioned monologue by carefully delivering the ball back into my court.

“But, yes… uh, may I ask what are your thoughts about this, sir...?”

I pause for a moment— a moment that likely felt substantially longer to him than it did to me. I take my time to enjoy the sight of the young, attractive man in front of me tense up in apprehension. His intelligent brain is trying to strategize a clever response to whatever he anticipates I am about to say. His eyes and ears are focused, and every muscle fiber in his body is tightened like never before.

“Here’s what I think…” I begin. He swallows his breath. I can almost hear his heartbeat from across the table, and taste the bead of sweat rolling down his forehead, like a lost jewel carefully navigating the endlessly dry Thar desert. He cannot mess this up.

“... I think your app is a truly wonderful idea.”

The boy’s body takes a moment to process what I said, but I continue. “Yes, I think you’ve done a splendid job of identifying a gap in the market. Your business plan might benefit from some further polishing, but the technology itself that you are currently developing carries promising potential. Once complete, I’m certain your app will cause a great disruption within the industry,” I say with a smile.

Siddharth slowly lets out a breath, still taken aback by my reaffirming compliment. He recovers quickly and thanks me right way.

“Th-thank you so much, sir. That means so much, especially coming from someone like you. Um… If you don’t mind me asking, I would love to know which aspects of my business plan you felt could use some improvement…?”

I chuckle and stop him. “My dear Sid, I would love to give you my feedback now... but we haven’t even ordered our food yet! Please, do make yourself comfortable-- we have the entire rest of the evening together, after all.”

Sid pauses, and then lets out a soft smile as well. With my reassurance, he realizes that perhaps he must’ve gotten ahead of himself too early into our meeting. My lips curl as I see his body relax in response to the amiable atmosphere I have provided. Little did he know I meant that last sentence quite literally.

I begin to talk about the restaurant and how often I dine here as I flag a waiter to order our food. Siddharth shyly takes the menu to see what they offer, and I catch his eyes slightly widen at the prices. Without consultation, however, I take it upon myself to order his meal for him.
“2 orders of the prime Wagyu steak please, for me and for the gentleman. I would like mine medium rare.”
“And for you, sir?”

The waiter and I glance over to Siddharth, who clearly has not had time to think about what to say. “Oh, uh-” he fumbles. He glances back at the menu. “Sir, uh, I actually--,”

“Oh, do not worry. This is my favorite steak in all of Manhattan; you will absolutely love it. They use the tenderest cut from the cow, imported directly from Japan. I cannot wait to see you try it,”

After a short pause, Siddharth says with a defeated smile, “In that case, the same for me, please… Medium rare...”

I smile and proceed to order a vintage bottle of wine as well and hand over our menus. While we wait for our food, I take the time to go over his business plan, providing clear feedback on what I believe he should consider when putting together his proposal to potential investors. The boy listens intently, but I can tell he is also a little preoccupied.

Our steak arrives, still sizzling on a grilling hot skillet. I display my excitement and begin cutting up the meat. Siddharth, however, hesitates.

“Is something wrong?” I ask. For a moment, the boy tenses up again.

“... Nothing at all, sir... The steak seems very delicious...”

He mirrors my actions and slowly begins to cut up the meat as well. As he is carefully about to carry the beef to his mouth, I abruptly stop him.

“Oh, how could I not have realized! My sincerest apologies, Sid. Do you not eat beef?”

I already know the answer: he does not. Cows are considered a sacred animal according to Hinduism after all; even McDonalds does not serve beef in India. But the steak is already here-- an expensive one at that-- which I’ve ordered while playing up my own excitement towards us sharing this experience together. Although I ask him with seemingly genuine concern, it’s little wonder why he decided to respond by saying:

“No, no sir! I, uh-- I can eat beef... I mean, I don’t eat it regularly due to religious reasons, but um… I-- I guess I’m what people call a ‘mood-itarian.’ I don’t mind, really...,”

As he tries to hide his obvious lie with a very bad joke and nervous laughter, I too, hide my smile. I recall how his manila file contained information on how he always ordered the vegetarian option whenever he ate out with Marty while he was an intern. Another note mentioned how he vomited once after accidentally eating a catered lunch that contained beef, presumably because it did not sit well in his stomach. Seemingly harmless observations that Marty took note of, seemingly to ensure that, from an HR perspective, we are mindful to the dietary restrictions of every employee at D-BAG... But such information, I often find, can have some rather creative uses.

“I’m happy to hear that…,” I say with a smile. I put my fork and knife down and lean forward, with my elbows on the table and my fingers coming together to form a slight steeple.

“... Go on, then. Take a bite,” I say reassuringly. I sense my hardened cock twitch inside my pants. Siddharth, with nowhere to run, nods to himself, and slowly begins to bring the tender meat back toward his mouth.

Such interesting creatures, men are. Centuries of being burdened with the responsibility of having to serve as the breadwinners of our families has led us to internalize a certain ‘social code’ within our professional lives. A ‘social code’ where ambitious men, especially those who lack resources, must go through great lengths to maintain cordiality with powerful individuals like myself. Sometimes this means making choices that might disappoint our families, for whom we are trying to provide for. Sometimes it means sacrificing our religious faith, to keep a powerful man like me in a pleasant mood. I've read somewhere that there are a total of about 33 million deities worshipped in Hinduism. Apparently, none of them were a match for me. With everything I could offer, I make even a man's faith towards his own Gods succumb.

“How is the steak?” I ask him while I resume eating myself.
“It is delicious, sir... Hot, tender, and juicy. I need to make sure I refrain from my stuffing my mouth!” the clueless boy laughs.

“No need to,” I smile to myself.

After all, that won’t be the only piece of meat he will be stuffing in his mouth tonight.

To be continued...

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