Copyright by Marathon Brad, 2026, permission given to Gay Demon to reprint this story. It may not be copied to another website without prior approval from the author.
Disclaimer: This document contains some adult fictional material.
Please feel free to share your comments, thoughts and/or ideas with me at [email protected]
Chapter 12
The warm water from my shower made my twenty-two-year-old body feel awake and alive after my early morning workout. Max, the building’s security guard, had guided me through several training movements, testing my balance and control. Having him stop by my apartment afterward to make sure I would “warm down” with some stretches was a nice surprise. He had a style that made me feel I could trust him as my personal fitness training instructor while I settled into my new life in Australia.
When I was fully dressed, I sent a text to Heath to tell him I was coming down. He was always on time and full of positive energy. Riding to work with him was going to be an easy way to begin each day at the Milk Me Company. Like so many of the men I was meeting, Heath was athletic and handsome, with strong arms and shoulders that perfectly filled his clothing. His skin was smooth and tan, and his blonde hair was always neat. He had a warm smile that made me feel safe when he drove.
Last evening, Jai, the concierge at the front desk, sent me the expected message from Mike about what I should wear to the office today. The note instructed me to skip underclothes and socks and to leave the suit jacket behind. I was to wear the navy pinstriped shirt with the top three buttons open and a pair of tailored navy trousers that tightly outlined the shape of my legs and ass. When I checked my reflection in the mirror, the clothes were close and precise, cut to fit without a wrinkle. I felt a brief flush of self-consciousness, but I followed every detail just as Mike had asked.
As I stepped out of the elevator, the apartment building’s lobby air was cool, but my skin was warm as I felt all the eyes were on me. Every step I took in the snug navy slacks felt like I was being shown off—Jai’s voice cut across the marble floor, “Brad, you look stunning this morning. You are quickly becoming our favorite Office Boy. Our American Office Boy.”
The length of my cock was clearly outlined down my right pants’ leg. In fact, it was very easy to see the head of my cock and it’s slit under the fabric.
Heath gave a low whistle and grinned as I entered the vehicle. “Damn, Brad, that outfit’s going to get everyone’s attention.”
His words made me blush, but a small spark of confidence rose in me, too. The morning light, the voices, even the air—it all felt like Sydney continued to open its arms to me.
However, it was the small, square note waiting on my office desk that sent a real jolt through me.
‘The red thong looked sharp on and off of you yesterday’.
My breath hitched. Someone saw. The memory of Mike’s hands on me yesterday afternoon, the way my clothes had pooled on his office floor, now had an audience—a secret spectator. A quiet, nervous rush moved through me. Harry had been the one holding the camera, his steady focus watching every move, every breath, as if capturing something far more intimate than either of us had planned.
A knock at my door pulled me back. Clint, Mike’s secretary, stepped in and handed me a note. “Tony from shipping wants to see you.”
Tony. The rugby player. The athletic-built man I had admired up in the gym bar on Monday. My curiosity, already aroused, went into overdrive. We had not really interacted yet. However, the moment yesterday, albeit brief, was charged and closer than it should have been. Maybe he had an upcoming project he wanted me to be aware of so I could stay ahead of the goals. Or, maybe a large shipment was arriving and he wanted Mike to know about materials that might be available for the staff—or for him. His name alone stayed in my head longer than it should have.
Tony was the captain of the company’s rugby team. I was thrilled about being considered to be a member of the team even though I had not played much rugby before. The idea of being on a team again—especially one filled with talented athletes—made me feel both proud and eager to learn.
The early workday morning had been a whirlwind of preparation for Mike’s arrival. The coffee was brewed and schedules were reviewed. I gave myself a final glance in the mirror before starting my rounds. I stopped by Clint’s desk for a few quick updates, then stepped into Harry’s security office to check on the morning’s setup. My eyes caught the monitors showing the building’s different angles—my own desk among them, displayed in sharp detail. Of course.
I glanced across Harry’s desk, curious if any notes or memos in his handwriting matched the message I had found earlier. The writing was different. Not Harry.
When Mike arrived, the energy in the workplace shifted. I presented myself in the center of his office—the pinstriped shirt stretched across my chest, the slacks leaving little to the imagination. I stood feeling both nervous and proud. He gave me a confident smile and complimented me on my physique as he has done many times since he had met me back in Philadelphia.
“Brad, you look sharp,” Mike said, his voice low but warm. “I swear, Charles could not have made your new attire fit you any better if he tried.” His smile turned proud, the kind that said he liked what he saw. “He really is the best tailor we’ve got.”
My hands went to my pockets, unsure what to do with them. I could feel his eyes on me, and it sent a quiet spark through my chest.
Mike stepped back, studying me with a careful eye. “Turn around for me, please.” I did as he asked. His expression softened with approval. “You are going to be the best example of what the Milk Me Company stands for—strong, focused, and disciplined.”
The word caught me off guard. Disciplined. It was not just about control—it was how he said it. The sound of it settled in my chest and I felt myself stand a little taller without thinking.
Mike eyes then met mine. “You have the look,” he said. “Confident and composed. Exactly what I had hoped to see.”
“No underwear as I requested?” he asked.
“No underwear, Sir,” I softly replied.
“Good boy,” he complimented me.
He then paused, like he was thinking about what to say next. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. “Now, bend down for me and touch your shoes.”
I did as he asked, feeling the stretch in my back and legs. My shirt pulled tight as I moved—the position intensely exposed me.
The room became quiet. I could sense him nearby, studying every line of my posture, every breath I took. His quiet focus filled the space around me, close enough that I could almost feel it. My pulse quickened, caught between awareness and anticipation.
Mike reached out and placed his fingers on my back, tracing a feather-light path—sending shivers through me. The touch seemed deliberate, possessive, as if he were memorizing the curves of my body through the tips of his fingers. I remained frozen. My shirt clung to my skin, amplifying every sensation, and when his palms finally reached the curve of my ass, I let out a soft, involuntary gasp.
“Brad, you have such a perfect wrestler’s body,” Mike said, his voice calm but full of pride. “It’s clear you have worked hard for it.”
His grip tightened slightly, feeling my firm muscle beneath the thin navy fabric. "Every inch of you is designed to be seen—to be admired by us. To be Our Star."
I was not sure how to respond—part of me wanted to shrink from the attention, and another part felt quietly proud. There was something vulnerable about being seen and touched that closely.
As his hands traced the seam of my slacks, I shifted slightly and arched my back. The movement was subtle, almost subconscious, but Mike noticed. He chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated through my skin. "You are such a good boy," he whispered, his breath hot against the back of my neck. His fingers dipped briefly inside the waistband of my pants, teasing the sensitive skin just above my hips before pulling away. It was a brief touch, but it sent a shock straight to my core.
“I understand Tony wants to see you,” Mike said, his voice tone shifting between curiosity and approval. “He has got his eye on you for the rugby team. I think you would be a great fit—strong, athletic, and confident. You are going to make quite an impression in the locker room and on the field.”
With that, he gave my ass a final, firm squeeze and stepped back, leaving me breathless. His approval was evident in the way he looked at me as I stood, his eyes dark with something obviously far beyond professional interest.
"You better go," he said, his voice smooth and a little commanding. "Tony’s waiting. But remember, Brad, you are my Office Boy first. Always mine.”
I straightened slowly, my legs still a little unsteady, and nodded. The words his Office Boy echoed in my mind, stirring a strange mix of pride and unease. Mike’s gaze stayed on me—part approval, part possession.
I walked down the hallway, the noise of his office fading, my mind still replaying his words and the way he had looked at me—like he truly believed in me. Pride swelled in my chest, strong and confusing all at once. His approval meant more to me than I thought it would.
By the time I reached the elevator, I caught my reflection in the glass. My face stayed red, my eyes were bright, and I felt some self-assurance starting to rise in me. This is who I am now, I thought, Mike’s Office Boy, his creation. The idea shook me—a mix of nerves of what was still ahead.
The shipping department was its own world, full of motion and the smell of cardboard and coffee. Tony stepped out from behind a stack of crates, his rugby-built body was impossible to miss even in his business attire. His smirk was quick and confident.
He greeted me with easy charm and did not waste a moment bringing up the rugby club. He spoke about my wrestling days and how the company team needed that kind of drive. Then he gave me a small note with upcoming practice details. My pulse jumped. The handwriting matched the message that had been left on my desk earlier. Tony had seen me. Tony had written the post it note that was placed on my desk.
Trying to stay calm, I asked Tony about team strategy and he sketched something out on his notepad. As he wrote, I looked at the letters—same curves, same tilt. It was him.
While he spoke, my attention drifted to one of the monitor screens on his desk. A small window cycled through the building’s camera feeds—Mike’s office, the lobby, even my own desk. My stomach tightened. My breath caught. He watched. He saw everything.
A chill ran through me as I viewed the images flicker on the screen. I did not want Tony to notice my reaction, so I forced a steady breath and turned my attention back to what he was saying. My mind, though, was racing. If those cameras were recording everything, what else had he seen?
“Looks good,” I said, pointing at the sketches he had made, though I barely registered them.
Tony smiled, unaware of my nervousness. “You will do fine, Brad. You have the right mix of balance and focus. We could use that out there.” He paused, studying me for a moment before adding with a grin, “I actually have the uniform the company’s tailor made for you from the measurements he took last week”
Reaching into his team bag, he pulled out the folded kit. “Why don’t you try it on and let’s see how it fits.” Tony gestured to the center of his office. “Your specific uniform was built for movement, less friction, more freedom. Some players feel more comfortable not wearing anything underneath their uniform.”
The invitation to join the team remained in the air, sparking a quiet thrill within me. Perhaps this was my chance to athletically prove myself—and to show Mike that he had been right to choose me as his Office Boy. The thought of stepping onto the field alongside a new group of athletes made me excited. I missed the pulse of competition and being on a team chasing the same goal.
Wanting to show my commitment, I agreed to try on the custom-made kit. The carefully chosen paper-thin fabric for my uniform was soft and slightly elastic, made to cling close and move easily, described Tony. When I held it up, I could see that it was smaller and more transparent than I expected. He explained that every detail was intentional for me—the shirt cut higher at the abs than my teammates’, and the lowered side openings giving my shoulders full range of motion during play.
The minimal shorts matched in color and tone. Tony said that they were constructed for my athletic speed, using the light, quick-dry material. I noticed that the pair had a very short inseam that would clearly expose my glutes. A flexible elastic band circled the waist, strong enough to hold firm through rough practice drills, he added. However, I gulped realizing how much the low waist band was going to allow my pubic hair to be seen.
Tony reminded me that every element of the design served a purpose—the clean side slits rising to the waistband let the fabric respond to even the smallest shift in movement. The fine, close-cut material was definitely flexible and gave the shorts a weightless feel. He told me my kit had been crafted with precision, built for freedom and motion rather than modesty.
As I began to change, the quiet tension in the room seemed to tighten—part anticipation, part self-consciousness. My fingers went to the buttons of my shirt, moving slower than necessary. One. Two. Three. Tony watched me closely. I shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall onto his desk. My shoes were next, placed carefully aside.
As I continued, my hands went to the front of my slacks. The click of the fastener echoed in the quiet room. Tony began to tap his pencil on the desk—a slow, steady, erotic beat. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was the soundtrack to my undressing. I pushed the trousers down my hips, letting them drop to the floor. Tony’s eye brows raised as he realized I was not wearing any underwear.
I carefully folded my pants, trying to stay humble, though Tony's stare made me feel far more exposed. He had a view of my fully naked wrestler’s body. Training had conditioned me to react instantly, but I forced myself not to flex. I shifted my weight carefully so I would not highlight the cut of my muscles, the strength in my thighs, the tight curve of my bubble butt.
I heard Tony’s chair slide back as he stood and walked toward me. In seconds I felt his hands gripped my upper body. The soft touch of his fingers traced a line just as Mike had done only minutes ago. I could not hold back a soft whimper sound.
“Brad, your body is one that we need to have as part of our team,” he shared, his voice husky. His fingers found the curve of my ass. “Your college wrestling teammates will surely miss seeing this.”
His touch was almost possessive. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my back.
“So, fucking hot,” he whispered to me.
Tony’s fingers slid lower, feeling my sensitive skin, hinting at an intimacy that made my head spin. I was not only stark-naked for him, but for the unblinking eye of the camera in the corner. For whoever might be watching. The thought humiliated me some.
From a drawer nearby, Tony reached in and retrieved a little brown bottle. He unscrewed the cap and held it up for me.
“Brad, inhale from this bottle as long as you can.”
I did as I was told, still naive to how the scent from that little brown bottle worked its way through me. Something surged inside of me, loosening everything. My body softened, my hole giving in. I moaned once again, softly, warm and obedient.
The air in Tony’s office had become thick and heavy, buzzing with something raw and electric. His fingers were not just on me; they were claiming me, drawing deliberate patterns around my tight hole. I could feel every inch of his fingertips, their warmth pressing into my skin, exploring, teasing. I tried not to push back against his hand, but my now horny body moved on its own, appearing to be hungry. I had become intuitive, like my body knew what it needed even before my mind caught up. What were the poppers doing to me? I did not want Tony to know that I was liking his attention—how much I craved for more.
Amidst the smell of the poppers and Tony’s manly cologne, his voice continued to send shivers in me. “That’s it, Brad,” he said, his tone full of approval as he felt my new found willingness to please. “Show me how much you want it.” His other hand gripped my hip, holding me steady as his fingers pressed harder, dipping easily inside of me, enough to make my knees shake. I gasped, leaning over and finding my fingers holding the edge of his desk for support. It was like I was melting in Tony’s care.
“You are perfect like this,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “So tight, so fucking ready for me.” His fingers withdrew from my hole, only to come back with added pressure, circling my rim in a way that made me groan. My hips rocked back, wanting to feel more of his touch, more of him. I felt the slickness of his spit as he worked me open, his fingers sliding in just a little deeper each time.
Tony’s other hand found my wet, hard leaking cock. He began to milk me using the precum to lubricate my erection. It was incredible, the slow, deliberate way he prepped me, like he was savoring every second of it.
Something from that little brown bottle was lingering in my body—I felt it continue to warm me. My body buzzed—maybe from arousal, or just maybe from the way Tony was exploring me.
“You definitely are going to learn quickly why Mike’s business is called The Milk Me Company,” he laughed.
“Tony,” I breathed, my voice trembling. His name hung in the air between us, a plea and a promise all at once. I continued to sense that I might be turning into a slut for all these handsome athletic Australian men that have come into my life.
Tony’s fingers pushed in deeper, curling just right, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur. I let out another moan, my body tensing as pleasure definitely surged through me. He whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “That’s it, baby. Allow that little brown bottle to work. Let me hear you. Let them hear you.”
“Please,” I responded, my voice whispering as I pressed back against his hand. I had become desperate for Tony, my cock throbbing with every touch, every word. However, I was also trying so hard not to let him see what he was doing to me, how much he was owning me in that moment.
His fingers finally pushed all the way in—scissoring me open. I could feel my young horny body yielding and giving him everything he wanted. I was lost in lust.
Eventually, after many minutes of teasing, Tony slowly pulled his fingers out. I whimpered at the loss. But I knew it was not over—it was just beginning. His hands gripped my hips tighter, turning me slightly so my back was to the corner of the room and the camera.
Tony had me on display, and the thought sent a mixed thrill racing through me. I had become his toy—to do with as he pleased.
“You are so good, Brad. Allowing me to show you off—everyone’s going to see it,” Tony’s voice thick with pleasure.
He handed the little brown bottle to me again. I inhaled. The chemical rush was instant, a hot wave that went through my head. The sharp edges of my anxiety blurred, replaced by even more major hyper-focused sensitivity. The office lights seemed brighter, the hum of the air conditioner became louder. I could hear my heartbeat, keeping pace with the hungry look in Tony’s eyes.
I heard him spit, a soft, wet sound. Then his fingers—slick and warm—slid over my skin again, rubbing that wetness into my crack. This is happening. I was learning fast that my new job was about more than coffee and schedules.
Tony dropped to his knees behind me. I held my breath. Then I felt it—the hot, wet stroke of his tongue as he began to rim and munch on my hole. It was pure lightning. My knees went weak. Oh god. His tongue pressed and licked, exploring my moist hole in a way that made my head spin.
“This is perfect,” he groaned against my skin, his voice muffled. “So damn perfect. I want everyone to see what I get to have.”
His words echoed in my head. For all to see. The thought of hidden eyes watching us, of Mike maybe smiling at his screen, made my skin prickle as Tony ate me out for what seemed like forever.
When I broke the moment, a deep groan tore from my throat as I could not believe what I was about to ask. “I want to taste your cock, Tony. Please. I need your cock on my tongue.”
The sound of the company’s rugby captain unzipping his pants had become the loudest thing in the world at the moment due to the inhaled poppers’ affecting the sounds I could hear. He moved around in front of me, and there it was. Thick and hard and beautiful. My mouth watered instantly, a drop of spit escaping my lips.
“Continue to be a good boy for me, Brad,” he said, his accent making the words sound like a command and a gift all at once. “Show me what that American mouth can do.”
I dropped naked to my knees without a second thought. It felt so right. I took him into my mouth, using my tongue and my hand together. The angle I was in with Tony gave whoever was watching a perfect view. I worked his erection slowly, keeping him wet, tasting his own salty pre-cum. The sounds he made were like music—low grunts and sighs of approval.
“Such a young gorgeous slut,” he whispered, one hand tangling in my hair. “We have been waiting for your jock body. You are going to be so popular here.”
After a few amazing minutes, he pulled his hard cock from my mouth. He was breathing hard. “Now back onto my desk. Let me see that ass back in the air.”
I did it instantly and climbed onto my knees on his desk, displaying myself in the frog spread yoga position. My hands reached back and stretched my cheeks wide, offering myself to him, once more. I was ready, so loose from the poppers and his tongue. He pressed the thick head of his cock against me. I was told to push back, allowing him to easily move inside.
“Yes,” I grunted, my face pressed against the cool wood of the desk. “Use me. I want to be on your team. I want all of it.”
He started to move, a slow, deep rhythm. I was full of him. I chanted his name, my voice getting louder, lost in the feeling.
My legs were pushed farther apart by Tony’s gentle encouragement to help open my hole even more. I had been fucked so much since arriving here to Sydney that I was beginning to notice the different feel and thickness of these older athletic men that Mike had carefully scheduled into my life.
At this moment, my wrestling muscles were being caressed by Tony as I was held in this spot for several minutes before suddenly, he pulled out. “Turn around and get on your back, Office Boy. Legs up.”
I quickly rolled my body around on the desk and pulled my knees to my chest, putting my whole body on show for him. Our eyes locked. He was still fully dressed—just his cock out—me being entirely bare under his bright office lights. The difference was so stark.
I could not stop the noises I was making. They were loud, desperate. Tony heard them. He reached into the desk and pulled out a soft, cherry-red handkerchief. He balled it up and gently pressed it into my open mouth.
“You need to be quieter, sexy American boy,” he said, his own voice anxious. “Just feel it.”
He pushed back into me, his hand finding my cock again, stroking me in time with his thrusts. It was too much. The pleasure was building too fast, a tight twist in my gut ready to snap.
“Don’t you dare cum,” he said, his eyes blazing into mine. “Not until I say. I want you to feel all of it. They are all watching you take it. Watching you be mine.”
I nodded, my eyes wide, trying to obey. I focused on his face; on the sheer pleasure I saw.
“Fuck, Brad,” he gasped. “You feel… so good…”
Tony continued to touch me all over. He found and licked the soles of my feet, sucking on my toes. “I want to tickle these feet of yours, make you squirm even more.”
My senses went up another notched with his fingers exploring my soles, the extra sensation making me tighten stronger onto his cock that was being milked by my bubble butt muscular anal sphincter.
After a final, deep thrust, he went completely still. A deep cry tore from his chest as I saw his eyes roll back. I felt the hot pulse of his warm cum deep inside me. He filled me up.
Tony could easily sense the wild, pleading feel from my body and yanked the handkerchief from my mouth.
“Now,” he breathed. “Cum for me.”
His permission was all I needed. My own release hit me like a train, my back arching off the desk as I cried out. Strips of my hot release shot across my chest and stomach, even splattering my chin.
Tony collapsed on top of me, kissing me deep and slow and passionate.
Eventually, he stood—a true gentleman—and brought me a warm, damp towel from his private bathroom. I cleaned myself up as best I could, but I knew I could not get all of him out of me. A damp spot darkened the crotch area of my slacks as I pulled them on. Tony smirked. My badge of honor.
He handed me the rugby uniform I never even put on. “For next time,” he said with a wink.
I walked out of the shipping department, my legs still a little shaky. When the elevator doors opened on the executive floor, Mike was standing right there, waiting. A slow, proud smile spread across his face. He reached out and ruffled my hair, his fingers lingering.
“There’s my boy,” Mike said, his voice dripping with that same warmth that was making me feel like I belonged here. His eyes glanced down to the moist spot on my pants, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He knew. He had seen everything. And he was pleased.
“You did so good,” Mike whispered, his voice low and intimate. His thumb brushed against my face. “I watched every second of it, Brad. You were perfect.”
I felt my breath catch and my face heat up. He had seen it all—the way Tony had taken control. I had moaned and begged and came apart under his hands. And Mike... Mike appeared to have loved it all.
He stepped closer, and I could feel his warmth. “You are going to be the best Office Boy,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “All of this—everything you do, everything you are—it fits perfectly. Our New Star.”
His eyes burned into mine, and I felt myself nodding before I even realized I was doing it.
Mike’s hand remained on my shoulder, his grip firm but not harsh, like he was anchoring me to him. I had been carefully selected to be his Office Boy. The truth was starting to hit me all at once. It was not just the physical act with Tony, or the way Mike’s eyes looked at me when I stepped off the elevator. It was everything—the way the Australian athletic men observed me, touched me, claimed me.
Mike gave me one last look, his eyes filled with desire, before he finally stepped back with that satisfied smile.
I was his Chosen Jock.
Author is Brad
My email is [email protected] — I would love to hear your thoughts.
I love getting men excited—whether it is through my writing, watching me grind out reps in skin-tight gear at the gym, showing off online, or moving my body on a stage.
I will stay hard for you—in every way that matters.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
