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.
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The Milk Me Company's Investment Conference opened just after eight in the morning, and the hotel convention center in downtown Sydney felt alive from the moment the doors opened. Men quietly moved through the lobby, checking badges and greeting one another, already sizing up the room and the men in it. All looked athletic and fit, even in dress clothes. Strong shoulders filled tailored jackets. Muscular legs stretched pressed trousers with ease. These were investors who worked out regularly and respected a disciplined training program.
Mike walked beside me, composed and comfortable. As his Office Boy, I stayed close, the way I always did when we stepped into important meetings together. He had carefully chosen my outfit for the opening day of the conference. My shirt clung to my chest, the thin fabric tightly fitting the muscles I had built as a college wrestler. My pants sat low on my hips, tailored to my legs so closely that each step made me aware of my stride and the way my body moved through the room. I did not need to look to know eyes were on me. Everything about how I looked felt intentional — meant to draw attention, meant to keep it, meant to remind me I was being seen.
As we stepped into the conference area, men began to notice me. Some nodded. Others smiled. A few looked twice before returning to their conversations. Their stares did not feel out of place. Without thinking, I stood the way I usually would on a wrestling mat, upright and relaxed, just being myself.
The conference meetings went well throughout the day. Mike guided the conversations and made my introductions with quiet confidence, and I stayed close beside him as we moved through the room. I was aware of the looks that followed as I passed. The sessions felt focused and alert, with a sharp energy running through them.
During the last break in the afternoon, drinks were brought out and men took off their jackets. Mike handed me a drink, and we walked between small groups together. Investors looked me over, curious and friendly, some even reaching out to touch as we passed.
A man named Julian stood nearby. He was handsome and well built, wearing a dress shirt with the top buttons open. As he talked about the Milk Me Company, he rested his hand on my arm. His touch felt casual, even though we had just met.
Other men gave me compliments. They talked about the brand and the way I looked. Some compared how I looked "on screen" to how I looked in person. I smiled, blushed, and listened closely. Inside, I felt nervous. The way they spoke made it seem like they already knew me.
Two younger investors closer to my age approached — both lean and athletic, striking in different ways. Luke stepped closest, built through the chest, carrying a presence that drew people in. TJ stayed beside him, quieter, muscular through his hips and legs. They stood close — neither touching me — but near enough that the air between us felt charged.
I noticed Mike watching us. His eyes moved from Luke to TJ, then back to me. Luke glanced past me for a moment, then looked at me again. Nothing was said, but the alignment between them was clear.
Men talked to me about the films, though at first, I was not entirely sure which ones they meant. They mentioned how I moved; how calm I looked when someone guided me. Luke asked direct questions. TJ spoke less, but when he did, it sounded like he was stating facts rather than giving compliments. I felt confused at first. Then, little by little, it sank in — they were not speculating. They were describing things they had already seen.
Other conference attendees continued to flatter me, mentioning my training and discipline, my wrestling background and control. Fingers brushed my shoulders. Luke rested his hand briefly just above my hip, the kind of easy contact athletes use. I did not pull away.
Mike leaned in and told me I was doing perfectly, just being myself. When someone asked if we were moving on, Mike answered for me, saying calmly that tonight was about enjoying the company's newest addition to the brand. It took me a second to realize they meant me. A few men exchanged looks. Broad smiles spread as heads nodded in agreement, and a couple of them laughed softly, like they already understood.
I just stood there, unsure what else to do.
Jackets were gathered as the mood shifted from meetings to evening plans. Mike's hand found my back as he told the group we were heading to the Oxford first — and that he was covering the night's expenses.
"We should freshen you up before we go," Mike said quietly to me. "I have something set aside."
I noticed Luke and TJ listening — curious, intent — before Mike guided me away. I glanced down at my shirt, smoothing the fabric over my chest, then looked back at him.
"Is this outfit not fine?"
"It is," Mike said. "But tonight is about you being seen. This will make sure you stand out — and that the investors attending the conference notice you even more."
He led me around the corner, where Heath, the company's driver, was waiting with a garment bag. Mike took it from him and opened it just enough for me to see inside.
White.
Everything inside was white. The shirt was a light seersucker button-up, cut short. The fabric felt very thin in my hands, softer than I expected, almost weightless. Beneath it all rested a bold, tiny red g-string, folded with care. The color stopped me. Against the white, it felt purposeful — like a signature, a mark meant to set the whole look apart. It did not feel separate from the outfit. It felt important somehow, something meant to be there. I held it for a moment, then set it aside and continued.
The pants matched the shirt. They were light and fit close, sitting low on my waist, neat and clean. When I finished getting dressed, I stood still and looked at myself. The white felt bright and polished. The red underneath felt intentional. I told myself this was how it was meant to look, and that I should trust the choices Mike had made for me.
A few moments later, when my boss first saw me, he looked me over once, then spoke.
"You deserve to wear this outfit," he said. "It was chosen for you."
I nodded, "If you think so."
"The red underneath completes the look," he said.
Only then did Mike press a small blue pill into my palm. "Trust me," he whispered.
I straightened a little more for him, letting the fabric fall where it wanted. His approval was subtle, but clear. It settled in that I was not just dressed well — I was dressed to display my body to the investors.
When I returned to the group, the reaction was immediate. Conversations paused. The white fabric caught the early evening sunlight from the windows, bright against the darker suits around me, and I stood out more than I meant to. Cool air moved easily through the thin seersucker as I walked, and I became aware of each step, each shift of my hips.
Luke noticed right away. His eyes settled on me, calm and assessing, a teasing smirk forming as he leaned in, his voice low.
"Hot."
Heat rushed to my face.
Luke and TJ stayed close at my side as we left the conference hotel for the Oxford. Almost too close. Their arms brushed mine as we walked. When the hallway narrowed, Luke's hand slipped briefly to my lower back, guiding me forward like it came naturally. I did not think about it. It just felt comfortable. Reassuring.
"You really look fantastic in white," he whispered.
"Thank you," I said, sounding a bit unsure.
As we walked, different investors reached for me in small, casual ways, like they had been waiting all day for the chance to finally get near me. Fingers skimmed my elbow. Someone reached up and straightened my collar, smoothing the fabric against my chest as if it were completely natural. I stayed in the middle, letting myself be guided forward, aware of how closely I was being handled without really knowing how to react. The touches felt constant. I was the newest — and youngest — man in the group, and it surprised me how quickly I became the one being touched the most and quietly looked after.
I told myself it probably was not anything unusual. Just how investors stayed together. Just men being friendly. I stayed close and went along with it, trusting that Mike understood how these events worked and that he was basically helping me make a good impression as his Office Boy. I figured this was part of learning the business. I kept an eye on him for cues — where to stand, when to move, when to smile — and followed his lead without really thinking about it. Mike brushed my arm as he stepped past me, light and precise, like he was making a final adjustment to my shirt.
"Let them see you," he said softly.
With all the eyes on me and the easy touches along my body, a warm rush moved through me. I tried to stay composed as my cock grew hard, pulling the front of my pants forward with each step. I found myself quietly hoping no one noticed too much, even though I could feel the attention.
The white seersucker shifted with every stride, light and thin against my skin. Beneath it, the bright red g-string showed clearly now, snug and exact, its shape impossible to miss. I did not question it. I just told myself this was how it was supposed to fit.
An investor walking just behind me smiled wide as he spoke. "That outfit was chosen on purpose," he said easily. "White like that draws the eye on an athlete… especially when he's aroused."
I felt my face blush at his words. I gave a small, unsure smile and kept my eyes forward, suddenly not quite sure what to say or where to put my hands. Before I could even think of a response, Mike answered for me without turning around.
"It suits Brad," he said simply.
My eyes met Mike. "You are doing exactly what I asked," he said. "Just try to stay relaxed."
We stepped into The Oxford as happy hour hit its stride, the club already full of men — jackets removed, ties gone, drinks in hand. The white fabric and my obvious, leaking erection caught the bright spotlight, and suddenly I was aware of eyes finding me from every direction.
One of the bartenders looked up and paused, his attention settling on me without hesitation.
"Well," he said, sliding a glass toward me, "that's a bold outfit choice for happy hour." His eyes flicked over my chest, my face, and back to my very hard leaking cock. "I like it."
Another bartender joined him, younger, athletic, clearly enjoying himself. "White does that," he said, smiling.
I laughed, a little unsure. "My boss, Mike, picked out my outfit. He says how I look is part of the company's brand."
"Of course he does," the first bartender said easily. He stepped closer and reached for my shirt, undoing the buttons like it was the most natural thing in the world. "With that bulging boner you have, this will look better open," he added, adjusting the fabric for me. "You certainly deserve to be seen."
When the last button came undone, cool air brushed across my chest, and I had not expected to feel so exposed. My skin felt warm and sensitive under the lights, and all at once I became very aware of how thin the fabric had been. I glanced toward Mike for reassurance.
He gave a small nod.
I swallowed and stayed right where I was.
"Just a shot to start," the younger bartender said, setting a drink in front of me. "Welcome."
I drank it. The liquor warmed my chest right away, and I felt it spreading through me as investors edged closer.
"You definitely draw a lot of interest when you are aroused."
I shook my head. "I am not trying, however."
He smiled. "That is all right. We will happily keep an eye on you."
Another drink appeared before I asked for it.
"Slow down," I said softly, laughing, smiling — aware of the flirt in the bartender's voice and the intention behind it.
Both bartenders snickered. Neither stepped away. They continued finding reasons to talk to me, to glance at me, to place another glass in my hand.
"You are popular in your crowd," the younger bartender said with a smirk. "That is usually how it starts with beautiful, young, athletic men."
Across the bar, I noticed more heads turning now. A few men had grown comfortable watching me as I felt warm, loose, and a little light-headed.
After several more minutes, Mike suddenly bent slightly toward me. "We will head out soon and walk to Forge," he said.
The bartender smiled at me one last time. "Come back later," he said. "Your body absolutely belongs here. For now, let another bartender at Forge enjoy your company."
I was not sure how to respond, so I just smiled. I finished my drink and stayed close to Mike as the attendees gathered and moved toward the next club.
Forge felt different the moment we stepped inside — louder, warmer, even more intimate. Steel beams rose overhead, amber light mixed with sharp white spotlights, and bass-heavy music vibrated the floor. Bodies were packed shoulder to shoulder, pressed close, moving in deep, grinding rhythms. The crowd was closer to my age and openly physical.
It felt like the kind of club where men did not think twice about contact — where bodies pressed in from every side, hands wandered easily, and closeness was simply part of how everyone moved. Sweat shone on skin under the lights, and the air itself felt thick with energy, like the room had already decided what kind of night this was going to be.
Luke and TJ stayed right at my side. As I hovered near the edge of the dance floor, one of them slid a hand down my back, fingers settling inside the waistband of my pants like it was the most natural thing in the world. I did not know how to stop him. I just stood there and let it happen, telling myself this was probably just how crowded clubs worked.
The spotlights caught my white shirt hanging open across my chest and the crisp seersucker of my pants every time I moved. I continued to feel eyes on me from different angles — long, lingering looks that stayed a little too long. Someone brushed past me. Another man paused just long enough to take me in before disappearing into the crowd. No one said anything, but I could obviously feel their interest.
Mike stayed close enough that I always knew where he was. When the crowd pressed in tighter, his hand reached in briefly and found my shoulder — firm, reassuring — before slipping away again.
"Stay relaxed," he said near my ear. "This club likes good-looking, sporty men."
I blushed and let my body move with the music as a man eased into me.
"Are you Mike's Office Boy?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered.
He looked pleased by that. "Mike is very lucky."
The air on the dance floor felt thick with male energy. TJ leaned in, his mouth near my ear.
"The men from the conference really like you," he said.
I laughed softly. "They do not even know me."
He smiled. "That does not seem to matter."
I glanced toward Mike. He was watching, like this was exactly what he expected to see, my body being shown off in white and flirted with by investors. When our eyes met, he gave me a small smirk and a brief nod.
I stayed where I was and let the music move through me. I let the closeness feel normal. But the vibe was shifting. I could feel it — deeper, heavier, more sexually charged. And it was only the beginning.
Mike appeared by my side again, close enough that I felt his warmth before I saw him.
"Everyone is having a great time," he said quietly. "We can take this scene up a notch by you taking off your clothes."
I turned my head, surprised. "Here?"
He nodded once, calm and sure. "You are warm. You have been sweating. And investors are watching you."
For a brief moment, I stood there, unsure. The spotlights swept over us again.
I knew I wanted to please Mike, so I reached up and pulled the shirt over my head. I did it simply, without drama, folding it once in my hands the way I always did with my athletic gear. Mike took it from me without a word, letting it disappear into the crowd.
I could see the reaction around me — bodies edging even closer to me. I kept moving with the music — men easily touching me.
Then something caught my eye near the edge of the dance floor.
At first, I thought it was just another phone.
But it was not moving.
It was not searching.
It was already aimed.
A small camera, half-hidden near the bar, fixed in my direction.
My chest tightened.
It was not filming the room.
It was not capturing the crowd.
It was filming me.
Mike leaned in again, his voice calm and certain. "Do not think about the camera," he said. "Just keep dancing."
So, I did.
I let my shoulders loosen. I let my body follow the music again. I told myself there was nothing strange about it. That this was just part of the night. Part of being seen.
A man from the conference leaned toward his friend, not lowering his voice.
"That camera angle," he said casually. "They always get Brad from that direction."
Mike shifted slightly behind me, his hand pressing at my back once more, placing me exactly where he wanted me to be.
I kept dancing.
The spotlights passed over me again.
And somewhere between one beat and the next, I realized there was no pretending anymore.
The night was not just watching me.
It was recording me.
Around me, the attention did not fade. If anything, it grew. Investors kept watching me dance, their faces calm and focused. A hand adjusted my shoulder as I turned. Another rested at my waist for a moment before slipping away. I stayed where I was, letting it all happen.
I looked toward Mike again and saw his eyes meet Julian's across the floor. Mike gave a small nod — nothing dramatic. Just a quick and certain confirmation.
Julian noticed right away.
He walked over to me with confidence. I had seen how strong he was through his shoulders and chest. His hands settled at my hips like it had already been decided. They felt warm against my skin. I did not move. I stayed where he placed me, letting him guide me, trusting that this was what I was supposed to do.
Julian shifted a little, blocking the spotlights for a moment, his body creating a brief shadow for privacy. I felt my waistband move smoothly under his hands — slow and careful. I stayed still and let it happen.
My pants were lowered little by little until they were completely off, disappearing into the crowd. When Julian stepped back, the space around me filled in again, the music and dancing carrying on around us.
Somewhere beyond the press of bodies, I knew Mike was watching — not intervening, just directing, satisfied. He could see the investors shifting their focus even more toward me.
This was exactly what he wanted — not a scene, not confusion, just everything naturally falling into place.
The air felt heavier now. Closer. I could feel it in how men leaned toward me, in how their eyes followed me when I moved. I stood there in the tiny red G-string under the lights, fully exposed, aware of how much of me was on display — my cock very hard and leaking. Dripping.
Hands groped me. Guys slowed down instead of walking by. Shoulders turned toward me as I danced. No one said much, but I could feel it — the way the investors were focused on me.
After a moment, warm hands gently guided me toward the bar. People moved aside easily, making space just for me. I looked up and caught the bartender's eye. He smiled, like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
"Let's put the American stud on the bar top," he said, already helping me up.
Under the bright spotlight, I was carefully lifted onto the bar as whistles rose around me, aimed at the small piece of G-string fabric that barely held on. The other bartender laughed softly and folded a napkin near my feet. From up there, the room felt different — faces tilted up, drinks paused midair, the focus settling in without a word as my precum continued to drip down my thighs.
On the way up, Mike quickly slipped a red bow tie around my neck, adding it to my little outfit. I stayed still, not quite sure what I was supposed to do next, so I waited, letting someone guide me the way they had all night.
"Turn a little," one of the bartenders said gently, motioning with his hand. "That's it. Just relax."
I shifted the way he showed me and held the position.
The bar top became my stage without anyone ever calling it one. I flashed back to one of my last evenings with Coach Franco, remembering how he and his friends had encouraged me to dance on a bar top back in Philadelphia.
One of the bartenders leaned closer, resting his forearms on the bar beneath me and looking up with an easy grin.
"You are changing the club's vibe up there," he said lightly.
The other laughed, sliding a fresh drink toward me. "Stay as long as you like on the bar," he added. "You look good up there."
The bartender with the big smile introduced himself as Evan, resting his hands on the bar below me. "You do not even have to try," he said. "Just move a little. Men will not leave when there is a sexy man to watch."
His coworker, Cal, laughed as he glanced down the length of the bar. "Yeah," he added. "You are definitely helping us out."
Mike kept it simple.
"Just sway," he said quietly. "Let them see your wrestling body."
Before I could overthink it, Evan stepped closer, his voice low and steady.
"Here," he said, placing a small brown bottle in my hand. "These poppers will take the edge off."
Everything seemed to pause for a second.
I lifted the bottle, drew in a long breath, and closed my eyes.
The shift was immediate.
The music floated around me, and the spotlights felt brighter, warmer. A heavy rush moved through my chest and down into my legs, loosening something deep inside me. My shoulders dropped. My hips started to move on their own as my hard cock swelled against the sheer fabric.
And then I noticed the crowd.
Heads had turned. Conversations had faded. Investors who had been mid-drink or mid-sentence stopped and looked. A few stepped closer without realizing it. I caught smiles. Raised brows. Small nods exchanged between men who suddenly seemed very aware of me. Someone lifted a phone. Another leaned in to whisper something to the person beside him, eyes never leaving my body.
That is when it hit me.
I was not just part of the room anymore.
I was the room.
The investors seemed to rearrange themselves below me. The circle tightened. The energy shifted. I felt it in the way the men stood, the way their attention gathered and stayed. I stood there under the spotlights, swaying just like Mike told me to, realizing I had become the center without ever meaning to.
I glanced toward Mike.
He was watching from the edge of the crowd, calm and steady, a clear pride in his eyes. He gave me a small nod — nothing big, just enough to tell me I was doing exactly what he wanted.
The nerves I had been carrying with me all day finally melted away, replaced by heat and rhythm and awareness. My breathing deepened. Every sound felt closer. Every look landed heavier. I let my body follow the music, staying where I was, hoping I was doing it right.
I noticed another small brown bottle beside the first on the bar near my feet, nudged into place like it belonged there. I did not see who set it down. Then I caught a relaxed, approving look from a man a few feet away, his attention lingering on the way I moved in the g-string. He lifted his glass slightly in a small acknowledgment, like we were sharing something without saying it out loud.
Whistles and soft cheers could be heard as I swayed, letting the focus settle in without breaking my rhythm. I kept moving, aware of how little the red g-string left to the investors' imagination, my body giving away more than I meant to as eyes stayed fixed on me. The men watched openly, clearly enjoying that I was not holding back. I did not stop or change anything. I just kept dancing, trusting that this was what Mike had been guiding me toward all along.
The crowd responded to me and my very erect cock as the back of the g-string was now tightly pulled into the cleft between my two glutes. I let my hips follow the rhythm, slow and easy, the bar solid beneath my dancing. Several men raised their glasses.
I was encouraged to reach for the little brown bottle again. I glanced toward Mike first, then inhaled. A sharp warmth spread through me almost immediately, softening everything at once. The lights smeared into halos. The music felt thicker. I swayed without really thinking, floating in it, letting the room carry me. My thoughts drifted, coming in and out.
Somewhere through the haze, I caught the DJ's eyes. He gave a small wink and licked his lips. I just kept moving, feeling light and distant, suspended inside the moment.
Evan smiled up at me. "See?" he said. "Those poppers work every time."
Cal stepped closer and gently adjusted my footing. "Spread your weight a bit," he said. "It gets slick up there." He nudged my heel a few inches, then tapped the counter once. "There. You are even more solid."
Evan nodded in approval and handed me a towel to hold. "Grip that," he said. "You will have a better balance. And it looks sexier for the crowd."
I did exactly what they told me, settling into place as the investors watched and smiled. I caught Mike's small hand signal and turned the way he asked, letting my hands rest on my knees. The position made me feel exposed in a way I had not expected, and I stayed still, aware of the eyes on me, just trying to hold the pose the way they showed me. I knew this angle let my hole open and wink to the crowd.
I had not expected the evening to go like this. I thought maybe a few men would flirt, maybe joke, maybe look twice. I did not imagine to be dancing on a bar, almost fully naked, being encouraged to twerk and grind. However, I continued to do as instructed and kept showing off for Mike.
I was becoming everyone's Office Boy.
Julian looked up at me and said something over the music. I leaned forward so I could hear him.
"You carry yourself exactly the same as you do on the app," he said, smiling. "I recognized that right away."
"On what app?" I asked.
He laughed softly, like the answer should have been obvious. "From what Mike shares on the company's app."
The words landed strangely. 'The app?'
I tried to think about this while I was swaying, trying to understand what he meant, but the music pressed in before I could ask more questions.
Luke and TJ stepped closer to the bar, both looking up at me with smirks and giving me long, approving nods.
"Naked man, jack off your cock under that flimsy g-string!" shouted Evan.
Mike remained just beyond the edge of the crowd — not close enough to interrupt, not far enough to fade behind other men. I continued to try and do exactly what he had directed me to do all evening, letting myself be seen and touched.
"Alright," Evan eventually said lightly. "Let's get you down, Office Boy. Cal and I want to play with you a bit."
Cal stepped in close, his hands steady at my calves as I turned and lowered myself back onto the floor, leaning my back against the bar for stability.
Mike was there right away, giving my ass a quick pat. "Good boy," he said quietly. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do."
My legs were shaky. Investors' hands found me again — a squeeze on my bicep, a quick grab of my cock, a slap on my other ass cheek. I felt claimed from every direction, marked by several men at once.
Then Evan came around to the front of the bar and stopped beside me. He did not hesitate. He turned me to face the counter, wet his finger, and teased my hole before pressing inside up to his knuckle. The sudden sensation pulled a soft sound from my throat. I stayed there, breathing, my body still visibly aroused under the lights.
Standing beside me, Cal reached around to my chest as men caught our reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His fingers traced the line of my pecs, then slowly circled my nipples. It was the light, teasing touch I craved. A deep rush of pleasure moved through me. I gasped. My cock was still visibly leaking, pressing softly against the thin, transparent fabric.
His hand lingered for a moment, then drifted lower, easing in where Evan had already been. There was no clear switch — just Cal's fingers continuing the motion, sliding between my cheeks, the back of the g-string offering almost nothing in the way. I heard his zipper behind me.
A man stepped closer with a phone, angling it low, the camera taking in everything while Cal stayed close, steady, unhurried.
"You want this, American boy?" Cal asked quietly, close behind me.
I froze for a moment.
Everything had been moving so fast. The lights. The music. The hands guiding me. I did not really understand what I was agreeing to anymore — I just knew the investors were watching, waiting.
"I… I don't know," I admitted softly. "I'm just trying to do what I am told."
That seemed to be enough.
Cal stayed close, his presence solid and steady behind me. He did not rush. He let me feel his cock first, grounding me, waiting until my breathing slowed. I held onto the edge in front of me, heart pounding, unsure and shaky, letting him position himself while I tried to stay relaxed.
The stretch was immense. The sexy bartender pushed himself fully, his hips flush against my ass, and let out a gratified groan that was picked up by the DJ's mic that was nearby.
"Fuck, he is tight," Cal grunted, his hands gripping. "A perfect little cum sleeve."
Evan made sure I took another hit of the poppers. My hole was now easily loosening for Cal's cock.
He began to fuck me, deep, pounding movements that rocked my entire body forward with each thrust. The bar's edge dug into my stomach. The sounds were obscenely loud — the wet slap of skin, his ragged breaths, my own helpless whimpers. I could feel every vein on his cock, every twitch as he drove into my prostate.
Evan moved around the bar and stopped in front of me. "Throat's looking lonely," he said, unzipping his trousers. His cock slipped free as he smiled. "Open up, champion."
He climbed onto the bar top and lowered himself onto his knees in front of me, settling into position.
I did as I was told as he fed himself into my mouth, fucking my face in time with Cal's thrusts from behind. I was stuffed at both ends, used publicly, my body a toy for their pleasure. The dual sensation, the overwhelming fullness, the degrading public spectacle of it all.
Mike held the poppers under my nose again. I inhaled in the fumes, and the world once more dissolved into a medley of sensation. I felt like I had become a "ho" here in Sydney, a well-fucked Office Boy toy now on display — the wet, slapping sounds became a rhythm in the club.
The spotlights seemed brighter, the sounds sharper. The ache in my cock was a throbbing demand. The poppers had caused my inhibitions to melt away completely, leaving only a strange raw, desperate hunger for more — more touch, more degradation in front of the investors, more of this.
Cal's pace became frantic. "Gonna fill this slut," he snarled. "Gonna breed this champion ass right here for you all to see."
"Do it," Evan's said, cool and approving. "Mark him."
With a final, driving thrust, Cal buried himself and roared, emptying himself deep inside me. The hot, pulsing flood was the trigger. My own orgasm took over me — a climax that had my untouched cock jerking, my hole clamping and milking Cal desperately as I screamed around Evan's shaft.
He did not hold on much longer, either. Instead of finishing in my mouth, he pulled out and shot hot streaks of cum all over my face and hair. I stayed where I was, blinking, not quite sure what to do next as I was covered in gushes of white, gooey sperm. The money shot clung to my skin as the bartender slowly rubbed his cock through it while I simply stood there and let it happen.
A moment later, when I turned around, flashes suddenly went off everywhere.
Cameras were lifted from all directions. I had not even been given a chance to clean up. For a second, I just stood there, confused, realizing everyone wanted this moment exactly as it was. No one told me to move. No one handed me a towel. They just watched, phones raised, capturing me while I tried to understand how I had become the center of it all.
Julian finally found my hand and dragged me forward. His muscular frame naturally opened a path through the crowd. Handsome athletic investors reached out as we moved — hands caressed my arms and back, curious touches meant to let me know I was seen, that I was welcome, that I was being appreciated as Mike's new Office Boy.
"You surprised a lot of people," Julian said quietly as we walked. "The way you stayed focused. The way you followed Mike's directions."
"I did?" I asked.
He nodded. "You were a perfect show-off for the company tonight. Now we are going to get you cleaned up and out of here."
TJ and Luke came over with a small towel from Cal. Like Julian, they each placed a steady hand on me. The attention did not fade — it expanded. Investors spoke to me easily, casually, as if we had already met. A few mentioned my wrestling. My weight class. Even specific matches.
I tried to keep up, nodding politely, answering when I could. It was a lot to take in after what had just happened near the bar.
What unsettled me once more was how familiar these investors sounded — like they had been watching me longer than tonight. Like this was not their first time seeing me.
As the night wound down, men slowly began to leave. Julian, TJ, and Luke stayed close. I saw them exchange a look with Mike and nod, like something had already been decided without needing words. Mike made sure I had my things and told me a car was waiting. He did not explain anything else.
I wrapped myself in the small white towel and walked out with the three of them. They asked if I wanted to join them in a black sedan. I said yes, even though I was not completely sure what that meant.
The car eased away from the curb.
I still felt warm and a little lightheaded from the poppers and drinks earlier. I sat between TJ and Luke in the backseat, their legs pressed firmly against mine, their bodies boxing me in on both sides. Luke's arm rested along the back of the seat behind me, close enough that his forearm brushed my shoulder each time the car shifted. TJ stayed nearer, his thigh solid against mine, his hand settling naturally on my knee.
Julian rode up front, speaking to the driver.
I did not realize Mike was not with us until we were already moving.
My chest fluttered at the thought, and I shifted slightly without meaning to. TJ noticed immediately. His fingers gave my knee a gentle squeeze, while Luke leaned in closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine.
"It is all ok," TJ said calmly. "We are just going somewhere quieter."
I nodded.
Luke's hand slid briefly to my lower back, warm through the itty-bitty towel that barely covered me, guiding me closer toward the middle again. TJ kept his hand steady on my leg, his thumb moving in absent-minded circles.
The large hotel suite sat high above the harbor. The dark walls made the room feel quiet and private. The air felt cool on my skin. The door clicked shut behind us, and everything outside suddenly felt far away.
Julian was the first to turn toward me. He did not say anything at first. He stepped closer and gently loosened the tiny towel until it slipped to the floor. His hands came up to hold my face, his thumbs brushing along my jaw.
"You were perfect tonight," he said softly, looking straight into my eyes. "So good."
Then he kissed me.
It was slow and steady, like he already knew I would not pull away. He tasted like whiskey. I made a small sound without meaning to and leaned into him, my hands holding onto his jacket at his waist.
I could feel Luke and TJ close behind me, their attention already on my body. Hands brushed my arms. Someone touched my back. It felt like all three of them had been holding back for this quiet moment alone with me, each of them taking their time, admiring me in their own way.
When Julian pulled back, Luke was there. He gently turned me, like he was admiring me. Then he leaned in and kissed the side of my neck where my heart was beating fast. A shiver ran through my body.
TJ moved closer, his hands sliding around me as he teased the edges of my g-string, his fingers traveling up my spine while his body pressed in, close enough that I could feel his heat. His hands moved over my chest, lightly teasing my nipples until they tightened into sensitive points, the pleasure shooting straight down to my cock, straining against the fabric. When I looked into his eyes, they were intense and focused. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband and pushed it down in one smooth motion. The red g-string fell to my ankles, and I stood there naked, my erection springing free.
Behind me, I heard Julian's soft, appreciative voice.
"Perfect," he breathed.
Luke guided me backward until my calves touched the edge of a low, wide sofa.
"Sit now, Brad," he said.
The leather felt cool against my skin. I paused for a moment, then slowly let my thighs move apart a little. I stopped, then spread them wider without being told. I sat there for the three athletic men, my exposed cock standing straight up, thick and eager against my stomach.
TJ knelt in front of me without hesitation. He took me into his mouth in one long, deep glide.
My head tipped back as I let out a long breath. His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue moving in ways that made my vision blur. He worked me with steady focus — one hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently, the other braced on my thigh. I felt the soft scrape of his beard shadow and the tight seal of his lips. My fingers tangled in his hair as I held on.
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to catch up with everything I was feeling.
Someone brushed my arm gently.
"Easy," one of them whispered.
A small brown bottle was pressed into my hand. I hesitated, then lifted it, taking a long breath and letting it out again. The change came quickly. The edges of the suite softened. My shoulders dropped. A light, floaty warmth spread through my chest and down into my body, carrying away what little tension I had left.
When I opened my eyes again, Julian was watching me closely. TJ's mouth stayed around my cock. Luke's hand rested at my side. I felt surrounded and supported, unsure of what would come next — but trusting them to guide me.
Julian kissed my shoulder and neck while his hand slid down my chest and across my abs. His fingers wrapped around my cock just below TJ's mouth, stroking in time with the slow movement of TJ's head. The mix of sensations overwhelmed me — the pull of TJ's mouth and the firm, twisting grip of Julian's hand.
"That's it," Julian whispered against my skin. "Let us see how much you love this."
I was panting, my hips lifting off the couch in small, helpless movements. The pleasure was definitely mounting inside me, like something winding higher and higher.
Luke moved behind the sofa. I felt his hands settle on my shoulders, strong and steady. Then his lips brushed the back of my neck, kissing softly. His body pressed in close, holding me there.
"Look at you," Luke said quietly. "Taking our kisses and affection so well. Just like we knew you would."
TJ pulled off my cock with a wet sound, his breathing uneven. He looked up at me, his lips full of precum, his chin glistening.
"He's close," he said — not to me, but to the others.
Julian's hand stopped.
"Not yet," he told me.
He stood and began to undress; his eyes locked on mine. He took his time. Jacket. Tie. Shirt. His abs were lean and defined. He unbuckled his belt, pushed his trousers and navy jock strap down, and his own cock sprang free, thick and hard. He stroked himself as he looked down at me.
"Stand up," he said softly.
TJ and Luke helped me to my feet. My legs were shaky. Julian guided me to turn around, to bend forward over the back of the sofa. The leather flushed against my chest. Julian's hands remained on my hips, holding me steady.
I felt the cool, slick press of lube against my moist hole. Julian's fingers, gentle and precise, worked me open. First one, then two, curling and scissoring, stretching me.
"Oh my," I heard myself whisper, my face pressed into the leather.
Julian positioned himself. The head of his cock pressed against me. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully against my ass.
A sound tore from my throat. He was so deep, making me feel so impossibly full. He stayed there for a long moment, letting me feel every ridge, every pulse of him inside me.
Then he began to move.
His deep thrusts were slow at first, each one dragging a moan from my lungs. TJ positioned himself so he could lay under me and take my cock back into his mouth. He swallowed me to the root of my pubic hair, his throat working around me.
Julian's pace increased, his hips slapping against my ass in a rhythm that was quickly becoming frantic. The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, of wet suction, of my own quiet pleas.
Meanwhile, Luke's hands were everywhere — on my back, my shoulders, gripping my hair to tilt my head up. He leaned down, his mouth finding mine in a possessive kiss.
"Your beautiful young wrestling body is our wonderland tonight," Julian grunted, his movements growing harder. "All that athletic discipline, all that control… just for this."
I felt it building, starting deep in my powerful legs, rising through my tight core and up my spine. My breath caught. My back arched as the pressure tightened inside me, every muscle I had trained waking up at once.
Then it finally broke.
The release rolled through me from my calves and thighs upward, hot and overwhelming, locking my spine and leaving my athletic body shaking. I cried out, the sound lost against Luke's mouth as I shot my streaks of cum into TJ's throat. He stayed right there, swallowing every pulse, his hands firm on my thighs, holding me steady while the release moved through me.
Somewhere in the middle of this scene, I became aware of all three of them around me. They were beautiful Australian men in a quiet, muscular way — strong shoulders, solid arms, and tight bodies. They had moved with physical confidence all evening — watching me, supporting me. I noticed it without really thinking about it, the same way I used to notice teammates in a locker room or on a mat. It just registered, simple and familiar.
When my release began to fade, I sagged forward. Luke kept his arms around me, grounding me against his chest, while TJ lingered close, his forehead resting briefly against my leg. I just remained there leaning against the back of the sofa, breathing easy again. I felt my muscles loosen as they held me upright, letting the last of the feeling pass through my wrestler-built body.
The convulsions of my own climax triggered Julian's. With a deep groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his body shuddering against mine, his heat flooding inside of me.
His warm body slumped over my back, his breath hot on my shoulder. TJ's wet mouth pulled off me, licking his lips. Luke finally broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine, both of us breathing hard.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of four men panting hard in the quiet hotel suite.
When Julian finally pulled out, he helped me turn, my legs buckling as I felt his released cum slip from me. Luke and TJ were there right away, guiding me back onto the couch and settling me between them, their hands anchoring as I leaned into their support. My muscles felt loose and tired in a good way. I was spent, buzzing with a deep, humming satisfaction, letting them hold me while I caught my breath.
Julian sank down onto a nearby sofa, watching us, a satisfied smile on his face.
I had been the chosen jock for the investors all night, opened and visible, without needing to try. And when the first light of morning began to show, even these three men made sure I felt it — not with words, but with their presence, with their care, with their quiet certainty that I belonged exactly here in Sydney.
I was quickly becoming everyone's Office Boy.
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.
