Copyright by Marathon Brad, 2026, permission given to GayDemon to reprint this story. It may not be copied to another website without prior approval from the author.
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On Sunday evening, I received a text from Jai, the building’s concierge, outlining Mike’s expectations for my first-day office wardrobe. I was told that this would be a nightly routine, ensuring I would be well-prepared for the recommended attire and goals for each day. Excitement built within me as I anticipated working for Mike in beautiful Sydney. I had worked so hard to earn my college degree while being a national caliber wrestler champion.
Waking up at 5:00 AM, I headed to the apartment building’s gym. I wore my brand-new mini navy compression shorts with no jock and a white crop tank top down to the gym. I focused on a cardio workout, appreciating the opportunity to break a sweat. The gym was quiet, with only a couple of other early risers, both of whom seemed focused on their own routines.
Australia’s passion toward fitness was evident in the physique of the men I had encountered so far—especially the men employed at the Milk Me Company. As I worked out, I made casual eye contact and exchanged nods with the two men, hoping to establish a friendly rapport. The athletic built men were in their early forties and appeared to be completing the same workout routine together.
The gym had plenty of weights and machines, so I knew my workouts would be strong here. But the room felt very stuffy at the moment, almost too warm. When the two other men took off their shirts, I followed and pulled my tank top over my head, too. Right away I felt nervous. My tiny compression shorts were the only thing left—snugged so tight. The men paused in their sets and stared at me. One gave a small grin, his eyes running down my body, while the other nudged him with an elbow and whispered something that made them both laugh softly. My face blushed, and I tried to act like I did not notice, even though every part of me felt more exposed.
I moved to the treadmill and started running, but I could still feel their eyes on me. Each stride made my shorts pull tighter, and I caught their reflection in the mirror as they looked over again and again. One rested his towel across his shoulders and leaned back—watching me non-stop. The other pretended to add plates to a barbell, but his eyes kept drifting my way.
After a few minutes, the taller one finally spoke. “Are you new here, mate?” he asked, wiping his chest with a towel.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual while my heart pounded. “Just moved in upstairs.”
His friend chuckled and said, “Explains the outfit.”
I swallowed, not sure what to say, and kept running. Their smiles made it clear they were not bothered by how much I was showing. If anything, they seemed to like it.
The taller one walked over and stood near the treadmill. “Careful with your arms,” he said. “Keep them tighter to your sides.” He reached out, brushing my elbow with his hand to guide it in.
The other man joined, standing close behind me. “And keep your back straight, champ,” he added, resting his palm lightly between my shoulders for a moment. I nodded quickly, pretending I was thankful for the advice, but the closeness of their bodies made my face blush.
Their eyes never left me, and every small touch felt more than just a coaching tip.
The taller man stayed near my treadmill as I kept running, his eyes following each stride. “Good pace,” he said, smiling. “But do not bounce so much with your hips.” His hand held my waist as he showed me how to steady myself.
“You have strong legs,” the other man said. “Push a little harder with each step.” His hand tapped against my thigh, not pulling away.
When I slowed down to a walk, they were both right there. The taller one leaned on the side rail. “You ever train with a running coach?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said.
“You could,” his friend added, giving me a smile. “Helps with form.” He reached for my shoulders and rolled them back, his hands firm but gentle. Then, almost without thinking, he moved his fingers across my upper chest. “See? Better posture.”
I nodded again, nervous but also caught up in the way they kept looking and touching me. My compression shorts left almost nothing hidden, and the way they stood around me made it feel like every move I made was being watched. I stepped off the tread mill.
“Try a lunge stretch,” the taller man said, motioning me forward. I slid one leg out and bent the other, sinking low. My shorts stretched even tighter, and I felt his hand steadying me at the hip.
“Hold it there,” he told me, pressing gently until I sank deeper.
The other man circled around, crouching near my front knee. “You have done this before,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Your stance is solid.” His hand traced lightly along my quad as if checking the line of the muscle.
I gave a small shrug, trying not to blush. “I wrestled in college back in the States,” I admitted.
That made them both pause, their eyes lighting up.
“A college wrestler from the States,” the taller one repeated, almost to himself. His grin widened. “That explains the stance. Bet you are used to holding a position under pressure.” His hand pressed a little firmer into my hip, making sure I stayed low.
His friend chuckled. “Yeah, no wonder those shorts barely hold you, champ. You have an athletic build.”
I looked up at them, unsure how to respond.
I stayed low in the stretch, my body warm and nervous. One of the men leaned closer. “Looks good,” he said with a smile. “Your midsection’s really heating up — you can definitely tell you are getting worked up, maybe even a little excited.
After a few more stretches and light tips, the two men finally stepped back, smiling like they had seen enough for now. “We will be watching for you tomorrow, mate” one of them said, his eyes still looking over my body. I laughed softly, not sure what else to do, and thanked them as I grabbed a towel. My muscles buzzed with nervous energy as I left the gym.
By 7:30 AM, I was back upstairs and dressed in the office outfit Jai had specified for the day. He was hired on the side by Mike to help me with my new wardrobe. Heath, the company’s driver, had told me he was going to pick me up daily to allow me to be at the office before Mike’s arrival. Heath was very impressed with how the fresh tailored navy suit looked on me. I was asked to also wear a light pink long-sleeved buttoned shirt and a navy tie. Underneath my pants, I wore a skimpy red thong to complete the outfit and match Mike’s preferences.
I felt a little embarrassed at how revealing my outfit seemed. I had always worn tight gear for wrestling practice, but never a tight-fitting suit. My shirt was tailored close, and my pants hugged my ass in a way that made me blush when I looked in the mirror. Still, I reminded myself that this was what Mike desired. I wanted to look good for him. I appreciated that he purchased an entire closet of brand-new clothes for me to have here in Sydney. Mike had told me to only bring a few favorite pieces of apparel from Philadelphia.
At the Milk Me Company’s headquarters, I was greeted warmly by Sean, the man Heath had told me about on the ride. He was going to be my mentor for the first few weeks, though he was soon moving into another department within our company. Sean was athletic and just a few years older than me, with strong shoulders, a flat waist, and a look that showed he spent time in the gym. His voice carried a light accent from Berlin.
Sean stepped closer and fixed my collar, brushing a bit of lint from my sleeve. I thought he was just being polite and helpful, the way a good mentor should be. “The suit fits you really well,” he said with a smile, before leaning in to whisper, “You will do just fine, Brad. Just let Mike see that American sweet, humble side of you.” I nodded quickly, thankful for his support.
Sean arranged a workspace for me in a vacant office just steps from Mike’s executive suite, placing me within close reach of company leadership. My new office was furnished with warm wood furniture and a framed Penn wrestling pennant, giving the space both professionalism and a personal note. Sean had already set up and powered on the computer, marking the official start of my first day.
Throughout the morning, Sean guided me through various tasks and procedures, including how I should prepare Mike’s office before his arrival—lights on, coffee ready, everything in place. He explained that Mike’s secretary, Clint, typically arrived around 8:00 AM, with Mike following shortly after, usually between 8:30 and 9:00. As we went over the routine, Sean added that Mike had never been so excited to have an employee like me. Hearing that made me feel special, like I was picked for something important.
Mike asked for Sean and me at 11:30. I could not wait to have him see me actually in his office. Stepping into his spacious workplace, I was met with a warm smile. It had been over a month since we had my interview in Philadelphia. How could I forget that I was wrestling with Mike when he offered me my position? Now I was starting a new chapter in Sydney under his leadership.
Mike nodded when he looked at the apparel I was wearing—telling me I was dressed very sharp and thanked me. I lowered my head a little, not sure how to respond beyond whispering “thank you, Mike.” It felt natural to want his approval as if I was still a college athlete trying to please my coach. He then outlined a few tasks for Sean and me in the afternoon, emphasizing the use of my marketing skills to benefit the company and my role with enhancing the culture. He assured me that I would become a valuable asset, which boosted my confidence further.
Responsibilities for the afternoon were manageable, though Mike wanted me to begin introducing myself to a few department heads—including Tony from shipping and Leo from accounting. I was eager to talk sports with them as both men also played on the company’s rugby team.
Sean took me up to the rooftop fitness center and lounge bar after lunch. The space opened with wide glass windows and a panoramic view of the city. By coincidence, Tony and Leo were there as well, finishing a post-workout break at the bar. Their shirts hung over a stool, their chests still damp from exercise, sweat catching the light against their muscles. When they noticed me, they exchanged a quick smile, the kind experienced players might give when sizing up a new rookie.
“Mike’s boy,” Tony said, tossing me a folded towel that I did not need. His voice was low, teasing as he looked me over dressed in my suit. “You clean up sharp, sport.”
Leo stepped in closer, circling me a little as though he was checking a new recruit. His eyes also traveled from my shoulders down to my tight-fitting suit pants. Then, without hesitation, his hand moved across my lower back, feeling the tight fabric stretched over my glutes. “Strong build,” he said, his tone approving. “Wrestler’s body, hard to miss.”
I shifted, embarrassed with all of their attention, but Tony reached out and tugged gently at my tie, pulling me a tad closer toward him. “Golden boy, huh?” His knuckles grazed my chest through the tailor-made pink buttoned shirt, slow enough to feel the warmth of my skin.
Sean chuckled behind me. “Careful as you will make him blush.”
But Leo was not done. His hand slipped lower, resting briefly at my hip, his thumb tracing the line where the waistband met my suit fabric. “Bet you are quick too. Compact. Balanced.” His eyes glanced up, locking with mine.
I swallowed, standing taller, but inside I was nervous. The way their hands lingered—it was not just sports talk anymore. It was possession, initiation. I felt like my body was being tested, touched like a prize on display. Across the counter an attractive bartender smirked while he kept his eyes on me.
Leo’s hand remained at my hip before sliding lower, his thumb brushing across the front of my pants. The suit material was thin, his knuckles landing right against my swelling bulge.
“Mm,” he whispered with a smile, giving me the lightest squeeze. “Strong everywhere.”
I froze. My cock instantly twitching beneath his palm. Tony noticed and he stepped in closer, as well. His chest brushed mine as his hand joined Leo’s—bold and heavy—cupping me.
“Damn,” Tony said, his voice filled with amusement. “Golden boy’s packing.”
Sean snickered, appearing to urge them on. “Told you our new mate was something special.”
Their hands pressed even more, teasing and tracing the outline of my cock through my slacks until I thought I would lose control. I was trapped between them, helpless under their touch. I was being inspected, praised, and played with by these two handsome, fit department heads. As the men cause my face to blush, I could not stop the moan that slipped out as the hardening of my cock was becoming more noticeable.
“Relax, Golden Boy,” Tony said with a grin, giving my leg a playful squeeze. “We are just checking what Mike’s been bragging about.”
I felt exposed—the bartender’s eyes remaining fixed on me. I tried to play it cool, but my voice cracked when I answered, “I… I am just here today to learn the ropes.”
Tony leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. “You have the body for our rugby team, rookie.” His knuckles continually brushing deliberately across my bulge, slow enough that I knew it was not an accident. My cock was now fully hard inside the thong, stretching against the thin fabric.
Leo chuckled under his breath, catching my reaction. “Damn, you are blushing.” He winked and added, “And trust me, you are going to fit right in.”
I shrugged and tried to laugh as Sean and I left the lounge. My first meeting with Tony and Leo had not gone the way I expected.
The rest of the afternoon Sean allowed me to focus on the company’s social media websites and asked that I make some notes and thoughts of areas we could explore to improve our brand’s image. Since I had spent many hours in the past on our college wrestling sites, I felt very comfortable with this assigned task.
I was eager when Mike asked me to join him in his office for the end-of-day report at around 4:30. His office was enormous, with a leather sofa and a massive oak desk. Earlier, I had noticed the small cameras placed discreetly around the room. I could not help but wonder if they were on—if someone might be watching us.
When Mike entered, his presence seemed to fill the room. He took his time, letting his eyes move over me slow, like he was appraising me. His cologne lingered in the air as he walked around, circling me, studying me with quiet focus.
“Brad,” he said calmly, “you are exactly what I had hoped for. Young, strong, reliable. The kind of boy any man would be proud to have in his office.”
Mike asked me to follow him and stand beside his desk while he looked over his notes. As he spoke about his meetings and projects, I felt his fingers lightly graze my thigh, moving slowly toward my lower back. His cologne drifted toward me as his hand remained, almost like he was quietly checking my reaction while still talking business. It did not take much time for my legs to feel a little unsteady, and I leaned against his large desk for support. Upstairs, Leo and Tony had already made me feel uncomfortable with their hands, and now my boss had me in a very seductive space, as well. I gave off a very soft moan whisper.
Mike’s hand slid higher, casually moving across my shoulder. I thought he might just be testing me, or maybe this was simply how close bosses acted with their assistants. He had often said he admired my build, shaped from years of wrestling, and I wondered if this was another way of showing it. Although I was nervous, I held still, not wanting to make the wrong move or let him down.
“Relax,” he whispered, his thumb circling slowly against my shirt. “You are safe with me now, Brad. My office boy. And we will show everyone exactly what that means.”
I was not sure what he fully meant, but I nodded anyway. I trusted him.
Mike expressed his satisfaction with my first day’s work and assured me that I would make a great asset for his company, friends and him. He also emphasized that he wanted me to feel comfortable and well-cared for under his guidance.
“Were you able to meet Leo and Tony?” Mike whispered as his hands continued to explore my body.
I gulped and said, “Yes, we met up in the company’s gym lounge during my lunch hour tour.”
“Good boy, Brad. I am sure they were happy to see you for themselves,” added Mike.
“I think so,” I wondered out loud.
Just then, Mike stood up, reached over, and slid off my jacket. He stayed calm as he began to massage my shoulders. The smell of his cologne mixed with the gentle warmth of his hands caused my whole body to loosen.
I felt very nervous about the security cameras placed around Mike’s office and wondered if they were recording. Earlier, when I had met Harry, the Head of Security, I had seen his elaborate setup of monitors. His office was just down the hall—his walls covered with many screens showing angles from every corner of the building. Harry was an attractive Italian man Mike had brought to Sydney—he was confident and efficient as he watched over the daily feeds. The thought that he might already be watching me with Mike made me anxious, as if every quiet word and glance was being seen.
Mike continued to control the current scene as he untucked my shirt tail, slowly reaching up inside the front of my shirt. He caressed my nipples as he spoke about how much I was going to enjoy Sydney. My right nipple was the one that was hot wired to my cock and the flow of my precum.
“Brad, you are one beautiful young athlete. I will take very good care of you,” Mike said. I was slightly pulled back into him as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt. With his help, my shirt slid off my shoulders, leaving my upper body fully exposed. Soft moans continued to slip from me, encouraging him as he eased off my belt and let my pants drop. All that remained on me was my tiny red thong. Not meaning to, I could not help but make lustful eye contact with the wall camera ahead.
“I have waited for almost a month to have you all to myself,” Mike said. “For the next few hours, I just want to slowly enjoy and admire your solid wrestling body. I am very happy that you are here with me at the Milk Me Company—my personal, sporty office boy.”
With most of my clothes either on the floor or draped over the nearby chair, Mike guided me to the center of his room. He tapped on the large office table and instructed me to kneel on all fours, presenting my thong-clad muscled bubble butt for him to explore. I noticed the security camera in front of me was blinking red and I knew the camera directly behind me was probably also blinking. Thus—if watching—providing Harry with views of my nearly stark-naked body.
Mike pushed my upper body down until my forearms and chest touched the table. I did what he wanted right away, arching my back and sliding my knees apart. My glutes lifted high, spread wide, and I could feel how open I was. My hole throbbed with each beat of my heart.
Just then, Mike took a small brown bottle from his pocket and opened it. He held it under my nose and spoke softly. “Breathe in deep, Brad. Take it all.”
I did as he said. The sharp smell rushed inside me fast, allowing my body to feel loose. My muscles were letting go—even my ass felt a bit more opened without me trying. A low moan slipped out as I leaned forward, my face resting on the cool table. I felt warm, soft, and ready. The idea of cameras on me—seeing me kneel, spread, and wait— sent a strange rush through me, leaving me nervous and unsure.
Mike’s hand rested under my chin, lifting my head a little. “Good boy,” he said. “Breathe in… and out.”
I listened to his words and breathed the way I would on the wrestling mat, steady and controlled. My chest lifted and fell slowly, the sharp scent still hanging inside me with every inhale.
“Now lower your chest back down some,” Mike said, guiding me with his touch.
I slid my knees out wide and sank into the frog like stretch, my thighs spread, knees bent, chest lifted. The pose felt strong and open at the same time, just like training drills I knew so well, only now I was stretched for him.
“Nice. Stay just like that,” he told me. His hand pressed between my shoulders, arching me more, making my pecs push forward. A light tap made me flex, my muscles snapping tight without thinking. “Yes. That’s it. Show them your strength,” he whispered.
Mike continued to circle around me, slow and sure. He squeezed my arm, checked my bicep, then slid down to my thigh and gripped it. His hand moved up and over the round of my glutes. The rush from the little brown bottle still worked inside me, softening me even more while I kept my stance solid.
“Your body is perfect, he said.”
I froze in place—every part of me arranged by him. I kept thinking of the cameras. Somewhere, someone was watching, seeing my wrestler’s body stretched and shown, held open in a pose.
Mike stepped in front of my face again, his hand sliding under my chin. He tilted my head up so my eyes met his. “Good boy. Keep your chest strong. Now open your lips for me,” he said.
I parted my mouth slowly, feeling the air as it passed over my tongue.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Stay just like that.”
He brushed his thumb over my lower lip as his other hand stayed on my shoulder, steadying me. I held the frog stretch without moving, my mouth open the way he wanted. In my head, I could almost hear the quiet clicks of photos being taken.
“You are doing so well, Brad,” Mike told me, his voice low and certain. “Strong, willing, beautiful.” He stepped away from my face, his hand sliding up my back, and over my hips. His touch lingered until he reached my bubble butt. He paused, spreading me with his thumb. “Gorgeous. Look at this sweet hole,” he whispered, thumbing me open. “So soft… so wet…”
He spit on my athlete pussy and rubbed the spit in slow circles under my thong’s back string and into my hole. I gasped as he encouraged me to continue to keep an arched back as he kept teasing and thumbing me, causing my cock to leak precum.
I then felt Mike begin to lower my thong down my ass and thighs. I raised my knees to let the thong slip past my calves and off my feet. My cock had become very hard. Mike took his right hand and milked my cock a bit, precum dripping onto the table. Then he pushed me back into the frog-like position, keeping my hole spread wide for him.
I looked back and saw Mike line himself up.
“Breathe for me, Brad.”
The thick head of Mike’s cock pressed against my hole, and I held tight to the table, not really sure what to expect. He told me again that I was a handsome boy and that I would make many Australian men happy. I did not fully understand what he meant, but I nodded anyway, wanting to please him. Then he pushed in slow, stretching me little by little until I moaned his name. He kept going until his balls rested against me, his cock deep inside.
“Oh my gosh…” I whimpered.
He held my hips, grinding in deeper, then pulling back just enough to re-enter back in with a strong thrust.
“You feel that?” he said into my ear. “You were made to take this cock.”
Mike began to fuck me slow but deep, each thrust sending waves through my whole body.
“Good boy,” he continued to whisper.
The day’s stress melted away under Mike’s care, as he knew exactly what he was doing to me. On the wrestling mat I had grown used to eyes on me—Coach Franco had been the first to plant the idea in my mind, teaching me to be proud of showing off for teammates, coaches, and his friends. Still, part of me had always blushed under that kind of viewing. Now Mike carried that lesson further, using me with the same quiet authority, reminding me that I was not just his office boy, I was his golden boy. Blushing or not, I had learned that there were men who liked to make sure my body was seen, touched, and admired, even when every instinct told me to be shy, humble.
As Mike continued to use me on the office table, I suddenly heard him pick up his cell phone. His voice was calm and firm. “Harry. Bring your camera in here. Get us some closer shots of our office boy, Brad.” The words made my stomach knot. My body froze for a second, realizing the cameras already in the room were not enough—he wanted me captured up close. I stayed where he had me, wide open, knowing Harry would walk in any moment. The idea of him filming me up close made my legs feel weak.
Seconds later, the door opened and Harry stepped inside, carrying a professional video camera. He gave me a small smile and nodded his head. “Well, Brad,” he said, “you look even better up close.”
And just like that, Harry took over.
“Arch a little more, Brad,” Harry instructed, his voice firm like a coach. “Yeah… hold that. Perfect frame. Tilt your head toward me—let me see those eyes.”
I felt my face continue to blush, trying to stay still while Mike kept fucking me. Harry moved around the table, the lens following my youthful body like he was studying every muscle. I could feel my bubble butt flexing each time Mike pushed in.
“Lower your back a little more,” Harry told me, his voice calm, almost like he was teaching me a wrestling move. “Good. Hold it there, sport.”
I did as he said, trying not to think too hard about the fact I was being filmed so close.
Mike chuckled, giving me a light slap on my hip. “See? The kid’s a quick learner.”
I swallowed hard, unsure what to say, just trying to follow their lead. I felt like I was back in the college wrestling practice room and being shown exactly how to hold a position. Except now it was my stark-naked body on display for two men.
Mike leaned in close to my ear. “Harry’s going to keep getting every angle. I want to remember my office boy exactly like this.”
“You have the kind of body men fantasize,” Mike added quietly as he reached forward and raised his little brown bottle up to my face to inhale from again. “Here, my office boy. Inhale some more of this.” He held the bottle for about 15 seconds under each of my nostrils. I became more light-headed.
Harry nodded without looking up from the camera. “I agree with Mike, Brad. Now don’t move. Let me get this side… slow your breathing… perfect.”
With the camera catching it all—Mike’s touch and Harry’s directions—everything was becoming overwhelming. It all had developed into part performance, part submission, and part pure athleticism.
Mike’s hands stayed firm on my hips as he fucked me, keeping me steady as Harry stayed close, the camera only inches from me.
“Good, Brad. Stay still. You’ve got the build for this—keep that back tight, glutes flexed. Just like you are hitting a pose for weigh-ins,” Harry said, tapping my thigh to shift me slightly. “That’s it… now let Mike continue to open you up. The view is insane from here.”
Mike laughed softly, clearly enjoying Harry’s involvement. “Brad is a natural for appearing on the camera, isn’t he?”
Harry angled for the rear shot. “Oh, more than that,” Harry replied, zooming in. “He has that perfect control.”
I blushed at their words, my heart pounding. As I have said, I was used to being filmed on the mat, but never like this. Never with two handsome men positioning me, praising me, and watching every detail.
Mike then leaned down to kiss along my lower back while Harry moved to the side for a profile shot. “Stay in that pose. Beautiful. This is the kind of footage people remember,” Harry said.
I wondered which people Harry was referring to and why they would get to see this footage?
“Get more closer shots,” Mike instructed, unbuttoning his shirt a tad. “I want this to be perfectly recorded as I use Brad’s hole.”
Harry nodded, circling me and adjusting the lens until it was inches from my chest, again. He then crouched low, catching a perfect view of Mike’s hand milking me at times.
Mike turned my face toward the camera, his voice low. “Show him, Brad.”
From there, everything continued to be a blur with Mike fucking me, Harry moving for new angles, and my body reacting like it had in locker rooms—aware of the eyes, the attention, and the way I was made to show off by Coach Franco while being weighed on the scale.
After many minutes of being fucked and stroked, Mike pulled out and gripped my waist, turning me 180 degrees around to face him while keeping me on my spread knees. He stood above me, zipper open—his cock hard and wet.
Mike lowered the little brown bottle under my nose again. I breathed in deep, and the sharp smell rushed through me, making my head light and my body buzz. His hand cupped my chin and lifted it so I was able to look up at him.
“Good boy. Keep your chin up, Brad. You want them to see what you feel,” he whispered. “Now open your mouth a little more. Perfect.”
I held still with my knees spread wide, my body positioned exactly how he wanted. His cock pressed against my lips, rubbing slow so the cameras caught every move. His hand stayed firm under my chin, keeping me in place.
“Stay still,” he said. “Beathe through your nose.”
Mike pushed forward, sliding his cock’s head between my lips—my tongue tasting his leaking cock. I breathed out slow, letting him inside. My jaw stretched as he filled my mouth little by little.
“That’s it,” he whispered.
I pulled air through my nose and held steady while he pressed his cock deeper. My throat worked, my eyes stayed on him the way he wanted. His hand guided me, showing me how to use my mouth and tongue just right.
The cameras caught it all—me kneeling, spread, mouth full—being trained.
“Keep sucking me, Brad,” Mike said. I leaned in, eager to please, my eyes flicking from him to the lens.
“Not too fast, mate,” Harry said. “This isn’t about rushing. Work the base, then climb. Let your tongue follow the veins. Yeah… that’s it.”
I did what they said. Mike moaned louder as I swirled my tongue and teased the head. Then they told me to take him even deeper, to gag and let my spit run down his shaft.
I listened, working Mike’s cock harder as I was drooling. Harry’s camera stayed close, catching thick strands of spit dangling from my chin to his shaft, everything shining in the light. My throat opened again and again, gagging softly.
As time blurred, I stayed and remained steady, my mouth locked on his cock, sucking with everything I had. My arms hung loose at my sides while Mike stroked my hair, praising me. “That’s it, Brad. Show them what a good boy looks like.” I gagged once more, eyes watering, spit dripping, but I never pulled away.
Harry zoomed in tight for the final shots, whispering, “This is gold. All these minutes of Brad sucking you like that Boss, people will pause, rewind, and watch again and again.”
I had done what Mike and Harry told me, never asking questions, only following their voices. My mouth stayed full until Mike pulled his cock out, slick with spit—looking down at me with a steady grin.
“Good boy,” he said, brushing my hair back. “Now we are ready for more.”
Mike placed his hand under my arm and eased me upright on the table. He did not rush. His eyes stayed on mine, giving me a nod as if to say he was proud. With slow care, he slid me toward the table’s edge, guiding me down like I was something significant to him. His grip stayed firm, strong, making sure my feet touched the floor safely.
Harry circled us with the camera, whispering, “Beautiful. Keep it slow, Brad. Let them see the respect in his hands.” The lens caught every detail—Mike’s steady support, the way he helped me down, and the way I leaned into him.
Once my feet were on the ground, Mike kept hold of me as he led me across the room. The big sofa waiting, dark leather glowing under the lights. Mike sat first, his cock still wet and hard, resting heavy against his stomach.
“Get into place, sport,” he said. “I want you ready for me.”
I nodded and moved as he directed. His hands stayed firm on my hips as I turned away from him and lowered myself down. My back rested against his chest, my legs spread wide in a squat. My hole was open, waiting for him, just the way he wanted.
Mike then pulled me down onto his hard, wet cock. Inch by inch, he guided me, whispering in my ear that I was a beautiful jock and telling me how to ride him. He helped me move my squat up and down, rubbing his cock along my butt crack and feeling his precum.
At that point Mike told me to spit into his hand. I did what he asked, watching him use it to slick himself before pulling me back to sit on his cock. Slowly, carefully, I lowered myself onto him, my body stretching as he filled me. I rose and sank again and again, following his steady directions.
Harry stood close, nodding, his voice soft in my ear now. “Yes, mate. Ride your boss steady. That’s the way. Let him guide you.” I knew I was being shown off—all I could do was keep following their directions.
I made sure to squeeze Mike’s cock with my tight hole, hoping that would please him. Coach Franco had always told me my ass was strong from all the squats we did in the wrestling weight room. Mike groaned and said, “Your young ass is one of the best I have ever fucked.”
Harry moved around us like a sports photographer at a wrestling meet, circling to catch every angle. “Turn your hips a bit… yeah, show off those wrestler’s glutes,” he expressed like a coach. “Look right at me, Brad. Good boy.” He told me how to flex my thighs so my muscles popped, praising me with calm approval. “You have a champion’s body—we need them to see it.” I did not know who “they” were, but I did as I was told.
As I moved slowly up and down on Mike’s cock, I felt his hands come around the front of my smooth chest and lightly rub my two nipples with his thumbs, again. He whispered to me that he had seen my reaction when my nipples were touched and he knew I did not care for pinching or twisting. Mike’s playing with my nipples caused me to continuing to drip precum as I bounced up and down on his hard cock.
Harry moved to the front, crouching low to get the camera just under me. “Head up. Look at the lens. Perfect. Keep your abs tight—yeah, just like that. You have a body built for this, Brad.”
I rose and dropped, moaning louder each time, my body bouncing in Mike’s lap, my hard cock drooling onto his expensive suit pants. Mike placed the little brown bottle under my nose, every hit making me sink deeper, ride faster, cry out harder.
“Such a tight athletic hole,” he said. “I am going to fill you, my office boy.”
“Look down toward the lens,” Harry prompted. “Remember to let me see your face when Mike cums.”
Mike’s eyes locked on my back, while Harry filmed every ripple of my muscles.
“Arch your back just a little more. Perfect. This is your match, Brad—you are showing why you are number one.”
When Mike told me to cum, Harry leaned in close to capture my hard bouncing cock as I shot onto the floor. “Yes. A beautiful finish,” Harry said with satisfaction.
Just before Mike shot his load, I felt his breathing pause as he whispered in my ear, “I am going to cum now, Baby.” His arms wrapped me tighter, pulling me into him as his hips pressed up hard.
Mike groaned deep as he released inside me, pulse after pulse filling me until my whole-body shook. I felt the warmth spread, then spill out, dripping from my hole even before he finished. My legs shook as the cum slid down onto the leather seat, shining under the lights.
Harry stayed locked in on my face, filming every twitch, every shaky breath, every time my lips parted in a weak gasp. He wanted the viewers to see how I gave myself fully, without words, without trying to act—just being used the way Mike wanted. I slumped back against Mike’s chest, too drained to hold myself up, my chest heaving.
“Cut,” Harry said softly, finally lowering the camera. “That was perfect, Brad. You gave them everything. This footage will make Mike very proud.”
Mike held me a moment longer, stroking my hair as I caught my breath. Then he slowly pulled out. Warm cum slid down my thighs, dripping to the floor as I tried to stand. My legs continued to shake, and I leaned into him for balance. His hand stayed steady on my shoulder, keeping me close. He smiled at me, and in that hold, I knew—I was His Chosen Jock.
Author is Brad
My email address is [email protected]
I enjoy exchanging thoughts with my readers.
I also love making men horny whether watching me workout in my skin tight gear at the gym, showing off on line, dancing on a stage or reading my erotic stories.
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