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 white Olympic-style wrestling singlet felt tighter than anything I had ever worn to the office. It hugged my body, tight across my chest, smooth down my abs, and firm around my powerful thighs, leaving little to the imagination. When I stepped into it, the lightweight fabric slid smoothly up my physique, stretching perfectly into place until the thin material turned slightly transparent against my skin.
I turned once in the mirror, then again, studying the way the singlet’s legs were cut high and clung to my crotch. The material showed the shape of my body, every muscle clearly visible. I hesitated, tugging lightly at the straps on my shoulders before smoothing the fabric back into place, unsure whether I was supposed to adjust it, or simply wear it the way a wrestler does, not hiding anything.
When I bent down to lace the matching white wrestling shoes, the reflection in the mirror confirmed it. The singlet fit like competition gear, clean, tight, and unforgiving. It held close to my body the way a singlet always did when stepping onto the mat for a match, leaving nothing to hide. There was no softening the look. Mike had chosen it carefully, and had it tailored for a reason.
In the car, Heath noticed immediately. I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror and saw the quick double take before he cleared his throat and eased the car away from the curb. His gaze flicked back to the mirror once more before settling on the road.
“Well,” he said slowly, studying my reflection. “You are… bold for an Office Boy.”
I tried pulling the singlet down over my thigh. “Mike asked me to wear it,” I explained. “He said it would set the tone for a meeting. There is some kind of special announcement.”
Heath’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Set the tone, huh?”
“That is what he said,” I replied, trying to sound more certain than I felt. “I think he is making a point.”
Heath smirked, his eyes returning to the road. “Oh, I am sure he is.”
The singlet felt even more snug the longer I sat in the backseat. It definitely outlined everything, making me more aware of how exposed I felt, even inside Heath’s car. At the same time, there was a strange pride in wearing it, like it had been chosen on purpose to show me off.
Heath glanced at me again in the mirror, taking his time.
“You do not look like you are going to a meeting,” he said, sounding impressed. “You look like you are walking into a photo shoot.”
“Nah, I am just going to a meeting,” I said.
Heath smiled at me in the mirror, like he understood something I did not. “Sure, you are.”
When we pulled up near the Milk Me Company office building, the street maintenance crew was still working along the sidewalk.
Heath put the car in park.
I reached for the door, then paused when I noticed a few of them looking over.
“You good?” Heath asked.
I nodded, took a breath, and stepped out.
One of the workers nudged another with his elbow. A whistle cut through the air. Someone called out, “They ought to pay you extra for wearing that athletic gear this early in the morning,” and my pulse jumped. Another lifted his hard hat with a grin, his eyes roaming slowly over me. Something tightened in my stomach.
I told myself it was nothing. Just guys being guys.
Still, I could feel their eyes on me. I could feel exactly where they were looking.
I straightened my back the way my athletic trainer Max had taught me and started toward the building. The revealing singlet made everything visible, the heavy outline of my thick American cock and balls in the front, my muscular glutes in the back, were all impossible to ignore in the daylight. The thin shoulder straps exposed my pecs and nipples, and the wide side cuts showed more of my torso than I was used to outside a wrestling room, leaving my lats open for them to see.
I tried not to look back, but I noticed the men anyway.
They were all athletically built, thick arms, strong shoulders, work shirts pulled tight across their chests. Their boots were planted wide on the pavement. Tool belts hung low on strong hips.
Another whistle was heard.
“Well, Office Boy, did the company change the dress code?”
“That’s not boardroom attire,” another man said. “That’s foreplay!”
A couple of them laughed.
Then one of the bigger guys called out, smirking wide, “Careful, Americano, you keep dressing like that and someone’s going to follow you home.”
I kept moving, my eyes forward, but my chest tightened in a way I could not ignore. I had always noticed how strong their bodies were when I passed them each day, and how their muscles moved as they worked.
Trying to steady myself, I told myself it was just the meeting with Mike that had me on edge. But something in me already knew it was more than that. Only now was I starting to realize how much the tiny singlet actually exposed. Even after I stepped inside, the construction workers’ attention seemed to follow me, as if the moment on the sidewalk had not ended at the door.
Inside the Milk Me Company, the reaction from my colleagues was obvious as the soft buzz of the lobby shifted. Conversations slowed mid-sentence. Several heads turned. A few men near the coffee machine stared a second too long before forcing their attention elsewhere. Someone cleared their throat.
I felt my cock begin to rise under the singlet that clung to my skin. There was no hiding it now. I was becoming aroused, a slow surge spreading through my whole body. I told myself to keep walking.
Tony was in the lobby, surprisingly, with Max and Arad, and I immediately caught their attention. All three of them were already looking at me. I wondered why they were even together. Why was Max, my apartment building’s security guard and personal trainer, here at my company this morning? And then there was Arad. I had never seen him in business attire before, only in the neat white outfit he usually wore when giving a massage.
“Well,” Tony said lightly, like I had arrived exactly on cue. “Here is Brad.”
Seeing Max here at my company felt different. I had seen him in workout gear more times than I could count, strong legs, a tight waist, and solid shoulders shaped by repetition and discipline. Max was a handsome man, and I knew exactly how powerful he felt during our training sessions, guiding my movements and correcting my form with firm hands. He controlled the rhythm of every session, pushing me harder each time. Even dressed in his suit, his body carried that same strength without effort. His eyes moved over me, slow and focused. When his gaze lingered, I felt it settle at my crotch.
Arad stepped in beside me, sharp in his fitted jacket, his dark hair always neatly kept. He was a striking Persian man, and standing there so close to me his presence was impossible to ignore. I had seen him naked before, and I knew how handsome he was without clothes, and how easily he could take control of me.
For a moment he simply looked at me, his eyes calmly taking in the way the singlet fit my body. His fingers adjusted one of the compression-tight singlet’s thin straps on my shoulder, then very carefully smoothed the fabric flat against my abs. The touch was not casual. It was intentional. His hand lingered just long enough to remind me how closely he noticed every muscle the singlet revealed. My breath caught slightly as he did it. The elastic lifted and shaped my glutes, holding them high and tight as I shifted my weight. The snug material clung to my body, keeping everything firm and clearly defined.
Tony did not interrupt. He did not need to. He watched the scene, his face calm, as if everything were unfolding exactly the way he expected. He was good-looking in an athletic, rugby-player way, solid and hard to ignore, carrying himself with the easy confidence of our team captain. Max and Arad remained just behind me, the three of them sharing a quiet patience that made me feel like I had stepped into something already in motion.
When Arad stepped back, Tony’s eyes returned to me, not asking, not questioning. Just waiting to see what I would do next.
“You look ready for our meeting,” he said.
I nodded, even though I was not sure what I was ready for, or why these three men were attending my meeting with Mike. Something in my stomach tightened again.
Just then, Mike stepped off the escalator. He stopped short when he saw me, his eyes taking in everything, the sheer white singlet, the way I carried myself. I stood there, trying to look composed while most of the lobby watched. His gaze moved slowly over the form-fitting compression, pausing to notice the way the fabric clung to me beneath the bright lights. I could feel exactly where his eyes were.
“Excellent,” he said, his eyes settling back on mine. “Brad, that is exactly what I had in mind.” A faint smirk touched his mouth. “You look ready… and a little excited I can see.”
His eyes flicked downward once more before he gave a small nod. “Let’s go upstairs and get started.”
When the elevator doors opened on the executive floor, we stepped out together. Mike walked beside me, his hand guiding me forward with quiet authority, as if the entire moment had been planned.
I stayed near him without thinking, watching for his cues, still carrying that charged feeling from the sidewalk with me. My body felt alert, aware of how I looked, aware of who was watching.
Mike’s hand lingered for a second longer before he leaned in slightly.
“Good boy,” he whispered under his breath, low enough that only I could hear it.
My whole body reacted instantly. A warm rush spread through me.
He slipped a small blue pill into my hand. “Swallow,” he said calmly.
I did.
When we entered Mike’s office suite I expected an empty room.
Instead, five handsome men stood near the wide windows of the conference room. Bright morning light came through the windows behind them. Each held a short glass with ice, the soft clink of the cubes sounding sharp in the still air.
All five were athletically built, broad shoulders, fitted dress shirts, the kind of posture that suggested strength even when they were standing still. They were investors Mike had invited for the meeting.
They turned when we stepped in. Their eyes went straight to me.
No one spoke.
I suddenly felt again how tightly my wrestling singlet stretched across my body. I could feel it everywhere.
Mike placed his hand on my ass once more.
“Gentlemen,” Mike said. “You remember Brad.”
One of the men stepped forward first. He was wide through the chest and thick through the thighs, built like a retired rugby forward. He looked older than the others, early forties perhaps, the kind of man who had clearly spent years in serious training rooms.
“Rhys Reeves,” he said. “Good to finally meet you in person, Brad.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. Good to meet you.”
Rhys stepped back as two others moved forward together.
“Marcus Hale,” said the taller one, built like a swimmer.
“Theo Alvarez,” the other added, lifting his glass slightly.
Theo’s eyes moved slowly over me, then back up to my face.
“That tiny singlet definitely shows that you are very athletic,” he said.
Something in my stomach tightened as he said it. My face blushed.
Finally, the last two younger investors approached together.
Darius King stood with the balanced stance of a sprinter. He was a Black man with powerful legs, closer to my age, mid-twenties perhaps, but carrying himself like a serious athlete.
Beside him stood Viktor Sokolov, strong hands and shoulders of a wrestler.
Viktor studied me another second before speaking.
“Strong posture,” Viktor said calmly.
“You stand like you know people are watching.”
My breath caught slightly.
For a moment, the five of them simply looked at me again.
The ice in their glasses clicked softly as the men eased closer, tightening their circle around me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of their bodies pressing in around me, close enough to catch the trace of cologne and sweat beneath their fitted shirts. Someone’s hand settled at my lower back. Another rested briefly on my shoulder, fingers pressing in just enough to feel intentional. I was surrounded, five athletic men, each of them watching me with that same unhurried attention, like they had all the time in the world and I was not going anywhere.
Theo’s hand slid across my ass, steadying me as he moved behind me.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “A beautiful wrestler’s body.”
Rhys produced a small brown bottle without a word, uncapping it and holding it toward me. I leaned in and inhaled. The rush hit fast, a warm bloom spreading outward from my chest, loosening my shoulders, softening my edges. The room felt closer. Their bodies felt warmer. Five athletically built men standing that close suddenly felt less like a meeting and more like exactly where I was supposed to be.
I exhaled slowly.
No one moved back.
Viktor stepped closer and briefly straightened the strap of the singlet at my shoulder before letting it fall back into place. His hand lingered.
“Good boy,” he murmured.
My whole body reacted instantly. A warm surge moved through me.
Perspiration had begun to gather under the compression gear. In the heat of the moment, my now sweat-soaked singlet clung more closely to my skin, making every man in the room suddenly aware of how little it hid.
I felt the material tighten against me and instinctively glanced down. The transparent, damp fabric lay like a mist over my dark pubic hair, clearly visible beneath it. The outline of my cock was clear, the head a flushed deep red against the thin white material. Somehow the delicate cloth made me feel far more exposed than if I had been standing there completely naked.
When I lifted my head again, the men had clearly noticed my state of arousal. There was no hiding it.
Marcus gave a small smile and held out his glass. “Here,” he chuckled. “Take a sip. You look warm.”
I took the glass and swallowed a small drink. The ice touched my lips, and the cool liquor steadied my breathing.
When I handed it back, Marcus remained very close. He turned the glass slowly in his hand, the ice rolling softly as his eyes stayed on me.
Across the circle, Rhys watched the exchange with careful interest.
Darius caught my eye and gave a small nod of approval.
I tried to keep my stance strong the way Max had trained me.
For the moment, none of the men looked away. I shifted my feet slightly, hoping the bulge in my singlet would settle down. It did not.
Mike then took his seat at the large office table, calm and in control, like Coach Franco watching from the edge of the wrestling mat. Above us, the newly installed spotlights narrowed into a sharp white focus at the center of the suite floor, isolating the space on purpose, as if it had been prepared for this exact moment.
“Please, right in the center, Brad,” Mike said. “Excellent.”
I stepped into the light. The singlet caught it immediately—bright and tight against my skin. My wrestling body looked even more defined under the spotlight. Mike had told Jai that I was not to wear a jock to work today, only the thin singlet, and now I felt very aware of that choice.
More sweat gathered across my chest and shoulders as the heat from the lights built around me. Under the bright spotlights, my skin looked smooth and faintly glowing, and I could feel the men’s eyes lingering on the way the singlet clung to my body.
“Slow,” Mike said softly. “Turn for us.”
I obeyed without thinking, the way I would on the wrestling mat when a coach called for a demonstration. My feet shifted carefully against the floor as I began to turn inside the bright circle of light.
The singlet stretched and moved with me, hugging my body, cupping my balls. The room stayed very quiet. I could hear the soft clink of ice in someone’s glass and the faint hum of the lights overhead.
No one rushed me.
They simply watched.
“Perfect,” Mike said quietly.
His eyes moved over me, deliberate and slow, taking in every detail before lifting to meet mine.
“Good boy.”
The words were soft, meant only for me. My shoulders straightened without thinking, the way they always did when he approved of something. My body reacted immediately. My cock was fully hard now.
I did not move.
Mike lifted two fingers and made a small circle in the air. “Easy,” he said. “That’s it.”
I followed his cue, shifting my stance just a little. My erection seemed to have a mind of its own from all the attention, and once more I instinctively tugged at the front of the fabric, trying to hide the stiff bulge pressing against it. There was no hiding what my body was doing. The blue pill was doing its work inside me now.
Mike noticed.
A slow smirk appeared on his face as he leaned back in his chair, settling in like he had all the time in the world. His eyes dipped to the front of my singlet, then lifted back to mine.
He said nothing.
Marcus leaned against the wall, watching me.
“Well,” he said quietly, “that certainly gets everyone’s attention.”
A few low chuckles moved around the room, slow and knowing. No one looked away.
Standing there in the center of the light, I knew how thin the fabric really was. The sweat had made it cling even tighter to my body, outlining my muscles and the dark patch of pubic hair beneath it.
Mike still had not said a word.
He simply watched.
And somehow that made the room feel more charged.
I swallowed.
Mike leaned back farther in his chair, clearly satisfied that I was aroused. He studied me as if this was exactly what he had wanted them to see.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” he finally said.
Hearing that made my breathing ease a little, even though my heart was still pounding. The men’s eyes continued to move slowly over me. Tony, Max, and Arad’s reactions felt familiar—they already knew me intimately, each of them having fucked me in their own private moment before.
Rhys circled me like a sculptor inspecting a finished piece. He took his time. His thumb brushed across my chest, then trailed lower over the sheer front pouch, tracing the shape of my cock beneath it. A sharp jolt ran through me.
“Fuck yes,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That’s it. That’s the look.”
His eyes lifted to Mike briefly before returning to me.
“You are a perfect Office Boy,” he said. “A perfect specimen. An exhibit that gets attention.”
Mike gave me one last small nod from his chair before inviting me to sit.
Rhys guided me toward a tall leather stool placed near the center of the suite.
He rested a steady hand on my lower back.
“Up,” he said quietly.
I climbed onto it. The height lifted me above the table, forcing my legs wide apart because of the high cut of the singlet. I felt exposed from every angle.
Every pair of eyes dropped at the same time, taking in the way the tight fabric stretched across my body.
Rhys stepped close and held the bottle up without a word. I leaned down toward him and inhaled, two slow pulls, and felt the rush spread through me just as all those eyes lifted back to my face. My shoulders loosened. The exposure felt less like vulnerability and more like something I was supposed to hold steady through.
I straightened my back a little more, trying to stay calm under their attention.
The men slowly moved to their seats at the table, settling into their chairs while their attention remained fixed on my aroused state.
Rhys took a slow sip of his drink. He studied me for another moment before speaking.
“Putting a young athlete like Brad on display has a way of making other companies want to compete for the same opportunity.”
The room grew still.
I blinked.
The word competition made me naturally think of wrestling tournaments and championship matches.
Mike did not answer right away.
Rhys did not look at him. He looked at me.
I nodded once, as if I understood what he meant. I wanted to show that I was following.
Mike saw the nod.
“Exactly,” he said calmly.
The investors exchanged small looks that I did not understand. I thought we were talking about sports.
Quickly to change the topic, Mike began sharing investors’ feedback from the conference— how they had responded to me, not just to my appearance but to the way I carried myself throughout the two days.
Mike said I had a magnetic confidence, an authentic presence that naturally drew attention. Even when I was not trying, he said my athletic composure stood out and held their focus.
Hearing that made my shoulders settle slightly, even as I remained very aware of them watching me.
Then he brought up Max.
“I approached Max after the conference,” Mike said, glancing toward him. “Brad already trusts him. He understands Brad’s body, his training, his limits. I wanted that consistency.”
Max nodded in agreement.
“I am stepping away from building security,” Max added. “Mike asked me to focus on Brad full-time. Conditioning, appearances, travel. Making sure he is supported.”
I blinked.
Full-time.
The word stayed with me for a second longer than the others.
Mike looked at me.
“You need someone who keeps you grounded,” he said simply. “Someone who knows when to push you.”
I swallowed.
It suddenly made sense, why Max had been spending more time with me at the gym, why Mike had been asking him questions about my training and recovery.
Mike sounded proud as he spoke. His eyes moved around the table, taking in the way the other men looked toward me, the way their attention gathered in my direction. When his gaze finally met mine, he gave the smallest nod of confirmation. It felt almost like he was presenting me to them.
I found myself wondering again why I was sitting in a meeting wearing this skimpy wrestling singlet. I was barely dressed, my muscles plainly visible, surrounded by athletic men who already knew me in different ways. Their eyes continued moving over me, slow and deliberate. The room felt sexually charged, like something much more serious was beginning to unfold.
Mike spoke with confidence as he outlined the investors’ feedback, the excitement and the opportunity.
Then he wrote SLUTWEAR USA boldly across his notepad.
No one spoke.
The other men reacted, raised eyebrows, quiet interest.
Mike gestured toward me.
“Brad will be the face of the brand,” he said simply.
Tony leaned back in his chair. “Perfect choice.”
Marcus gave a slow nod. “So many conference attendees noticed Brad throughout the two days.”
Viktor studied me for another moment before speaking. “Yes. Brad easily holds attention.”
I felt the heat rise in my face and shifted slightly on the stool, trying to sit a little straighter.
Mike continued speaking about branding, events, visibility. He said presence mattered, that my body could carry a message without saying a word.
When he finished outlining the structure of SLUTWEAR USA, he looked around the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “thank you for joining us this morning. I will keep all investors informed of our progress.”
Chairs shifted softly around the table as the men began to rise, their attention still drifting back toward me.
The five investors stood, finishing the last of their drinks. A few of them gave me one final look before moving toward the door.
Marcus paused near the doorway and glanced back at me.
“Enjoy the attention, Brad,” he said with an easy smile.
The door closed behind them.
Mike turned back toward me with a quiet smile. The room felt different now, smaller, warmer, the charged energy of the meeting still hanging in the air.
He studied me for a moment, his eyes moving over the singlet the way they had when I first stepped off the elevator.
“Your face was flushed the entire meeting,” he said. “I noticed.”
He let that sit for a second.
Then he nodded lightly toward the wide oak desk. “Let us take care of that.”
Mike did not raise his voice. He simply told me to get on top of the desk, on my hands and knees. I stepped forward and climbed onto the smooth surface without hesitation. My body moved almost on its own—knees spaced, back straight, shoulders balanced—like dropping into a wrestling stance I had practiced for years. Natural. Automatic.
Mike then gave the slightest nod. The three men stepped forward and spread out beside the desk, each taking his place as if they already understood where to stand.
From my position on the polished wood desk, the open space in the room seemed to close in around me. Everywhere I looked now, one of them was there, watching me with focused attention.
Tony stepped into my line of sight. Arad moved to one side. Max settled just behind me.
No one spoke.
The air shifted.
I felt a hand move across my skin, warm and deliberate. My body reacted instantly, my muscles tightening. I forced myself to remain still. I did not want to disappoint him.
A hand settled at my hip while another brushed lightly along my thigh.
The room stayed very quiet.
Tony set the pace while the others followed his lead, with the calm authority of our rugby captain setting the play.
Every small reaction sharpened their focus, making my skin feel alive.
Through it all, Mike remained just beyond them, watching. When he finally gave a small signal toward Tony, it felt like permission.
In that moment, it clicked.
His desk.
His suite.
His Office Boy.
No one rushed the moment.
Tony's fingers hooked into the thin straps of my singlet and peeled them down. Cool air met my skin. Arad helped ease the material over my hips and thighs, letting it fall to my ankles.
I was fully exposed.
My hands pressed into Mike's desk, my knees encouraged to spread open even more, and suddenly I understood they were about to take care of me.
I heard a low, appreciative sound from Max. His hands returned, this time to my ass, his palms smoothing over my glutes as his thumbs pressed firmly into the tense rim muscles until they relaxed. Then I felt his breath, warm and close.
The first touch of his mouth was soft, almost worshipful, just lips and the faintest pressure, like he was taking his time with something he had been thinking about. Then his tongue slowly traced the outer ring before pressing in just enough to make my whole body shudder forward.
Oh God.
The feeling sent a jolt straight to my cock, leaving me hard and dripping onto the desk. I heard myself make a sound I did not recognize, low and helpless, and Max answered it with a hum against me that I felt everywhere.
In that moment, I told myself to relax and feel safe with the three handsome men near me, the way they seemed to admire and explore my body.
Tony stood in front of me, watching with a small, satisfied curve on his lips.
"Look at him," he said quietly to the others. "Our Office Boy is on full display for the camera."
He paused, taking in my face.
"Perfectly responsive."
Meanwhile, Arad's hand slid from my side to my lower abs. His fingers slid lower, moving through my pubic hair before finally closing around the base of my shaft. I gasped as my hips moved forward on instinct, pressing deeper into his grip.
The handsome Persian masseur tightened his hold. My wet cock and the sensation made my breath catch as a loud moan slipped from my lips.
"Easy," Arad said, his tone guiding my breathing. "Let it happen."
He began to milk my hard, thick cock in a teasing rhythm that kept me right on the edge. His thumb brushed slowly over the head, spreading the bead of precum gathered there. The slick friction made my knees weaken beneath me.
My breathing grew uneven as the sensation built, and I had to steady myself against the desk to keep from shifting too much. There was no hiding it now, I was fully aroused and undeniably horny, a slow surge spreading through my whole body.
Behind me, Max's hands continued their sure work. One stayed anchored on my hip while the other moved along the cleft of my ass, sending another wave of tension through me, and all the while his tongue never stopped, working my entrance with patient strokes that made it impossible to think straight.
I heard myself moan again before I could stop it.
He shushed me gently, his breath warm against me for just a moment before his mouth returned.
Then I felt it, a subtle shift in pressure, his tongue giving way to the cool slick of his finger tracing the same place his mouth had been. He took his time, letting me feel the difference, letting me adjust.
"Just breathe through it," he murmured. "We have got you."
His touch turned deliberate, probing, and then a single finger, slick with something cool from the desk drawer, pressed firmly at my entrance.
I tightened around that single point of pressure, panting now, short sharp moans spilling from my mouth. Tony continued to watch my face closely, his eyes dark and intent.
I knew the cameras were filming me in that vulnerable position.
"That's it," he whispered softly. "Open up for us."
The men continued playing with my body. Arad's hand remained on my cock, his wet strokes growing smoother as I leaked like a fountain. Max's finger pressed inward, deeper now, easing past the tight resistance.
The sensation filled me, and I could not stop moaning.
"Good boy," Mike's voice carried from across the room with quiet authority. It was not loud, but it held me perfectly still. "You are taking it so well."
Something in me loosened at his praise. I pushed back instinctively, wanting more, my arousal building right there in front of my colleagues. Max obliged, crooking his finger and brushing a spot inside me that made my legs buckle.
Arad steadied me as I weakened, his hand on my cock turning more demanding, twisting on the upstroke, his thumb pressing firmly into the slit.
They worked me together, hands everywhere, guiding and fondling me. Max's finger moved in and out, matching the rhythm Arad set on my cock. The combined feelings were almost too much, hot pressure building inside me.
I was babbling, “Please, I’m—I can’t—”
I was shaking, right at the edge, my breath ragged. “No. Hold it,” Tony said calmly, his hand firm at my shoulders. Arad and Max’s rhythm slowed, keeping me there. Aching. My body trembling.
“You can cum,” Tony murmured near my ear. “But not yet.”
He leaned onto the desk, bringing his face close to mine. His masculine scent and cologne cut through the tension in the air. “We want you to come for us,” he said quietly, his voice steady and controlled. “But not yet. Show Mike what a good Office Boy you are. Let him hear you moan like a slut.”
Tony’s fingers appeared at the edge of my vision, holding a small brown bottle. He uncapped it and held it beneath my nose. I inhaled, one breath, then two, and felt the rush move through me like a wave, loosening everything, making the room feel warmer and softer at the edges. Then I felt something cool brush my hole. Max’s hands shifted, firm but steady, and then Mike stepped in. He moved closer, decisive, unhurried, claiming the space behind me as if it already belonged to him. With calm authority he guided my ass down into a yoga frog position.
The head of his cock pressed at my entrance, not pushing yet, just present, a reminder of what was coming.
The CEO. He had created SLUTWEAR USA, shaping the image, defining the exposure. He knew how I was meant to pose. How I was meant to be displayed.
Tony’s hand cupped my jaw and turned my face to the side. “Eyes open, mate,” he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly along my cheek as he held me there. “Watch Mike in the window.”
I blinked as my vision cleared. From where I knelt, his image appeared in the dark glass over my shoulder, powerful and composed.
His reflection stood behind me.
His veined cock jutted forward.
And beside him, the soft red glow.
I did not understand why it looked familiar.
Then I did.
The camera was recording.
One. Two. Three small, steady lights blinked from the bookshelves, from the corner of the room, from the ceiling molding.
Tiny, unblinking eyes.
Cameras.
My heart pounded against my ribs. I was sure this recording was being streamed to the investors.
From the side, Arad’s hands moved to my waist, his strong fingers digging in as he stabilized me. His touch felt firm, perfect. Max had moved to my other side, his broad hand smoothing over my lower back.
Mike’s hands continued to firmly anchor my hips, hot and possessive. He adjusted his grip, spreading me open even more. I loved the broad, slick head of his cock moving inside me.
“Breathe out,” Arad commanded, his voice sharp.
I obeyed, releasing a soft moan as Mike moved behind me.
The stretch was intense. My mouth fell open in a silent cry, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk. He moved with a steady rhythm, pressing deep with each movement.
I stayed there, moaning as my body slowly adjusted to the pressure. The fullness was incredible, spreading into something that felt almost overwhelming. I could feel every pulse and shift as he remained close behind me.
“Look at our slut take it,” Max breathed, his voice low with awe. “So beautiful.”
Mike leaned over me, his chest pressing against my sweaty back, his breath hot against my neck. “My Office Boy being shown off and streamed for others to see him,” he said proudly.
The realization sent another rush through me, not shame, not fear, but something hotter for Mike and the company. This was not private. This was a presentation. I was not just being taken on his desk. I was being shown off to countless Australian athletic men.
Mike’s grip stayed firm, possessive. He wanted the viewers to see. He wanted them to understand exactly what belonged to him. I was his new star now.
“Hold your shoulders up,” he whispered near my ear.
I straightened instinctively for the cameras, aware of the men around me, aware that this was being captured and sent far beyond the room.
Then Mike pulled back, almost withdrawing, before driving forward again with controlled force. I moaned loudly. Again. My breath caught in my throat. His hips moved with steady power, sliding me across the desk. Tony’s hand held my head in place, forcing my gaze toward the dark lens on the shelf, its red light blinking without mercy.
“See that?” Tony whispered near my ear. “That’s you. Our brand.”
The red glow reflected faintly in the glass.
Mike’s Office Boy.
Being fucked on camera.
Forever.
I could not look away.
The rhythm behind me did not slow. It deepened—measured, deliberate—something meant to be witnessed. Something they would remember.
Embarrassment should have surfaced. Humiliation should have followed. But it never came. All I felt was the steady cadence of Mike’s control. Each movement felt intentional, like a quiet claim being pressed deeper into me.
Arad’s hands steadied me. He adjusted my hips with sure authority, guiding the angle, refining the alignment until....
My breath caught.
“Oh God.”
Mike hit the spot inside me that made my whole body jump. A sharp wave of sensation rolled through me, sudden and intense, as he let out a low, satisfied sound and found that same place again. And again. And again. Each movement intentional.
“There it is,” Mike said. “That’s the spot. That is where I own you.”
His voice was calm, assured, not rushed, not loud. Just confident.
My body continued to respond to him. Every nerve felt alert, caught in the rhythm of the moment.
Once more, Max’s hand slid around my front, his fingers finding my sensitive cock. He did not stroke it, just held the erection in his palm. “He has stayed so hard,” Max announced, “just from being fucked like this.”
There was no mistaking it. I was not fighting it. I was leaning into it.
Mike’s pace was intense. The solid oak desk creaked with each impact. The sound of skin slapping, his ragged breaths, and my choked whimpers filled the room.
He was completely focused.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his thrusts erratic now, deeper, harder. “You feel me filling you up?”
I could only nod. I felt everything—the closeness, the heat, the pressure building between us, the scrape of his zipper, the warmth of skin, and the intensity of being held exactly where he wanted me.
His final thrusts ground hard against me, forcing himself as deep as he could possibly go. I felt it—the hot, pulsing rush of his release flooding into me, wave after wave.
And then it shifted.
My own release followed without warning, pulled from somewhere deep inside me. No touch. No preparation. Just the overwhelming rush of sensation and surrender, triggered purely by the feeling of being filled, owned, and recorded. It was a silent, full-body convulsion, a deep internal clenching that milked Mike dry.
My orgasm ripped through me without a single touch to my cock.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sound of breathing.
Mike stayed close, his chest pressed against my back, his weight heavy and possessive. The red lights of the cameras blinked steadily, recording everything.
Tony finally released my face. He leaned close, his lips near my ear.
“Perfect,” he murmured, not loudly, not dramatically. Simply satisfied.
“Now the investors know.”
Silence filled the room again.
In that moment, I understood what had just been claimed.
I was no longer only their Chosen Jock.
I belonged to them now.
Their Chosen Slut.
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.
