The Promotion
The sterile hum of the air conditioning unit was the only constant soundtrack to Moses’s six-week internship, a stark contrast to the thrumming, insistent beat of his own desire. At 24, Moses was a striking figure – 6’2” of lean, athletic muscle, his skin a rich, dark golden brass that seemed to absorb the office lights. He was handsome, undeniably, with eyes that held a knowing glint, and a quiet confidence that belied his current role. He had always, always had a thing for older white muscular men. It was a secret, deeply ingrained craving, a fantasy he'd played out countless times in his mind, but never, not once, in reality.
Then Pierre walked in.
Pierre, his new boss, was everything Moses had ever pictured. Older, perhaps late forties, early fifties, 5’10” of solid, compact muscle, a powerful frame that filled out his tailored suits. His hair and neatly trimmed beard were a distinguished salt and pepper, framing a face that was both serious and, to Moses, incredibly alluring. But it was the other details that sent hot flashes through Moses’s system: the dark, coarse hair peeking from his open collar, trailing down his forearms, covering his legs. And then, there was the ass. A truly magnificent, big bubble butt that strained against the fabric of his trousers, a silent, potent declaration of pure, unadulterated power.
Pierre's Perspective:
Pierre had built his life on a carefully constructed foundation. Married for twenty years, two children, a successful career. He was, to all appearances, a straight man. And he thought he was. But the truth was, deep down, a dark, pulsing secret resided. A secret that flared whenever he saw a black man – a yearning, a curiosity, a raw sexual hunger that was as terrifying as it was undeniable. He’d never acted on it, never even truly acknowledged it beyond a fleeting, shameful thought. It was a phantom limb of desire, always there, always aching.
Then Moses walked in.
From the moment he interviewed the young man, Pierre felt a jolt. Moses was exceptionally qualified, intelligent, and possessed an easy charm. But it was more than that. It was the way Moses held his gaze a fraction too long, the way his eyes seemed to… linger… on Pierre’s body when Pierre shifted in his seat. Pierre had dismissed it as his own wishful thinking, his secret shame projecting onto an innocent young man. But as the six weeks progressed, the subtle innuendoes began to surface. A carefully chosen word, a wry smile, a glance that felt less innocent and more… knowing. Pierre found himself responding, almost unconsciously. He’d catch Moses’s eyes, a silent challenge, an unspoken invitation. He’d walk past Moses’s desk, feeling the familiar hum of attention, and find himself subtly adjusting his posture, perhaps leaning over a filing cabinet a little longer than necessary, just enough to present his most… compelling… angle. He was playing a dangerous game, one he didn't fully understand, but one he couldn't seem to stop. His mind would race with forbidden thoughts, a tantalizing torment. Could Moses actually be interested? Would he ever dare?
Moses's Perspective:
Moses was a master of the subtle game. He knew what he wanted, and he was patient. He'd watch Pierre, ostensibly focused on his work, but his peripheral vision was a finely tuned instrument. Every time Pierre bent over to pick up a dropped pen, or reached for a file in a lower drawer, Moses’s breath would catch. That ass. So round, so tight, swallowed by the expensive fabric of his trousers. Moses would feel the slow, insistent rise of an erection, pressing uncomfortably against his desk. He’d subtly shift, trying to conceal the evidence, but his mind was already undressing Pierre. He’d peel away the suit, the shirt, the underwear, imagining the thick, dark hair that would carpet those powerful thighs, the smooth, white expanse of those cheeks. He'd picture his own big, black, uncut 9-inch cock, heavy and throbbing, laying against them perfectly plump, daddy ass cheeks. He was doing this slyly, he thought, a secret indulgence. But he noticed Pierre’s subtle shifts, the almost imperceptible ways Pierre would position himself, as if offering himself up for Moses’s visual consumption. It was a silent conversation, a dance of desire that left Moses feeling hot and hungry, a constant ache in his groin. He wanted to devour Pierre, to claim him, to finally, finally live out the fantasy that had fueled so many of his lonely nights.
The end of the six weeks arrived, thick with unspoken tension. Everyone else had long since departed, the office hushed save for the distant city drone. Moses and Pierre sat in Moses’s cubicle, the intern’s desk, now a potential battleground of desire.
"Moses," Pierre began, his voice gravelly, "we've been very impressed with your work. The team values your contributions. We'd like to offer you a permanent role."
A wave of professional satisfaction washed over Moses, quickly overshadowed by a different, more primal satisfaction. This was it. The moment.
Moses looked at Pierre, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips. "That's excellent news, Pierre. Thank you." His eyes, however, weren't on Pierre’s face. They dropped, lingering on the bulge in Pierre's trousers, then rising to meet Pierre's gaze, an unspoken dare.
Pierre swallowed hard. His heart hammered against his ribs. He had known this was coming, had felt it building for weeks. This is it. This is where you walk away, Pierre. Where you maintain your carefully constructed life. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, a different set of words, whispered from a deeper, more primal place, took root.
Moses rose from his chair, a predator scenting its prey. He walked around the desk, his movements fluid, deliberate. Pierre remained seated, mesmerized, a deer in headlights, yet drawn to the light. Moses reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of Pierre's neck, his thumb tracing the fine hairs. Pierre gasped, a tiny, involuntary sound.
"Moses," Pierre managed, his voice barely a whisper, thick with unacknowledged desire, "I..."
Moses cut him off, lowering his head, his lips meeting Pierre’s. It started soft, tentative, a question. Then, as Pierre’s mouth opened, a silent invitation, Moses plunged in, hungry and desperate. Their mouths fused, a passionate, long-awaited explosion of unspoken desire.
Pierre's Perspective:
The kiss was everything Pierre had ever secretly craved, a wildfire consuming his carefully built world. His mind raced, a tumultuous storm of confusion and exhilaration. Am I actually in a black man's arms? After all these years? The thought was terrifying, intoxicating. His hands, almost without conscious thought, tangled in Moses’s thick, dark hair.
Then, Moses’s hand, large and firm, cupped Pierre’s ass, squeezing, molding the flesh. Pierre winced, a loud, deep groan tearing from his throat, a sound of both pain and profound pleasure. It was a groan that shocked him, a sound he hadn't known his body could make. He felt himself giving in, the rigid walls of his self-control crumbling.
Moses's Perspective:
Moses reveled in Pierre’s reaction, that deep, raw groan echoing in the quiet office. He knew, then, that Pierre was just as hungry, just as ready. Instinct took over. His fingers splayed, grabbing Pierre’s cheeks, pulling them apart, a silent invitation to the tight pink hole he knew lay hidden. Pierre’s ass seemed to gasp for air under the expensive suit fabric. Moses leaned in, his huge, now ragingly erect thick uncut cock grinding against Pierre’s thigh, the denim of his jeans a thin barrier that only intensified the friction.
Their kissing intensified, a desperate, breathless exchange. Moses swiftly began unbuttoning Pierre’s shirt, pulling it free from his trousers, his hands eager to feel the older man’s skin. Pierre, surprisingly, was just as frantic, fumbling with Moses’s belt. Clothes flew, discarded in a passionate frenzy. Soon, Pierre stood before Moses, completely naked, his muscular body a beautiful tableau of hairy chest, powerful thighs, and that magnificent bubble butt. Moses was still in his boxers, a dark, visible precum stain blooming on the fabric, a testament to his unchecked desire.
"Get on the desk," Moses commanded, his voice deep, gravelly with lust. "Doggy style."
Pierre, his face flushed, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fervent eagerness, willingly, almost eagerly, submitted. He climbed onto the large, cold surface of the desk, positioning himself on all fours, his glorious ass presented perfectly to Moses.
Moses's Perspective:
Moses let out a low, guttural growl of pure satisfaction. He stood for a moment, simply marveling at the sight: the big, hairy white daddy booty, a vision he had only ever seen in his deepest, most secret fantasies. He reached out, his hands caressing the powerful mounds of Pierre’s ass, rubbing the smooth, firm flesh. Both men moaned, the sounds echoing softly in the empty office.
"You don't know how long I've dreamed of having a white daddy bent over in front of me," Moses whispered, his voice thick with hunger, his words a caress against Pierre’s ear.
Pierre's Perspective:
Pierre’s breath hitched. Those words, those incredibly potent words, shattered the last remnants of his defenses. He was consumed, utterly. He gasped, "I have been dreaming of this since hiring you, Moses." The confession, raw and honest, felt like a liberation. He was no longer fighting. He was surrendering.
Moses's Perspective:
Moses spread Pierre’s hairy cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest. The hair parted, revealing an incredibly smooth, pale white crack, a stark contrast to the dark hair. And then, there it was: the tightest, most inviting pink hole. In that moment, a light, almost ethereal, seemed to emanate from Pierre’s asshole, a beacon of pure, carnal desire. Moses basked in it, in the sheer white man's pussy power radiating from his boss, his daddy.
A deep, visceral urge surged through him, a lust so profound it stole his breath. He had to taste it. He had to eat it. He started slowly, gently, kissing the inside of each cheek, a silent "thank you, Pierre" conveyed through the tender touch of his lips. He spread Pierre’s cheeks even wider, taking one last, lingering look at the exquisite perfection, before plunging forward. His long, thick, muscular tongue shot out, plunging into that tight pink hole, absolutely devouring Pierre’s ass with a primal hunger.
Pierre's Perspective:
A shockwave of pleasure ripped through Pierre’s body. He cried out, a muffled groan against the desk. He felt Moses’s hot, wet tongue, powerful and insistent, breaching his most forbidden, most private place. It was overwhelming, exquisite, a sensation that had him bucking and twisting, his hips undulating uncontrollably. His little dick, which had been growing harder and harder with every touch, every word, now strained, throbbing. The pleasure built, a crescendo that swamped his senses. He gripped the desk, knuckles white, and then, with a choked sob, he came, a gush of relief and release staining the desktop.
Moses's Perspective:
Moses continued to devour Pierre’s hole, his own 9-inch uncut BBC at peak erection, foreskin retracted, revealing the juicy, wet pink head, spewing precum in his boxers. This was it. His ultimate fantasy, brought to life, more intense, more real than he could have ever imagined. He felt Pierre’s body convulse, felt the hot rush of his come.
Moses pulled away, slick and satisfied. He noticed the fresh cum on the desk, a testament to Pierre's surrender. He stood, his chest heaving, his powerful cock still throbbing, a deep red, almost purple, from the blood coursing through it.
"Get on your knees," Moses commanded, his voice a low growl.
Pierre, still trembling from his climax, his body feeling both spent and miraculously alive, obeyed without hesitation. He slid off the desk, kneeling on the cold floor, his head bowed, his eyes fixed on Moses’s waist.
Moses slowly, deliberately, unzipped his jeans, his cock springing out, pinging with excitement, a magnificent, monstrous shaft of dark, glistening flesh.
Pierre's Perspective:
Pierre lifted his head, his eyes widening. He gazed at Moses's cock, a thing of immense beauty and power, black and thick, the head swollen and slick with precum. It was even bigger, more imposing than he had imagined. A feral hunger, unlike anything he had ever known, surged through him. His mouth watered.
"Oh, God," Pierre breathed, his voice hoarse, guttural. He reached out, his hands trembling as he wrapped his fingers around the thick shaft, marveling at its heat, its incredible size. He needed it. He needed all of it. He brought his mouth to the head, a tentative lick, then a fierce, hungry suck. He worked his way down, taking as much of Moses as he could, deepthroating it with a natural ease that stunned even himself. He was a professional, a ravenous devotee at the altar of this magnificent black man.
Moses's Perspective:
Moses groaned, his head thrown back as Pierre’s mouth worked its magic, hot and wet, powerful and demanding. The sensation was overwhelming, the culmination of weeks of pent-up desire. He pushed into Pierre’s mouth, thrusting rhythmically, his body trembling. A huge, pent-up load erupted from him, a torrent of hot, sticky cum that cascaded over Pierre’s eager face, coating his beard, dripping from his chin, into his hair.
Moses pulled him up, their bodies slick with sweat and cum, and kissed him deeply, tasting his own release, mingled with the raw, metallic tang of desire.
Pierre grinned, his eyes sparkling, a dark, primal satisfaction emanating from him. "You know," he mumbled, his voice still hoarse, "I'm going on a work trip to Jamaica next month. Maybe you should come along. For… ‘research’." He winked, a bold, confident spark in his eyes.
Moses simply smiled, a slow, predatory grin. "I think I'd like that very much, Pierre."
The hum of the air conditioning continued, but now, a new, potent energy vibrated in the quiet office. The six-week internship was over, but their story had just begun.
Chapter 3 coming soon
