I’m the new employee who’s just started working at your company. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and fear I may be in over my head. Everything around here feels so new, so foreign and potentially dangerous. I lied on my resume, lied about my background, and generally made up shit left and right. I can’t even keep my own story straight. (Wait, what university did I say I graduated from? LOL!) I pray no one will discover how ill-equipped I am for this gig, but I know it’s just a matter of time before this whole house of cards tumbles into one big fucking mess. Again.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? I need help.
It’s my first morning on the job, and I’m a bundle of nerves. The only thing giving me any confidence at all is the knowledge that underneath my brand new suit, I have a little secret. I’m wearing my favorite jockstrap. It’s fire engine red, and fits tightly around my balls, the straps digging into my ass cheeks. I love wearing a jock at work. Just the thought of it always gets me hard, which has sometimes led to embarrassing consequences.
I’m sitting at my new work space. What the fuck am I supposed to be doing? I should probably ask around, maybe try to find a sympathetic coworker who’s willing to teach me the ropes? But I’m distracted. Rather than thinking about work, I can only focus on the delicious feeling of my horny bare asshole rubbing against the seat of my sweaty dress pants. God, I need to get fucked. Soon. I reach my hand underneath the desk to surreptitiously give my hardening cock a quick stroke or two. I feel pretty sure no one’s watching, but when I look up, my eyes immediately lock with yours.
The two of us had just been introduced about an hour ago. But I’ve met so many people this morning, I’m having a hard time recalling your name.
But I do remember one horrifying fact — you’re one of my bosses…
My first thought is “shit, he saw me tugging at my crotch. I’m getting fired on my first day,” but then I notice you give me a little half smile. And unless my eyes are playing tricks on me, do I notice a nice bulge starting to form in the front of your pants? You’re just standing there holding your cup of coffee as though nothing out of the ordinary is happening, but I can definitely see the outline of something that wasn’t there a minute ago.
It’s really hard to turn away, but I know I need to. I don’t want to get caught staring and risk further embarrassment. I give my dick one last furtive squeeze, and reluctantly get back to pretending I know what the hell I’m doing.
This is going to be a long day.
Even though I’m pretty much trapped in hell, work-wise, and feeling less than confident about myself in general, my boner just won’t go down. I’m walking around the office all morning with a clipboard to hide the tent in pants. Why am I so horny today? Is it really just because of this tight jock? I can’t wait to get home and jerk off. I’ll probably cum within two minutes, and then have to jack it again about ten minutes later.
And I know just how I’ll do it. I’ve envisioned my plan:
I’ll rush home and put on some loud music so my neighbors won’t be able to hear anything. I’m very vocal, very noisy during sex, even when I’m alone. I know I run the risk of occasionally sounding like I’m auditioning for the lead in some bad 70s porn, but it’s a habit I simply can’t quit. I need to cry out, need to let loose with endless strings of filthy words and phrases. I put on the Sex Pistols, knowing I’ll be covered in cum before the second song begins.
I stand in front of the full length mirror in my living room and strip off all my clothes. Everything, that is, except the jock. With that, I like to take a little time. Such an important article of clothing deserves little respect. I stare at my reflection, cupping my hands over my bulge. I turn around to check out the way the straps frame my ass. Looking over my shoulder, I bend forward, sticking my butt into the air, spreading my cheeks open wide. God, I look sexy! I wish I could eat my own ass. My mouth begins salivating at the thought. I’d love to kneel on the floor, bury my face between my firm cheeks, and penetrate my tight hairy hole with my tongue.
Still staring at my tempting ass, I bring my left hand to my mouth, lubricating my ring finger and middle finger with spit. Obviously, I should’ve gathered more saliva, because when I ram the fingers into my hole, I wince in major, major pain. “Holy-GodDamn-Motherfucker-Shit-Faggot-Slutcunt….” But, I can’t stop. I continue finger fucking my poor, wrecked butthole. And I’m NOT gentle. It’s as if I’m trying to rub myself as raw as possible. But, as always, within a few seconds, the pain turns to unimaginable pleasure. “Oh, yessss…. FUCK… yessss…”
I know I don’t want to cum too soon, so I force myself to quit the delicious ass play. I turn around to face the mirror, noticing my erection is now popping above the waistband. There’s a stream of precum leaking from the slit. (Shit, I wish I could suck my own cock!) Slowly, I start to peel off my jock. This part always makes me feel especially sexy— there’s just something so satisfying about revealing the horny dick that’s been hiding all day beneath the fabric.
I step out of my jock, pick it up from the floor, and bring it to my nose. Fuck…… There’s nothing like the scent of a jock. Especially one this ripe. For something that “should” smell so disgusting and possibly elicit a feeling of revulsion, it always turns me hard as a rock. I can’t get enough.
I know I need to cum. I quickly shove the wet jock into my mouth, tasting the sweat, musk, and precum. I roughly fuck my hole with my left hand, and furiously stroke my cock with my right. I cry out, my mouth gagging on pungent fabric.
As predicted, it’s all over within seconds.
Round two is bound to take place soon.
But… sadly, I’m still at work. My inevitable after-work jack off session is still hours away. It’s not even lunch time. Fuck.
I don’t yet understand how the schedule works at this office. Like, when are we allowed to take breaks? So, rather than asking anyone, I just decide for myself that I need to take a short recess. I halfway consider masturbating in the company restroom, but don’t really think that would be a good idea. Especially on my first day.
I wander around, trying to get the lay of the land. So many sexy guys everywhere I look. I imagine all of these men naked, as I kneel before them, my wide-open mouth ready to receive whatever they want to give me. Maybe I’ll end up enjoying myself here? Unless I get fired before I even have the chance to find out.
That’s when I notice you walk toward the restroom. I haven’t visited the office’s bathroom yet, so I’m not familiar with the configuration. Is it set up for one person at a time, or communal use? I decide to check it out. I’m also a little intrigued, because as you head in, you turn toward me and give me something that could be interpreted (possibly?) as “a look.” Hmmm… are you flirting? I want to find out.
As I enter, I notice you’re obviously occupying the room’s lone stall. I can see your wingtips beneath the partition, along with a bunched-up pair of dress trousers, and what appears to be a jockstrap. It’s red, just like mine. I walk over to the only urinal and take out my ever-hard dick. I’m standing about two feet from where you sit. I can hear you breathe and clear your throat. I try to pee, but it seems to be taking forever to get started. I’m so hard. My cock has no interest in peeing— it definitely has something else in mind.
Waiting for my urine stream to begin, I glance around the little tiled room. As I look over my shoulder into the long mirror that runs the length of wall above the sink, I notice that the door to your stall is cracked open about six inches. In those brief seconds I can just catch a quick glimpse of a narrow portion of your seated body, but I know one thing for sure.
You’re in there jacking it like a horndog.
And you want me to see.
I turn from the urinal, hard dick in hand. In the mirror I see you continue stroking yourself. You open the door a little wider. Our eyes lock. I’m no fool. I know a good situation when I see it, and I’m always ready to pounce on a sure thing. And you, my friend, look like a sure fucking thing.
A huge wave of superhuman confidence surges through me as I walk those few steps and round the corner. I let you stare at my dick for a few seconds, but then the thought occurs to me that I might like to play with you a little bit. I tuck myself back into my straining jock and smirk as I watch the expression on your face change.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll see that dick again,” I tease, “but you’re going to have to work for it.”
I figure if I’m going to be fired, I might as well go all in!
I step into the stall and slam the door behind me. Immediately, I bend down and give you a hard, rough kiss, practically raping your mouth with my tongue. You’re surprised that I’m being so forward. I’m a little surprised myself, but I want you to know that I’M in charge of this scenario. You may be my boss, but here inside this cubicle, with your little red jock puddled around your ankles, you’re my little bitch boy, and you’ll do whatever I want.
Standing up, I leave my jock in place as I pull my pants down to my thighs. I notice that you can’t take your eyes off my bulge. Your mouth is watering. I grasp the back of your head with both of my hands and pull you toward the front of my jock.
I know it must smell fucking ripe. I’ve been stress-sweating all morning due to my nervousness. AND I realize that this is actually the second (maybe third or fourth?) day I’ve worn this particular jockstrap! Last night, after I finished my 90-minute run, I remember thinking to myself, “Fuck this jock reeks, I really need to do laundry!” But, then this morning, in my pre-new-job frenzy, I’d mistakenly re-worn what has got to be about the world’s stinkiest jock. Really, the odor wafting from this thing could win prizes. Holy shit.
And now YOU are the one being forced to fully engage with this piece of wet, musky, filthy fabric. I’m holding your head tight, pressing you firmly. I’m pretty sure there’s no way in hell you’re able to breathe. You’ve stopped stroking yourself, and now you’re grasping my ass with both hands.
“Finger me, slut,” I command, “finger my fucking, sweaty hole.”
You tentatively, gently stick one finger partially inside. I sigh, shaking my head.
“No, no, no… not like that,” I say, reaching behind to take your hand in mine.
“When I say ‘finger me,’ I mean like this…”
I roughly force your finger deep into my asshole, as far as it can reach.
As you digitally penetrate my ass, I pull down my jock’s waistband just far enough for my dick to come popping out. You waste absolutely no time wrapping your lips around the head and then taking the whole length of the shaft down your throat. My pubes probably smell just about as rank as the jock. But I can tell you’re a total jock slut. You must be in heaven.
We’re displaying no awareness that we’re in a semi-public place. Anyone could walk in at any time, and there would be no question exactly what was taking place in our stall. Between my stream of full-voiced filthy words, and the gasping and gagging sounds coming from your busy mouth, it’s surprising that no one from the outer office has called the cops yet. We’re loud, out of control, but we just don’t seem to care.
As you savagely finger my stretched hole, I viciously fuck the hell out of your throat. I don’t hold back. You’re an excellent cocksucker, with tons of experience. (Obviously.) You know how to handle all of me. Even when it’s too much, and you start to gag and choke, you just keep on going. And the whole time you’re looking up at me with those sweet, sweet eyes that just seem to say “never stop fucking my face, Sir… never fucking stop!”
But I know that this WILL come to an end. Very soon. I can feel myself racing toward climax. There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s going to happen.
As much as I want to fill your lungs with my cum, I know I need to see my jizz painted all over your face. I pull my raging dick away from your wet red lips and quickly stoke myself to orgasm. Within seconds you’re completely covered in hot cum. It’s everywhere. On your face, your lips, your tongue. You have cum on your glasses, cum in your hair. Your fancy dress shirt is ruined. (Sorry, boss!) And your expensive-looking tie now sports a trail of milky spunk.
I realize you’re going to need to do LOTS of clean up work before going out to face the other workers. That thought makes me smile.
Chuckling, I slap my softening dick across your face a few times before bending down to give you another rough kiss. My cum tastes good in your mouth.
“We’re going to meet again tomorrow— right here,” I say. “I’ll be wearing this same jockstrap. And no, I won’t be doing laundry tonight. You’re going to start by eating my ass, and then I’m going to take off this jock and shove it into your mouth. Then I’m going to bend you over and absolutely… Fuck. The. Living. Shit. Out. Of. You.”
I pull up my pants and walk out, leaving you huddled in all your cum-soaked mess.
Making my way back to my desk, I have a big smile plastered across my face.
“You know,” I think to myself, “this place isn’t so bad. I bet I’m gonna like working here…”
