Owned, Promoted, Loved
Shortly after Logan’s departure, Daniel stirred to the dawn slicing through the suite’s shutters, his arms draped possessively around Nick’s torso. The younger man murmured in his sleep, pressing back into the furnace of Daniel’s chest as though he would fuse their bodies if he could. Last night Nick had taken Logan’s eager aggression like a champion, all while staying focused on Daniel’s slightest command. The memory pulsed through Daniel’s veins like a stimulant, begging him to pull Nick close, flip him over, and claim him one more time before coffee.
But Daniel was a driven man, and he had other plans for today—Saturday.
Always first—exercise. Antonio’s Saturday sessions were legendary: no excuses, no mercy, and certainly no allowances for the debauchery their trainer knew perfectly well had happened last night. Daniel respected the man precisely for that ruthlessness, and Nick, already drifting into a half-dozen sets of weighted lunges, earned another silent checkmark in Daniel’s private ledger of pride.
Second—leisure. The afternoon shimmered in slow-motion. They glided laps in the pool, and Daniel spent much of the day admiring Nick’s newly shredded body wearing only—at Dainiel’s insistence—a white speedo, revealing everything. When not gazing at Nick, Daniel plotted the real event of the day. Tonight, at a special dinner at their favorite restaurant, he would share his news with Nick and he wanted it executed with the same precision he demanded in the boardroom and the dungeon alike.
Dusk brought elegant choreography. In Daniel’s dressing suite he laid out Nick’s clothes himself: slate dress slacks, a bone-white linen shirt, the narrow navy belt—an ensemble leaning more toward business than date night. Atop the folded trousers, impossible to ignore, rested Nick’s silver chastity cage. Nick’s breath caught; then, with a tiny nod, Nick took it from Daniel as if accepting both a gift and a promise.
Once at the restaurant, the maître d’ whisked them through the mirrored foyer to the prow-like corner table, sky bleeding lavender over the Dallas skyline. Daniel ordered for them without glancing at a menu; Nick’s eyelids flickered with suspicion and delight in equal measure. Two fingers of Yamazaki for Daniel, a Japanese beer for Nick. When the drinks landed, Daniel’s posture altered—the always-in-charge CEO about to spring a decisive move.
“Tonight is about your career,” he began, voice pitched to carry only to the man opposite. “Do you realize Monday marks your first year at Bishop-King?” Nick blinked, he hadn’t given it a thought. It had flown by; it felt like only a few months. Daniel leaned in, and enumerated Nick’s accomplishments with forensic clarity…the insights that drove imaginative creativity, the client diplomacy, the magnetism, and most importantly, his ability to lead and inspire those around him.
Then Daniel inhaled, eyes sharpening.
“I’ve kept public praise to a minimum,” he said. “Gossip has its own weather system, and I saw no need to feed the clouds. That ends now.”
With stunning clarity and decisiveness, he laid out the triad of announcements he would make Monday morning:
· Chief Strategy Officer. Nick would be promoted to this new role with agency-wide authority over strategic direction.
· Seat at the leadership table. Meaning Nick would now report directly to Daniel and be part of the agency decision-making team.
· Open acknowledgment of their relationship. Unapologetic, irrevocable, and entirely separate from the promotion.
Daniel stopped speaking. The evening breeze curled around them; traffic eight stories below hummed like distant surf.
Nick’s jaw slackened, eyes wet with astonishment. The promotion alone would have vaulted him into the agency’s stratosphere, but the public claim of affection—of ownership—rocked him to the tectonic core. He spoke, halting at first, then with mounting sincerity: accepting the risks, embracing the clarity. Daniel’s pulse accelerated as he realized how fiercely he wanted this man’s future interlaced with his own.
They sealed the moment with a kiss that tasted of whiskey and wine, fully aware of curious glances orbiting their table—and relishing every second of it.
They drove back through velvet streets, fingers intertwined on the console, Daniel’s free hand mapping leisurely circles along Nick’s quadriceps. At the house, Daniel poured a double Macallan, lit a cigar, then gestured toward the hallway. “Go get ready, then come to me.”
Nick vanished. Daniel stripped, choosing an armless bergère chair seldom used except as décor—tonight it would serve as throne. He sat, the liquor’s amber glow coiling in his stomach, anxiously sipping his whiskey, puffing his cigar, legs crossed intentionally concealing his manhood.
Nick returned, skin still damp from a shower, wearing only a jockstrap stretched taut over the cold gleam of the cage. Daniel uncrossed his legs; the invitation needed no translation. His thick, veiny cock, shiny with lube as if it were under a spotlight, was its own wordless invitation. Nick approached, amazed at how, after nearly a year together, every night with Daniel seemed like the first.
Daniel’s hand guided him to straddle him allowing Nick to position himself directly over Daniel’s raging erection and paused. Daniel carefully aligned the tip of his cock to Nick’s waiting hole. As always, he demanded precision.
“Drop….slowly,” Daniel ordered.
Once he was assured the lips of Nick’s searing hole had wrapped around the head of his cock, he looked Nick in the eye, and said, “That’s it…keep going.” Nick’s eyes fluttered as he sank, swallowing Daniel into the furnace of his body. A low, feral groan vibrated in both their chests.
Daniel’s revered cock had, once again, found its home. There was something about Nick’s hole that welcomed Daniel like none before. It was more than Nick’s youth. It was his need. His desire to please translated right down to the walls of his rectum, squeezing Daniel vigorously to convey his desire. Every time Daniel’s cock even brushed his g-spot, Nick shuddered with appreciation.
Nick was now completely impaled on Daniel’s cock. His instinct—no, his strong desire—was to use his legs to slide up and down it to hear Danile moan. But Daniel placed his hands squarely on Nick’s shoulders with command, “Don’t move.”
Daniel could feel he was as penetrated as deep as he ever had. There was no place more for his cock to go. Their eyes were locked in mortal combat, Daniel pulled him close and whispered, “Tell me what you feel”.
“You, Sir,” Nick whispered. “All of you.”
“What else?”
“Your control.” His voice trembled. “The way your cock fills me, owns me. I don’t have the words for it, but all I know is that when you’re inside me…like this...I feel protected. That you’ll take care of me.”
“Now squeeze that hole of yours…show me how much you care”, Danile ordered.
Nick was in heaven. He squeezed as tightly as he could and released. Squeezed, and released.
“Keep doing that, and slide up and down me”, Danile added.
Nick didn’t need to say a word. His feet were squarely on the floor so it was easy to respond. Staring intensely into each other’s eyes, Daniel guided Nick to slide his pulsating hole up and down his throbbing cock. Slowly. Meaningfully. There was nothing rushed about this encounter. Daniel wanted this to mean something.
“Keep going, boy. Feel me inside you. Savor it,” Daniel said with a hint of a smile.
Nick couldn’t help but to quicken his pace. His own cock was throbbing inside its cage, but the denial was more than compensated for by watching his Master’s own rapture. This was pure heaven for both of them.
Daniel’s heartbeat was accelerating; Nick knew he was close.
“Stop!” Daniel whispered.
Pulling Nick even closer, he glanced down at the silver prison pressed between their abdomens.
“Look what you’re doing to my cock, little man. What about yours?” Daniel pressed.
“It isn’t mine,” Nick said, air thinning in his lungs. “It’s yours.”
With that answer, Daniel seized Nick’s face with his hands and pulled him as close to his as he could. Their eyes were barely inches apart and Daniel’s stare burned a hole through Nick. Without breaking eye contact, Daniel began to slowly thrust in and out of Nick’s tight hole with such intensity they both thought their hearts would explode from their chests. Sweat poured down their faces. Daniel gripped Nick’s head so tight he thought he might crush it.
“Feel me inside you, boy? What are you feeling?” Daniel panted.
"Love, Sir,” was the most genuine response Nick could fathom.
“We’ll never be closer than this moment”, Daniel added. “Feel that. Feel ME.”
Nick did everything possible to grind down even farther onto Daniel’s cock. He wanted to feel every centimeter of him.
Daniel’s thrusting became even more intense, faster, more deliberate. Then he pulled Nick’s lips to his and nearly swallowed his face with a kiss so passionate, neither of them could breathe. If it were physically possible, they would’ve fused into one being, they were that close. Daniel was squeezing Nick with such intensity, he literally couldn’t breathe.
And then it happened. Daniel exploded into Nick with such force that Daniel roared and all Nick could do was whimper. Daniel came..and came…and came, until the hot cream oozed down both of their legs onto the chair. But Daniel wouldn’t loosen his embrace. Not even a little. They stayed face-to-face, until Daniel pulled Nick back into a full bear hug, but again, wouldn’t release.
Still fully penetrated and holding Nick in his embrace, Daniel whispered. “I love you little man. More than you’ll ever know. And on Monday, the world will know we’re in love. But only we will know whose boy you are. Are you ready for that, Nick?”
Nick’s reply was a surrender wrapped in exultation. “More than ever, sir.”
***
Sunday morning arrived with quiet sunlight slipping through the bedroom blinds. Daniel stirred first, glancing at his phone as he did every morning. A news alert waited—media mention of him. Not unusual for a high-profile CEO, but Sunday was an odd time for business news.
He tapped the notification.
His breath caught.
There, front and center on the society page of the Dallas Morning News, was a photo from the Preston-Langford wedding: Daniel in classic black tie, flanked by Nick on his right and Logan on his left. All three of them devastating in formalwear—handsome, confident, magnetic.
The caption burned beneath the photo:
Spotted together at the high-profile wedding of Charlotte Preston and Jameson Langford III were Bishop & King's powerful CEO Daniel King (center) and his dashing plus-one, Nick Courser (right). The pair, Dallas society's new “It couple”, were also notably accompanied by former Cowboys quarterback Logan Shields (left)—whose own love life continues to fuel intrigue.
Daniel blinked. “Fuck,” he muttered, then smiled—despite himself.
They did look good. Striking, even. Nick’s youthful beauty, Logan’s polished swagger, and his own commanding center weight—it was hard to argue with the impact. But still, this? Society’s “It couple”?
He glanced down. Nick lay asleep beside him, soft and warm under the covers, lips slightly parted in innocent slumber. Without a care in the world.
That would change.
Daniel exhaled slowly. He’d meant to go public soon—Monday, to be exact—but being scooped by the press made it feel like a loss of control. And that, he didn’t enjoy. He was irritated with himself for the exposure, but deep down, he knew this moment was inevitable. Attending Friday night’s high profile wedding as a couple hadn’t exactly been discreet.
He rubbed his temples, conflicted.
Then again—better to own the narrative than chase it.
When Nick stirred, Daniel gathered him gently, pulled him up into his chest, and cradled him with one arm. “Morning,” he said softly.
Nick blinked up. “Hi.” His voice was drowsy, tender. Trusting.
Daniel kissed the top of his head, then eased into the conversation. He spoke about what the previous night meant. About how much he cared for Nick. About how their connection had evolved into something deeper, and real. Then he showed him the article.
Nick froze.
“You wanna read it?” Daniel asked.
Nick nodded. When Daniel read the headline aloud, Nick’s face went pale. Then pink. Then stunned.
“The world knows,” he whispered, covering his face. “Oh my God, the world knows…”
Daniel waited.
Then, slowly, Nick dropped his hands. He looked at Daniel—really looked—and kissed him. Soft at first, then with the unmistakable weight of meaning. Not panic. Not fear.
But commitment.
They spent Sunday dodging texts and calls, replying to only the most pressing messages with a consistent, simple line: The article is accurate. We had planned to share the news Monday.
By evening, both were exhausted. But aligned. The story wasn’t stolen—it was just early.
Monday hit like a hurricane.
Daniel convened his senior leadership team first thing—earlier than originally scheduled. He walked into the boardroom with the same cool composure he always carried, but everyone could feel the energy shift.
He laid it out plainly.
“Yes, the article is true. Nick and I are in a relationship. No, that relationship is not the reason for his new role. His work speaks for itself.”
There were raised eyebrows, a few awkward silences, but no direct challenges. The team knew better than to question Daniel’s authority—but they also knew Nick’s contributions had been significant. The response, in the end, was professional, if cautiously watchful.
Nick, meanwhile, met with his friends over lunch—an impromptu gathering that felt more like a celebration than a confrontation. Nathan was the first to tease him. “The ‘It’ couple, huh? You bitch.”
Nick rolled his eyes, smiling through his embarrassment. “Not my headline.”
“Whatever,” Nathan said, raising his glass. “To our little executive slut. May your rise be dramatic and your sex tape profitable.”
Later that day, a text buzzed.
Nathan: Dude. You and I are going out drinking tonight. I want to hear EVERYTHING. No getting out of it. See you at 6:30.
The Board of Directors was less amused.
In the closed-door meeting, concern wasn’t subtle. The optics were murky. A CEO dating a junior hire—no matter the performance—raised questions about favoritism, judgment, even legal exposure. Daniel listened calmly, then delivered the truth:
“I understand your concern. But I own a controlling stake in this agency, and I trust my instincts. Nick has earned his role here. Our relationship is separate from his work—and if anyone on this Board can show me performance metrics that suggest otherwise, I’m all ears.”
No one could. So the matter was closed.
For now.
The monthly, all-agency Town Hall Tuesday afternoon, long scheduled, had suddenly become the most anticipated meeting in the agency’s history. More than 200 employees packed into the space. Some were standing in the back, craning their necks. The buzz was electric.
Daniel stood off-stage, watching the crowd settle. He hadn’t felt nerves in years—but today, a flicker of adrenaline stirred in his chest.
Nick waited too, undecided about where to sit. The Leadership Team’s front row was technically his now, but it felt premature. Instead, he gravitated toward his usual seat with Nathan, Megan, and Lena. They welcomed him with mock applause, teasing him mercilessly.
When Daniel stepped forward, the room fell silent in an instant.
He smiled faintly at the rare sight.
Then he began.
“Thank you all for making time today. I know how busy each of you are—and I also know this meeting isn’t exactly business as usual.”
“You’ve probably seen the news. Or the photo. Or heard whispers in the hall.
So let me say it directly.
Yes, the report is true. Nick Courser and I are in a relationship. We didn’t plan to make it public over the weekend, but the press did what the press does—and now, here we are.
I want to be clear about three things.
First—Nick has been promoted to Chief Strategy Officer, with agency-wide responsibility for creative direction. That decision is based on merit. He has earned it. His insights helped us land one of the most important accounts in recent history, and his thinking has reshaped how we approach audience strategy. He’s good. Really good.
Second—He will now report directly to me and be a full member of the Executive Leadership Team. That means he’ll have a seat at this table, helping shape the future of Bishop & King. That role comes with great responsibility, and Nick understands that better than anyone.
Third—Yes, we’re together. Yes, we’re happy. And no, I won’t apologize for that. Our personal relationship is entirely separate from Nick’s promotion. He’s here because he belongs here. And I trust every one of you to see the difference.
That’s all.
Nick—please stand.”
Nick stood slowly, cheeks flushing red, heart hammering as 200 heads turned toward him. The applause started in pockets—then swelled into something genuine. Earnest. Warm.
Daniel gestured toward the front row. “Join your team.”
Nick walked forward, each step a new chapter, a new identity. His friends grinned and whooped softly. Daniel didn’t smile—but the glint in his eye said everything.
By the time the applause faded, Nick was seated in his new place—shoulders back, pulse racing.
His world had changed.
And he was exactly where he was meant to be.
