Back to the Office
The alarm's buzz drilled into my skull. I lurched up , fuck!
Something thick and foreign shifted inside me. Cold silicone. Heavy.
Memories flooded back Dave's hands, Nathan watching, the smack of skin not a dream.
The bed stood empty.
I stumbled to the bathroom, every step making that thing settle deeper. Bent over the sink, fingers probing between my cheeks
There. The flared base, slick and stubborn.
I hooked the finger ring.
A slow pull muscles clenching, resisting then that awful pop as the widest part stretched me open.
My reflection stared back: hair wild, eyes bloodshot, holding...
A neon-yellow banana ass plug.
Eight inches. Curved. Still glistening.
White streaks coated the shaft dried and fresh mixed together.
The scent hit me then: sex and salt and him.
I dropped it in the sink.
!Clatter!
The sound echoed like a verdict.
The bathroom looked ransacked. Sopping towels strewn like battle casualties. Tile slick underfoot. Dragged out? Fragmented memories surfaced: shoulder blades scraping cold porcelain, Dave’s laughter echoing off the walls.
I cranked the shower to arctic blast. Needles of water stabbed my skin as last night replayed in jagged cuts: Dave’s hands pinning my wrists. The smack of flesh on flesh. Shame curdled in my gut.
Can’t. Fucking. Continue like this.
I stumbled out dripping. Then came the gurgle deep, liquid, vicious. "SHIT!" I barely hit the toilet before my body betrayed me. Hot, acidic shame erupted. Once. Twice. A third violent heave left me trembling over the bowl, empty and raw.
I showered again and fast, scrubbing last night off my skin. Dave’s hands and laugh. The way he'd pinned me like a fucking specimen.
Time bled away. I tore through the closet navy slacks, striped shirt, polished shoes. Military precision.
Then the drawer. Empty except for five lace thongs and a note in Dave’s jagged scrawl:
"Wear one. Or go commando. Your choice, slut."
"FUCK!" The clock screamed. No time.
I grabbed the white one. Silk slithered up my thighs. The pouch strained , too small, too tight , forcing my cock and balls into obscene relief. A shelf of flesh.
I turned. The mirror didn’t lie.
The string vanished between my ass cheeks, framing my muscled ass. Every curve on display. Every inch was someone's wet dream.
My knuckles whitened on the sink.
This wasn’t underwear. It was a brand.
Don't panic. Get your shit together. Work bag. Keys. Phone.
The group chat notification glared up at me.
Photo: Nathan riding me like a rabid animal, my cock gripped in his fist like a joystick. His face ecstatic, awakened while I lay conquered beneath him. Fuck. Fury burned my throat.
Audio File:
, , , Dave's voice (guttural): , , , "Beg for it, bitch."
, , , My voice (broken): , , , "Fuck me, Dave "
, , , Grunt. Slap of skin.
, , , Me (sounding gutted): , , , "Feels so fucking goooood "
, , , Hissed like steam: , , , "HARDER!" Fuck me like a bitchhh !"
Sam's Text:
😉Love seeing you finally embrace how much you like to bottom, Top Boy.
The phone slipped in my sweaty palm.
Planned. Every drink. Every "chance" encounter. Jack's "delay." Nathan's surrender to Dave's commands his wide-eyed hunger. All traps laid by the two fuckers I called friends.
I tasted bile. They hadn't just turned me out, they were actively trying to break me. And the sickest part? My dick stirred at the memory.
I got to work. Things were, for the most part, back to normal. It was a Monday, and the usual buzz and hustle of the weekend cleanup was keeping everyone busy.
I was slated to do the weekly safety meeting for the office staff. Well, I saw no problem in that until I was standing in front of all the office personnel doing my presentation.
Some of the girls and guys were looking a little too long. The straights never really bothered, but I could easily spot the deviants: married yet open to play, and the ones who claimed religion but everyone knew had slept with half the office.
When it ended, I was relieved. I walked around handing out flyers and weekly topics. Some of these people must have had X-ray vision. They stared a little too long at my ass as I passed.
The rest of the day, I was chained to my cubicle and Monday meetings. That fucking lace.
Every shift in my chair made it scrape against my ass. Every step to the copier meant feeling that vise-like grip around my balls, that tiny cup digging in, demanding attention.
By 4 PM, I was half-hard and sweating through my shirt. The shift crawled toward its end. I stayed late to hammer out one last email. Karen’s muffled voice still droned from the conference room, the only other soul in the tomb-quiet building.
Empty. Except for me, this torture-device underwear, and the throbbing proof that my body hadn’t forgotten last night.
I packed my laptop, cables, and files I needed to review before the week ended, then headed out of my cubicle.
I walked by Karen’s meeting room and waved. Surprisingly, she pulled out her earbud and rushed to the door. “Can you make sure the main door is unlocked, before you leave? I need my husband to get in later. I’ll be stuck in this meeting for another hour.”
I just smiled and said yes.
“You’re the best,” she said, eyeing the tent in my pants and then my ass before darting back to her call.
I unlocked the main door, then hesitated.
The lower-level men’s room called to me two floors down, always empty, tiles holding their silence like a confessional. Better than risking curious eyes upstairs. That damn thong kept rubbing with every step, my swollen half-hardness. A constant, humiliating reminder of the games these assholes were playing.
I dropped my bags , way too much to carry leaving them piled outside the restroom.
The urinals bore those stupid "OUT OF ORDER" signs all except the last one. I stepped up, finally releasing that urgent pressure. The familiar shudder ran through me: abs tightening, balls lifting, that sweet relief flooding out.
"Hey, Dean. Let me help."
The urinal's chill bit into my palms when Bill's drawl hit my neck: "Need a hand?"
His body pressed flush against me Tennessee corn-fed muscle caging me against porcelain. Calloused fingers closed over mine on my cock. Warm. Rough. Uninvited.
“Nice and fat," he breathed, beard scraping my ear. Every straight woman's fantasy is pinning me where corporate cameras couldn't see.
My piss stream died mid-flow.
Not again. Not here.
But his thumb swiped my slit deliberately, testing and my hips jerked forward. Betrayed by the same body that remembered Sam's straps and Dave's commands.
Why does this feel like
Teeth sank into my trapezius. "Christ !" The moan ripped loose as his free hand tore at my belt. The buckle clattered like a jail cell slamming shut.
He took full control, thick fingers milking me to hardness as my slacks pooled at my ankles. "Knew you'd like this," he rasped, his tongue tracing my jugular. Ice and fire shot down my spine.
Fuck. Not again.
“Fuck yeah,” I heard him holler as he ran his fingers down to my thong and then between my cheeks. “I fucking knew it,” he said as he dragged me into the bathroom stall with excitement and bent me over the toilet. I grabbed onto the disabled rails that were placed to hold myself as things moved very fast. I heard the pop of something behind me and then the warm oil being spread between my ass. “I brought this for my good girl upstairs, but fuck it,” he said.
“AaaaAAAAAA,” I grunted as Bill slipped his massive head into my hole. “That's it, Dean. “Little by little,” he hissed. “Shit, Bill,” I said as the pain of being stretched took over. “That's it, Dean. “Take it,” he ordered as he slipped a little more of it in.
"Mmmph!" His fist squeezed my cock hard as he bottomed out. Pubes grinding against my ass. "Huge cock… total bottom slut," he hissed. Truth laced with spit.
He withdrew slowly. Slammed home.
"GAH!" White fire. Tears pricked my eyes.
"Big-dick boys always crave getting split open." Another brutal thrust. "Especially tough ones like you." His laughter vibrated against my back. "You've got to prove you can take it."
And fuck… I could.
Bill had me bent over, his thick, fat cock sliding in and out smoothly now, as my hole opened up to accommodate his thickness.
“Let’s give you what you really want, big boy.”
Bill’s thrusts turned urgent , punishing , each slam driving the air from my lungs, making me grunt. Fuck.
I went limp. Flaccid from the pain, his cock swinging like a metronome to his rhythm. Four inches of shame keeping time.
He growled into my back, “That’s it, stud; you can take it.”
Pain splintered through me then shifted. Became something molten. Electric. His thickness carving a path deeper than any touch had gone. My moan echoed off the stalls. Unrecognizable.
“Wake up,” he said, poking fun at my swinging flaccid cock. His hand fisted my cock. Squeezed. Blood surged, betraying me. Filling, thickening, aching under his grip.
He pistoned harder. Seeking. Claiming. I dissolved into sensation:
Bill’s hips hammered into me slap-slap-slap skin burning where he gripped my waist. His hands roamed my back like a man claiming territory, fingers digging into the valleys between my deltoids, thumbs tracing the tension in my shoulders.
“Fuck, Dean… built like a goddamn bull,” he grunted, palm sliding down the sweat-slick trench of my spine. “All this muscle…” His touch lingered on the swell of my ass mine, thick and hard-earned before spreading my ass so he could see his cock sink past my pink hole.
Pleasure struck like live wires. Every nerve screamed. I arched, driving back against him, my own cock now dripping onto the tiles below.
Two calloused fingers hooked my jaw, two at each end of my lips crude iron prying open a vault and wrenched my mouth wide.
Humiliation.
Hot spit slicked his knuckles as my throat convulsed, sucking reflexively around the intrusion.
His thumb ground against my molars. "Wider."
The command vibrated through bone. I obeyed chin trembling, lips stretched taut.
"Look at you," Bill rasped. "Pretty mouth made for this."
My own traitorous tongue swirled. Seeking.
Betrayal.
“That’s it.” His breath hitched. “Take it.”
Faster now. Erratic. My mouth was open, yet I was still grunting and moaning; my vision whited out. Ceiling tiles swimming. Sweat stinging my eyes.
I’d bent so many over sinks and toilet lids yanking hair to force their gaze up at these same fucking tiles as I wrecked them. Now my cheek ground against cold porcelain, vision blurring with every brutal slam. Bill’s thrusts echoed off the walls, each one vibrating through my bones.
Why was I moaning?
“Here we go, Dean.”
His hips hammered forward with force now, no holding back a freight train with no brakes now. My arms buckled; my face smashed against the toilet seat. Fuck, the smell of bleach, piss, and ass. Bill fisted my hair, pinning me like a specimen. "Stay. Down."
Thankfully After Sam and Dave, I was prepped well enough for this. Without it, Bill would’ve split me raw. Instead, he carved deeper, chasing his own peak with the single-minded hunger of a man claiming territory.
“More fucking MORE ” The words tore out of me, traitorous and hungry.
He growled, low and animal. “Damn right, slut.”
His pace turned savage. Not fucking , punishing. Every dive punched the air from my lungs and a squeal that I didn't even recognize as my own.
I choked on paradox:
Top’s mind is screaming.
Bottom’s body arching. ,
The tiles swam. White. Cold. Endless.
Just like the ones I’d made others stare at.
My upper body was over the toilet seat, and my arms were holding on to the edges as I struggled to keep my head up in the air.
“You like getting fucked, Dean,” Bill grunted.
“Yes, YeSSS.”
“You like this big fat cock, Stud?”
“Yessssss,” I replied as I felt that pang of shame flush over me.
That's a good fucking slutttt,” he said through gritted teeth.
His grip felt like iron holding me in place no matter how hard I had tried to shift my face. I was smelling ass from lord knows who, but shivers of pleasure radiating out of my ass and through my body were more than I could take.
Bill’s cock popped out of me a wet, hollow sound that echoed in the stall. My swollen hole clenched around nothing.
Empty.
I staggered up, legs trembling like a newborn colt. Palms slapped against cold tile to stay upright in the stall. It’s over, I thought.
But the disappointment curdled in my gut thick and sour.
Bill sprawled on the toilet seat, thighs spread like a throne. He didn’t bother tucking himself away. Just gripped his fat, spit-slicked cock and gave it two lazy strokes. "Look at that," he drawled, his thumb smearing precum over the head. "Still weeping for you."
My own 8 inches throbbed against my thigh hard, angry, and betrayed.
His eyes locked on mine, a challenge in the smirk. "C’mon, big boy." He patted his thigh. "Aren’t you curious how this fat dick feels… riding it, cowboy?"
The stall reeked of sweat and sex. My knees buckled.
Fuck dignity.
I stepped into the space between his legs.
Immediately without questioning , I sat on his lap facing away from him. I put my hands on his knees and began to fuck myself on his big, fat, juicy cock. It felt like a hot poker being shoved into me, but I ignored the pain and started to ride him. Our grunts echoed, one after another.
“Such a great fucking ass you have, Stud,” he moaned. He gripped my hips to hold me in place as he thrust upward into my quivering hole. “Next time, I want to see you in a jock,” he grunted in my ear. I curved my back so he could devour my neck.
“Uhhhmmm, guys?”
My eyes snapped open , , lust, surrender, pleasure, shattered in an instant. Owen, the maintenance guy. Leaning against the doorframe. Uncut cock in hand, glistening.
Fuck, shit!. The same Owen who’d eyed my caged bulge last week. Now he wore the look of a hunter who’d stumbled on gold.
I jerked backward, panic seizing me. Did Owen hear me begging? Did he hear the slaps of my ass as I pushed down to swallow the beer can Bill was fucking me with? but Bill’s arm clamped like steel, A smirk spreading across his face, enjoying my humiliation,
“Stuff that in his mouth,” Bill growled, fingers twisting in my hair. Agony. He wrenched me downward like a puppet on strings. I yelled in pain. But as Owen’s cock hit my tongue , salty, thick, alive , my hands locked onto his hips instead. Anchoring myself. Surrendering.
Owen didn’t hesitate. He shoved deep, groaning as my throat stretched. Bill’s laugh rumbled against my spine: “Hell yeah.”
Two men. One purpose.
To use me like a fucking thing.
No escape.
A guttural moan tore from Owen's chest. "That's it," Bill growled behind me, the words vibrating through my spine. "Show him how it's done."
Saliva slicked my chin, dripping onto discarded slacks. I remembered Karen's breakroom confessions of the hollow silences in Owen's sexless marriage. Now that pent-up hunger poured into me with terrifying force.
His body was solid, thick with labor-hardened muscle. When he moved, it was with the desperation of a man starved for release. Every thrust stole my breath, and every grip on my hips left bruises blooming beneath my clothes.
Tears mixed with sweat. Shame warred with the shock of my own traitorous body responding. This wasn't the controlled encounter I'd have chosen, yet under their hands, some dam inside me shattered. The sounds escaping me weren't mine: choked gasps, fractured pleas, the raw music of surrender.
Bill's joy was low in my ear. "Look at him, take it."
"Fuck, you look so hot, you faggot," Owen grunted. His words weren't desire, just the raw need of a pent-up straight guy using me as a warm hole. A release valve. Nothing more.
The knot in my gut tightened. No. Fuck no.
My balls drew up, that terrifying pressure building. Hands-free. Coming like some desperate bottom. No!
I can’t, I can’t, I struggled.
Panic flared, but Bill’s grip was iron. Owen’s hips pistoned.
"I’m gonna cummmmm " Owen choked.
"Fuck yeah, fill his throat!" Bill roared.
Owen’s cock swelled, then erupted thick, sour ropes hitting the back of my throat. "Swallow, faggot!" he hissed, slamming deeper. No choice. Gulp after bitter gulp.
Bill’s roar followed: "TAKE MINE TOO "
His pulse hammered against my ass. Then
"I’M COOOOMING!" My scream ripped loose as my body exploded. Convulsions wracked me. Shot after shot painted the tiles, my slacks, the fucking floor
No, not like this. I came like a true bottom slut, not a tough... just pure submission.
Bill and Owen shook hands over my trembling body. Gentlemen.
Face down on piss-wet tile. Shirt soaked with sweat and cum. Owen’s voice cut through the haze:
"I’m not gay."
My body, hands, and face were on the floor; my hips and legs were still on Bill's lap. I was breathing heavily, my cum on the slacks, the piss on the floor, and the cum and saliva in my mouth. Why did it feel so good?
“Owen, this ass is ready for more,” as I felt Bill spread my cheeks to show Owen my exposed pink hole. Trying to entice Owen to pound me some more.
“I'm not gay,” Owen repeated as if coming to his senses.
“I'm not gay, Owen, but an ass like this” Owen leaned in to see my well-muscled ass spread open for him to see. “Damn, that’s fucking hot, but no, I’m done,” as if Owen’s morals had now been actuated, yet his cock was back to full attention.
“Hold his ass apart for me,” and Owen did, as Bill stuffed 2 fingers into my hole.
I moaned.
“See? Dean here is a power bottom, Owen; they love getting fucked anyway they can….Dean will take it.” Bill educated as Owen struggled, his eyes opening wide. “For as long as you can give it,” Bill said as he shoved a third finger in, making me squeal. “Damn,” Owen said as he watched the 3 fingers sink and knead into my hole. “Watch,” Bill said as he scooped down and pulled my balls and hard cock up from under me for Owen to see.
“He fucking loves it,” Owen said in a whisper.
Bill put my legs down, and I literally was face down, ass up, on the bathroom floor. As both men went over to the urinal and peed, then they washed up and then started talking about the building maintenance, about Karen, and about the plans Bill had for them this coming weekend. I was left breathing on the floor like something they just used and discarded.
I got on my knees; my shirt was wet with sweat, spit, and cum, and my slacks under me were in much worse condition, as they smelled like piss and cum. I felt embarrassed and used and regretful of my loss of control.
“It was amazing, Dean; I can't wait to do this again,” Bill said with a smile, the one you give to the bottom you're sending home at the end of the night. “Let's make sure Karen does not find out,” he winked. As he adjusted his slacks and walked out.
I got on my feet feeling uneasy as I tried to pull my pants on. My balance is not quite what it should be yet.
“Dean, uhm,” nervously, “let's forget this happened… ok?”
“Yeah, I get it,” I said without looking at Owen. I was ashamed and embarrassed.
A hand gripped my shoulder.
"Look at yourself, Dean." His eyes burned into mine. "You’re a fucking stud, Dean. Don’t let this… hunger… turn you out. It won’t end well. You deserve better than…" He gestured at the men's room: "...this." Hell, better than us," , , and walked out without another word.
His words crashed into me, a message I needed to hear sending me into an emotional spiral; tears swelled in my eyes, but I resisted.
I scrambled into my clothes like a whore cleaning up after a Client.
My shirt clung cold and damp where I’d splashed off Bill’s piss and spit the cheap fabric reeking of shame and public restroom soap.
My slacks felt like cardboard, crusted and smeared. No time to change. No dignity left to salvage. I grabbed what I could find and headed out.
At the registration desk, I kept my eyes low. Out on the sidewalk, I practically ran to my car.
Fuck. Bill had my underwear as I counted the items in my hand sick fuck probably kept it like a trophy.
I yanked my gym bag open and changed right there in the parking lot: shorts, a wife beater, nothing underneath, and then finished with lots of body spray.
Keys in. The engine snarled to life. I didn’t head home. Sam or Dave would be lying in wait like wolves. Instead, I drove west with no destination, just asphalt and the roar of the engine to drown out the noise in my skull.
