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Maxwell’s heart rate had rocketed up at the sight of the flat black box laying in the center of his bed. It was delivered the evening before with a note that read: ‘For Saturday, No Peeking.’
There was no signature because there was only one person it could have come from.
There was no mention of a punishment for peeking and no way for Thomas to somehow know even if he did.
Thomas had full confidence in Maxwell’s ability to be good. To sit there all night and work himself up into a frenzy at just the tantalizing possibility of what was in the box. Thomas knows how much Maxwell likes to be tortured with the prospect of ‘right there just out of reach.’
Now it is Saturday, the night of the office holiday party, and Maxwell has been very good. He steps out of the bathroom in his silk robe with Thomas’s initials embroidered on the breast pocket, He’s primped, primed, and prepped every inch of himself and as he opens the flat black box he thinks ‘I earned this.’
His breath catches in his throat at the first feel of the fabric inside. Silky, a smooth slide that makes him think of the wind brushing cool through his fingers. With each piece, he pulls out of the box his heart starts to fill out in his chest to see such fine, fine things all chosen for him.
Thomas has given him so many wonderful presents. Maxwell loosens his robe and sets about wrapping the present he will give to Thomas in return.
As he sits on the edge of his bed and rolls his stockings over his delicately pointed toes and up his thighs he imagines Thomas’s hands dressing him. He settles the hems just so. They’re meticulously even, allowing the same amount of pudge to spill over on either side before he clips them to his garter. Thomas always appreciates the details.
He marvels at the feeling of the pale red silk over his most private parts and the tickle of embroidery at his seams.
When he fastens his chest into the see-through bralette he marvels at how so flimsy a fabric can change the topography of his body so totally and mold it into something to be looked at, desired, and held.
Once he has all of his underthings on and arranged just right he takes in his figure in his full-length mirror. He squints. He tries to look at himself with the words Thomas will sometimes whisper about him, ‘Gorgeous,’ ‘Pretty,’ and ‘Precious’.
He can see it.
He watches it disappear underneath the suit Thomas picked out for him. As he buttons up his shirt he tries back on words like ‘handsome’ and ‘sharp dressed’ and finds he likes them better when there is ‘pretty’ underneath.
It’s those words he carries all the way to the party, through all of the sideways looks and disingenuous conversations that flood the transformed floor of the office building.
It takes a while for Thomas to make his appearance. As their elusive CEO, he has to be suitably late, after all. It’s just shy of an hour that Maxwell has been not so subtly watching the door when he arrives.
He’s a silhouette for a second from the light spilling in the door behind him. A caricature of broad shoulders and slim waist and perfectly fitted pants down miles of leg. The rest of him enters the room and his intense gaze alights straight on Maxwell, the clothes he bought for him serving as a beacon through the sea of sycophants who surge forward to greet him and shake his hand.
The feeling of the focus of someone so powerful on Maxwell spreads from his core through his limbs like the burn from an expensive scotch.
Thomas doesn’t keep him waiting much longer. His look lingers and sticks and he dismisses the others and makes his way to Maxwell’s side. The way he doesn’t exchange many words before grabbing the crook of his elbow with a low “Come.” has Maxwell wondering not for the first time exactly who is leading who around by the dick in their little arrangement.
He finds he doesn't care when he’s shoved unceremoniously into the elevator and backed up against the rail, caged in by Thomas’s arms before the doors even finish closing on the party.
“Punch in the floor for my office,” Thomas says before he leans in to nip at Maxwell’s neck and leaves him to figure out how to reach around him for the right button.
He manages it only by arching forward and groaning as Thomas follows him his mouth firmly latched onto Maxwell’s neck.
Maxwell doesn’t move to straighten up or to kiss Thomas back. He hasn’t been given permission yet so he allows himself to be manhandled, shaking into positions he’s only able to hold because of the sure span of Thomas’s fingers around his waist and at his lower back.
When the elevator dings Thomas is off of him in a second, holding him upright at arm's length with one hand and wiping the spit from his mouth with the other. The outstretched hand shifts and grabs Maxwell’s tie slipping it all the way out of his shirt and using it like a leash as he turns and enters the office with Maxwell trailing behind.
“Jacket off. Sit on the desk. Legs spread.” Thomas says, his voice gone even again. He lets go of Maxwell’s tie and watches him cross the room appreciatively.
The office is big, a whole corner of the building, complete with a large desk, a couch, and a sitting area for meetings with high-value clients. The room is dim, the only light coming from floor-to-ceiling windows that expose the city skyline.
Maxwell settles on the desk and tilts his head down in supplication.
He sees Thomas’s shoes enter his field of vision first and then his hands gripping at Maxwell's thighs and pushing them further apart until he can feel a bit of a stretch.
“I said spread them.” Thomas reiterates firmly.
“Yes sir,” Maxwell says, his voice light and airy as he breathes into the stretch and fights not to arch further into Thomas’s hold.
“Good boy,” Thomas says.
He releases Maxwell’s thighs, humming approvingly as his legs shake with the effort of remaining how he placed them. His hands don’t go far, skating up his pants legs, the feeling of the two layers between them driving Max wild. Thomas lifts his hands before they get too close to Max’s crotch and Maxwell finds himself twitching and nearly choking on an aborted moan.
Thomas steps back and points at Maxwell’s shirt.
“Off.”
Maxwell reaches for his tie and loosens it then looks at Thomas with a questioning eyebrow.
“Leave it. Just the shirt.” Thomas clarifies and Maxwell flips the tail of the tie out of the way to take care of his buttons.
He pulls the shirt out of his pants and finishes unbuttoning it to slip it off both of his shoulders and look up at Thomas through his eyelashes. He sits on the desk, shirt off, legs spread, all for Thomas’s pleasure, unable to feel any self-consciousness about the way his stomach protrudes between his garter and the waist of his pants or any of his other perceived shortcomings.
Not when Thomas is swooping forward, taking up the space between Maxwell’s legs and trailing his fingers underneath the straps of his bralette. He pulls them up a bit to watch Maxwell’s chest lift and then let it drop. He skims over the top of the fabric on his way down past the garter to pull off Maxwell’s unfastened belt. He rolls it in one hand and places it on the desk then dives back in. reaching both hands in Maxwells’s pants to grab the hem of his silky underwear and pull at it slowly.
Maxwell feels the smooth fabric become taunt, cradling his cock and balls, and hisses as Thomas increases the pressure before letting them snap back into place.
“Pants off too. I want to see it all.” Thomas says the order gaining a little urgency as he tries to work them down over Maxwell’s hips. Between the two of them, they get him divested of his clothing and back in his spread-legged position atop the desk. Maxwell didn’t even consider cheating by closing his legs a little, instead, he spreads them wide and grows under Thomas’s bright-eyed stare.
Thomas steps away again and tuts at Maxwell’s preening, not wanting it to go to his head. “Now, now, is that any way to treat my gifts?” Thomas asks, his voice curving with mock disappointment as he gestures towards Maxwell’s suit crumpled on the desk and the floor. “One might think you don’t appreciate the fine things I buy you.”
“I do appreciate them, sir.”
“Then why don’t you pick them up and fold them real nice?”
“Yes sir.”
Maxwell slides off the desk, turning his back to Thomas to retrieve his shirt and fold it neatly placing it beside his suit jacket. When he bends down to retrieve the pants he makes sure Thomas has a nice view of his ass and stretches his back long, silently thanking the yoga he’d been adding to his morning routine.
After folding the clothes he turns to face Thomas, standing there in just his lingerie and tie, his head bowed and hands clasped as he waited for further instruction.
“That’s more like it,” Thomas croons. “Now how do you say thank you?”
Maxwell drops to his knees and walks forward on them, careful not to let his stockings catch in the rough spun rug. He kneels in front of Thomas, lifting his eyes to where the crotch of his pants is straining forward.
“Good boy,” Thomas says as he unfastens his belt and opened his pants just enough to guide his considerable length out and feed it to Maxwell’s waiting mouth.
He teases Maxwell’s plush bottom lip for a minute, wiping a small drop of pre there just to see Maxwell’s tongue dart out instinctually to taste. He could chide him for his eagerness but that wet brush has him wanting more so he pushes past and feeds his cock inch by inch until he feels the warm, wet, and willing press of Maxwell’s soft palate just as pliant as the rest of him.
Thomas lets his head drop back and groans, feeling the effect shudder through Maxwell as he drinks in the appreciation.
“You’re so good for me. Precious Baby, Sweet Pet.”
Maxwell fervently hums his agreement through his sucking and swallowing. Thomas threads his hands through Maxwell’s hair getting a good grip and urging him into bobbing his head in earnest.
Wet sliding sounds fill the darkened office. Thomas looks down to see Maxwell’s eyes as wet and glistening as the stretch of his lips around Thomas’s cock. He watches him like that obediently making eye contact even as his eyes flutter and threaten to slide shut so he can sink into the sweet sensation of being used.
“Stop,” Thomas says, suddenly too close to the edge with too much more he wants.
Like a spell, Maxwell freezes just holding Thomas in his mouth while he catches his breath and snarls at the feeling of his peak slipping through his grasp.
“Go to the window.” Thomas orders.
Maxwell sits back and pulls off with a slurp and then stands and heads for the window.
They’re too high up for anyone to plausibly see him but that doesn’t stop a thrill from racing up Maxwell’s spine at the feeling of wearing next to nothing while framed by the whole of the city. Not just the feeling of being seen but also the knowledge that Thomas wants to show him off.
Thomas has him settle with arms up, palms on the glass to brace himself, and legs slightly spread.
He comes up behind him and touches Maxwell over his panties. Maxwell feels them dampen with sweat and precome another spurt eking out between Thomas’s fingers at the feeling of defiling something so beautiful. Thomas pulls the string to one side, sliding another finger in Maxwell’s crack to play with the plug that has been nestled there all evening.
“You are such a perfect slut.” Thomas praises as he yanks down Maxwell’s panties to bare his ass to Thomas and his cock to the world beyond the window.
Maxwell catches the faint reflection of himself in the glass a ghostly figure debauched and overcome by pleasure with Thomas’s even fainter reflection still clothed and closing in behind him. The rush of power he feels makes his head spin.
Thomas teases the plug free, replacing it with three slick fingers and holding his place in Maxwell’s fever-hot body with the matter-of-fact motions of a man marking his place in the pages of a well-loved novel.
“Shall I fuck you right here then, Pet? Let the whole city see how well I treat you, huh Baby.”
“Yes, Thomas, Sir. Please!” Maxwell chants, his back bowing into the window as Thomas crooks the three fingers inside of him and presses.
“Alright.” Thomas slicks himself up and removes his fingers to start the slow slide in. “Keep begging for it though, Pet. I want them to hear you downstairs.”
Maxwell moans full-voiced at the reminder of all of his coworkers downstairs small talking around the punch bowl while the most powerful man at the company is balls deep in Maxwell dozens of floors above their heads.
Thomas fucks him against the window where he’s pinned like a butterfly for observation. He fucks him till his hands, slick with sweat, slide on the glass and he bends forward so his face presses into the cool surface with every thrust. His moans fall out of his mouth so easily, Maxwell feels the vibrations of them thrown back in his face by the glass, and he crescendos at the thought of being heard, being seen.
Thomas fucks him there until Maxwell comes shouting and writhing in his arms, spurting his release all over the previously pristine glass. His clench forces Thomas out and he holds Maxwell up in sure arms when his knees fail.
As soon as he is able to stand on his own again Thomas guides him away from the window towards the plush leather couch he keeps for visitors. Instead of guiding Maxwell to sit, he has him kneel on the cushions and bend forward resting his torso along the back.
“You did so well. So well, Pet. Now you can just relax and take it.”
Maxwell’s head lolls as Thomas maneuvers his tie up over his neck and fits the knot in his mouth tightening it to form a makeshift gag.
“There you are, don’t worry about speaking anymore, Baby.”
Thomas removes his belt and loops it around Maxwell's wrists, binding them together at the small of his back.
“Look at you, so pretty, all ruined for me, covered in me, the clothes I bought, the orgasm I gave you.”
Maxwell moans frantically around the tie in his mouth desperate to express how much he likes it.
“Shh, I know, Pretty Baby, no need to thank me, Pet. This is all I need” Thomas says as he pushes home into Maxwell again, one hand on the belt binding his wrists together and the other on his flank, alternating between grasping and soothing as Maxwell's sensitive hole twitches around him. “This is the best present I could’ve asked for.”
Thomas lets loose and finally focuses on running down his release, grunting and puffing with every slapping thrust as Maxwell’s body is jolted back and forth across the couch.
When he comes it isn’t as loud as Maxwell but it stretches and shatters as he keeps thrusting until the oversensitivity overpowers the last little bit of pleasure.
In the aftermath Thomas is gentle. Maxwell drifts through the process of being released from his makeshift bonds, cleaned up, and stripped out of his finery.
He returns to his body with the feeling of Thomas slipping his plug back in and settling them chest to back sideways on the couch so Maxwell is bracketed by his legs. He gets gentle kisses over the points of his shoulder as Thomas slips off his bralette and replaces it with his large hands, cupping him to ward away the chill.
Thomas tightens his hold, hugging Maxwell to him and nuzzling to kiss his neck. He’s far more gentle than he was in the elevator now that the need has burned off and left affection in its wake.
“I wish I could take you home with me,” Thomas says.
Maxwell frowns, a fraction of the calm that blankets him after a scene receding, as his familiar doubts poke their heads in.
“You could take me, you know. I like being yours.” Maxwell says his voice only wavering a little with the admission, obvious as it must seem.
An image comes to him unbidden of him opening his chest the same way he opened his shirt to show Thomas the tiny thing inside that longs to be held like this and known forever.
“If I take you home I’d never want to let you leave,” Thomas says, his voice resigned and tired as if his statement doesn’t flood Maxwell’s heart like a second orgasm.
“Then I’d say you know how to properly treat your present.” Maxwell answers.
He twists around and finally kisses Thomas on the lips.