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Dean Smith was a buttoned-up individual. Everything was precise, measured, and controlled. He ran his daily staff meetings with a cool professionalism that left others with no doubts as to his qualifications for the position he held. His presentations to the senior members of management were always heralded for their sheer brilliance. He had successfully managed to attract ten multi-million-dollar contracts to Sandover & Associates in the last six months alone.
Dean was brilliant, successful, driven, and certain to be the Vice President of Sales and Marketing by the time he was forty. However, for all of his achievements, there was something vital missing from his life.
Because Dean Smith was little more than a miserable and lonely man who was craving the touch of another warm body. His power smoothies never quenched the thirst that raged inside him. His kale salads could never satisfy his cravings to devour whoever fell into his bed. Or even better yet, let Dean be devoured. Eaten whole until all that was left was a pile of picked-clean bones piled neatly in his bed.
He looked up from his seat at the bar, and noted the hazel eyes that were boring their way into his very soul. Looking as if the magnificent beast that they were attached to wanted to do nothing more than to twist Dean into a pretzel and force him to comply with every hidden desire that he didn’t even realize was lurking deep within him. Dean knew the face, one of the IT techs who had most recently helped him with the group printer late one night just the other week.
This Sam Wesson was a vision of highly sculpted perfection. So damn tall, with a set of pecs that probably left the gym equipment begging for mercy from his attentions. Bulging biceps that could easily break Dean in half if given the chance, and the magnificence of the rest of, well, everything, that was merely hinted at under his yellow polo and khaki’s every single time he bent over, or squatted down, or simply moved, while working on some piece of office equipment. Dean barely bit back the whine, as he imagined being manhandled into submission, before he was split open on the kid’s monster cock.
Dean was able to have these thoughts because he was pleasantly buzzed, having had two double shots of top shelf whiskey, especially after little more than a sad kale salad and some granola for lunch. He kept his emerald-green eyes locked onto his hoped for fuck-buddy as he meandered over. Moving through the crowd as though they didn’t merit his time. His eyes telegraphing who he felt would deserve some of his considerable attention. Dean watched with eager anticipation as Sam placed one massive hand down flat against the top of the highly polished bar, and then shivered as he heard the confident baritone as it rolled over him. “Wanna get out of here?”
Dean arched one dark blonde eyebrow high, “What? Not even going to try to seduce me?”
Sam chuckled, low and dirty for a moment, then arched his own chestnut brown eyebrow. “No, because I thought that you would have run the numbers and calculated that the less time spent bothering with stupid social ritual would only increase the amount of time that I would be able to take you apart. Until all that’s left is a,” Dean swallowed hard as that soft pink tongue darted out, licking over Sam’s full lower lip, “Whimpering.” Sam leaned in closer, “Quivering.” His voice shifted deeper, “Sobbing.” Dean could feel his hot breath as he whispered in his freckle-covered ear, “Fucked out little sub.”
Dean wanted to offer a witty rejoinder. Some kind of verbal sparing to show that he wasn’t some little push-over. But just then, as Sam allowed the entirety of his incredible body to let Dean know just how insignificant he was, words escaped him. Ran right the fuck out on this titillating conversation. So, it was hardly surprising that Dean could only nod, and then feel excitement course through his body as Sam grabbed one of his shoulders, turned him around, and then began to escort him out of the bar. Dean was proud of himself that he at least remembered to fish a tip out of his wallet for the bartender before he was being led towards what he hoped would be the greatest night of his life.
The cab ride back to Dean’s condo had been nothing short of thrilling for the passengers. The driver, however, was not quite as excited. Dean lost count of how many dirty looks had gotten shot into the backseat before they finally pulled up in front of his building. Percy, the (thankfully) very discreet doorman, opened the door for them without a word, and then Dean was being dragged towards the bank of elevators. Once those doors had closed behind them, Dean found himself pinned into the corner, a thumb having slid into his mouth, as that filthy voice whispered into his ear, “You gonna let me use every hole? Huh?” Dean wasn’t going to admit to the whimper that fell past his plush lips, not unless it was the only way to keep this debauched fantasy from coming to an end.
Mrs. Jones got quite the unexpected show as the elevator doors opened, but Dean could frankly give zero fucks about her indignant scoff as he was directed towards his front door. A quick slide of his key fob, and the green light illuminated, and then they were finally alone behind closed doors. If Dean thought that Sam had been uninhibited before, he had been wildly mistaken. It was like a rabid dog had finally been let off of his chain and Dean was the juicy steak that was his to be devoured.
Dean found himself on his knees, after that massive hand had landed on his shoulder and pushed him down. The silver belt buckle gleamed in the lamplight as Dean’s trembling fingers worked Sam’s belt free. Staring up into those dark hazel eyes, watching as the wickedly dirty smile slowly curved into those full lips. Dean felt fingers thread through the short hair at the back of his head, as he pulled Sam’s monster cock free of his nondescript khakis, began to silently pray that he had enough lube on hand, because he wasn’t going to stop until the mere thought of being able to control any of his muscles had long since fled the building. Sam’s fingers held his head tight, as he moved Dean’s neck into an arch, so that he looked like a supplicant, ready to offer all in exchange to the deity that had graced him with his presence. Sam’s other hand gripped his hard cock as he traced over Dean’s high cheekbones, leaving a smear of pre-come as he attempted to play connect the dots with Dean’s freckles.
Dean was vibrating by the time Sam finally relented and slid his cock between the plush lips that had parted so willingly. Dean savored the weight on his tongue, as it slid home, not stopping until it hit the back of his pliant throat. Dean wanted to laugh at the look of surprise on Sam’s face, but he decided to forego that and focus on swallowing down every single inch that he could. “God, you’re an even bigger freak than I thought you would be.” Dean could hear the awe in the husky baritone, took the words for the compliment that they were, hollowed his cheeks and swallowed, just to demonstrate the skills that went along with the lips that had left more than one man suggestively insinuating that Dean’s mouth was only good for one thing. They hadn’t been quite right, but they also hadn’t been entirely wrong.
His mouth was good for so many things, but as in all of his endeavors, once he set his mind to it, he became the very damn best. And sucking cock was something he lived for. Hearing whoever was above him fall apart as he doled out his considerable talents. Feeling the surge of desire when they could hardly control themselves, not once they experienced his incredible abilities firsthand. Dean had his nose buried in Sam’s curly hairs, while his throat worked, as his tongue stroked, and as his fingers rolled the balls that were going to be slapping his ass so very soon.
Dean sighed as Sam’s cock was taken away, as he was drug up, and then pushed towards the couch. He was bent over the back of the overstuffed ode to boredom, and then his pants were being wrenched down, his boxer briefs ripped off, and then he moaned as he felt a hot mouth latch on. This wasn’t foreplay, this was quick and dirty prep work, and if Dean didn’t speak up, this night might not be as enjoyable as he would like. “The lubes…” A hand across his mouth silenced him, and then the gruff words sent a shiver down his spine.
“Holes don’t give direction. They take what is given to them.” Sam’s wet tongue was shoving in deep then, as both of his hands grabbed onto one luscious cheek each, while his thumbs hooked into the puckered hole and fucking pulled. Dean buried his face against the couch cushion, as he screamed. Could feel each wet stroke, deep shove, and forceful suck. Sam’s mouth was just as talented as Dean’s, and clearly, he wasn’t afraid to give back an equal measure of what he had received. Dean barely heard the rip over the sound of his harsh breathing, but then he felt the lube coat his hole, just before the first thick finger slid inside.
Dean shook as Sam worked him over, as one finger became two, then three, and then Sam was standing. Another tear, followed by the crinkle announced that Sam had slid on a condom, and then Dean felt the thick head press against his worked open hole. “You better hold on to something.” Those words offered little comfort, but before Dean could do anything, Sam was sliding home, and Dean had his face buried in the cushions once more lest Mrs. Jones call the cops on them for disturbing the peace. The stretch and burn were utterly delicious, and he had barely recovered from being speared open when Sam was pulling back out. Dean almost screamed again as his massive fuck-buddy slammed back in, and then he was just holding on for dear life.
Dean could hardly believe the position he was currently in. Still fully dressed in his suit, except for his pants that had only been lowered to about halfway down his thighs, being railed by his resident IT tech who had barely done more than undo his pants and pull out his cock. Dean’s fingers were scrambling for anything to hold onto as Sam kept pounding into him. Even with the force from the thrusts, Sam had such a bruising grip on Dean’s hips that he wasn’t getting any friction from his cock rubbing against the couch. Every nerve ending was on fire as he was held down and used. Having been turned into little more than a glorified flesh light.
“I’ve seen you. Sitting behind your big desk. Always so put together.” Sam shifted his hips then, so that the head of his cock was sliding over that little bundle of nerves, and Dean stiffened as his pleasure multiplied exponentially. “What do you think they would say if they could see you now? Being used like this?” Dean moaned as the words washed over him, felt his balls draw up, knew he was so close, he just needed… “Do you take orders? Like a good little boy? Hmmm?” Dean desperately needed, the smallest touch really, or for that voice to say the magic words… “Come for me.”
Dean felt each hot spurt as his release was ripped out of him, as he ruined the pants of his three-thousand-dollar suit. Dean could feel those thick fingers dig into his hips even harder, felt the pounding hips stutter, and then his work subordinate was collapsing over the top of him, helping to press him even further into the couch cushions.
They were both struggling to draw in enough breath, although Dean was being hindered by the weight of a small Yeti on top of him, when that body shifted, and then he felt soft lips against his neck. “Hey, are you ok?”
Dean cleared his throat as he nodded, but then got out a mangled, “Yeah.” He could hear the smile in the soft voice now as it responded, “Good. It would have been such a pity if I had fucked you to death.”
Dean tried to laugh, found that his voice was still in hiding after all the screaming he had done into the couch cushions. “Hold on.” Sam was standing up then, gripping the condom around the base of his cock as he pulled out, and then moving away to the kitchen. Dean noted the light from the fridge, then thankfully accepted the help to be pulled upright, just before the cold bottle of water was held to his mouth. After a few deep swallows, he tried again, “You really got into it, didn’t you?”
There was a twinkle in those hazel eyes, as he stared down at his superior. “Well, when an opportunity like this presents itself, I feel obligated to give it my all.”
Dean quirks up an eyebrow, “Your all? Does that mean round two is off the table?” Dean grips the back of the couch as the mild-mannered persona gets shoved down, and the aggressive beast makes his reappearance.
“Are you questioning my stamina?” Dean shook his head, as his breathing quickened. As he felt a surge of lust flare deep in his belly. “Good. Because I would hate to have to punish an insubordinate hole.” Sam pulls Dean away from the couch, turns him towards the bedroom, and then orders, “You’ve got one minute to be ass—up on that bed, or you won’t like what I do to you.”
Dean can barely contain the smile as he stumbles down the hall. Stripping out of his clothes along the way. Hoping that round two will lead to round three. Thanking God that someone had decided to make copies of their dick and screwed up the group printer. Because without that bit of good luck, Dean might never have crossed paths with his new fuck-buddy. And that would have been a damn shame.