Punk’d

Friday. Lunch with the boss. Casual. Fun. Business has been good. Smooth sailing for the year. Like many restaurants in the area, it’s slow. Just us and two other tables with professionals who have expense accounts.

Waiter is adorable. We chit chat. Some light flirting. I’m trying to keep it civil. Boss has a smirk.

In the middle of my salmon Boss asks, “When are you not fucking someone?”

I protest. They seek out me. I’m not that good looking that they should throw themselves at me. Boss says he’s never known anyone that fucks as much as I do. I tell him not to exaggerate. It’s all rumors and innuendo. Save for the blog, I don’t tell tales. Guys I fuck, however, talk a lot.

Lunch continues. Suit from another table gets up and chats with me. He’s openly cruising me in front of my boss. Boss is doing all he can not to laugh out loud. I almost feel like I’m being punk’d. The more I deny, the more I get hit on. Waiter sees Suit and rushes over. For a moment, I think this could escalate into a fight over me. Naturally, this arouses me.

Suit and Waiter go to their respective corners. Boss and I finish our lunch. He picks up the check. I go to pee.

I unzip and start peeing. Who is at the next urinal? Suit. Gives me the look up and down with his perfect teeth smile. I glance down at his big uncut dick. Damnit. I’m getting hard. I finish my whiz. Give it a shake. I’m about to tuck it back in and he’s on me.

Suit pushes me against the wall. Starts grabbing at my junk. He pulls my hand to his thick but still flaccid meat. I’m fully hard. He kisses me. He tastes like steak. Neither of us notices that we’re not alone.

Waiter clears his throat. I feel like I’ve been caught cheating. I want to say, “It’s not what you think,” but Suit has already dropped to his knees and I’m a good five inches into his mouth before I can attempt to speak. I nod at Waiter to come over. I’m oddly surprised he actually does.

We kiss. He also tastes like steak.

He drops down and joins Suit in sucking on my junk. One on my dick. One on my balls. I’m enjoying it so much I don’t hold back. I tell them I’m gonna cum. The two cocksuckers slurp and suck harder. I groan. Suit pulls off and starts pumping my rod.

I explode. Jizz fires out in thick gobs. The two groan and laugh their approval.

I look up. Boss is standing at the door to the restroom. He looks at me incredulously and asks, “Am I being punk’d?”

TGIF

My boss calls. Always on Friday. Always just before 5:00pm. The office is empty by 4:00 on Fridays. I stay. Finish the week’s work. Plus, the call may come. He’s been traveling internationally the last few weeks. First call in a while.

Boss is a relative term. He’s actually my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. We started the same week some years back in different departments. We stumbled upon a secluded men’s room that first Friday. He’s on the corporate fast track. Me? I’m just a cocksucker.

He’s in his office. Seventeen floors above mine, it has a commanding view of the bay. I hardly notice it anymore. I do notice him. Suit and tie. Jacket is on the couch. He’s on the phone. Business. He motions me in.

Always a looker, he is hotter today. New haircut, working out more, new suit… it all works for him. Position aside, his height has always made him a commanding presence. Even sitting, he dominates.

I shut the door, lock it, and turn. He motions again for me to come around the desk. Continuing his conversation, he points to his crotch.

Direction has been given.

I kneel and look up. He smiles at me, touches my chin and goes back to his conversation.

I rub his crotch through his expensive slacks. I unzip his pants and reach into his boxers. He’s flushed but not hard. I pull out his cock and take it into my mouth. A few gentle sucks and he is hard.

I suck and slurp on his ever growing cock. It’s not huge, but—like mine—worthy. He doesn’t like his nuts played with, so I leave them. I love his nuts: salty and hairy. He doesn’t shave. So many guys do—but he has no time for it. I wish I could play with them.

He’s fully erect and I drop all the way down the shaft. His cock fills my mouth and drops a bit back in my throat. He lets out a soft sigh. I lick and play with his shaft. Occasionally, I look up to see his expression. His head is back and his eyes are closed. I flick the head with my tongue. He opens his eyes and looks at me. Grabbing the back of my head, he pushes into my mouth.

Slowly he fucks my face. I reach up and feel his muscular chest through his dress shirt. I want to undo the tie, but he waves me off. I won’t be playing with his fuzzy chest. I guess he’s got plans with and “the wife.”

He ends his call. He tells me he has missed me. Then, in the same tone he ended his business call a minute earlier, he says, “I gotta nut. Kelly and I are hosting a cocktail party...” Who said romance is dead?

Actually, it’s not a problem. I like drinking his cum. Just the right thickness, it tastes great—not sure what his secret is.

He grabs my head with both hands and starts fucking my face—hard. I know at this point to make my mouth just a hole; something to fuck. I keep the pressure consistent and try not to drool over his $900 pair of pants. He slams into my face. It hurts. I love it.

The rhythm changes as he nears climax. The strokes slow. No longer quick jabs in and out, now they are long, slow movements of the shaft all the way in and out. He pauses when the head touches the back of my throat. He whispers “Awesome.”

Just as quietly, he nuts.

His cock is stuffed into my mouth. His hands are on either side of my head, holding me while he empties his balls into my hungry throat. I take it all, careful not to let any of it drip on his pants.

I stand. He smiles. He offers no thanks. Just a weary smile. Much like our first encounter six years ago.

As I walk into his private bathroom, I hear him on the phone with his wife. He’ll be home soon. She has no idea that a man in his office is caring his sperm in his mouth.

Normally, I beat off in the toilet. However, I see the black tiled sink and smile. I unzip. Pull out. I did not swallow his load. I spit it onto my palm. I still taste him as I pump my shaft. I look in the mirror… it’s hot. I piston pump my rod until a huge load of creamy white ropes stream out across the onyx surface. I don’t clean it up. The cleaning crew won’t say anything to him—they’ll just laugh that he’s beating off.

I zip up and open the door. Jacket on, he’s ready to head out. If I had taken another two minutes, would he still be in the room? He gives me a pat on the shoulder as we enter the elevator.

We stand next to each other in the elevator. Not a word has been spoken. Both staring straight ahead, I pretend he’s a decent guy. He pretends he’s not rubbing my ass. I get off on my floor and wish him a happy weekend. I don’t look back. He doesn’t respond.

His rubbing my ass made me hard again. I find the men’s room. Five stalls. Two are occupied by guys jerking off. I can hear it. I sit in my stall and join the guys in my final Friday ritual before heading home for the weekend.