Office Re-Adjustment

When I finished grad school, I was lucky to get a job as a manager for Strong Ad. Great job, flexible hours, good pay. I bought some quality suits and enjoyed wearing them and my nice office view. There was only one little problem. Well, two problems really, named Brad and Jock. The problem was... well, they are homosexual.

With Brad, you wouldn't know, unless you knew. He's a good guy, keeps himself in shape, and has a charming smile.

But, with Jock... anyone who met him would immediately know he was gay. And I know it's not polite, but when I first met him I thought, Now that is what a bull gay is. Okay, I shouldn't have said that, but it's true. His hair, his mannerisms, and the way he talked were hyper-masculine. And he was always distant with any women at the office and tough-guy friendly with the men. Especially any cute or good-looking ones.

In a way he reminded me of those wrestlers you see on television. Not that he was too-bulked-out like they were. More his style. And not that I watch wrestling much. But he reminds me exactly of them with his super-assertive looks and the way he almost struts around the place. When Jock shook my hand the first time, I thought he was going to crush it. But he was just making a point.

Well, their being homosexuals made me a little uncomfortable, but that wasn't the real problem. We had gays in school. One sat next to me in Literature class and was really nice. The problem with Jock and Brad, was they were really smart and always gave me a hard time, as if they had something to take out on me.

Maybe it was that I'd come into the firm from outside and immediately became their manager. Maybe they were hoping for the promotion.

I couldn't entirely blame them, since life isn't fair. It's not all about how smart you are or how much experience you have, you know. I learned that lesson in my university fraternity. Did you know that the human resources manager for Strong Ad just happens to be a fellow fraternity member who'd graduated a few years before I did? It's not what you know; it's who you know.

Anyway, here I have this sweet job, except for these two malcontents. So what did I do? I needed a plan. So I made peace with Brad. He's the more normal guy, friendly and could charm the pants off you, so to speak. I figured I could get to Jock through him. I'd make a point of listening to Brad chat about stuff outside of work and went for a beer with him a few times at the end of a long day.

And you know what? It worked. Brad liked me, and Jock was no longer hostile, although he wasn't really friendly either.

I wasn't exactly pretending to be Brad's friend, because I actually liked him. But once we got to know each other and he realized I wasn't going to give them grief for being gay, he started, well ... over-sharing. He started talking openly about things that made me feel uncomfortable--sexual things that happened with him and Jock.

Things like this...

* *

"Wow, we had so much fun this weekend, Steve, I can't wait to tell you what happened!" Brad said.

"What happened?" I asked. Did I really want to know?

No way! But it was part of my plan to keep these two malcontents on my side, so I had to appear interested. And I guess it was sort-of interesting, the way exotic things are interesting in a documentary on television.

"We had us a twink," he said. "God, I get so hard just thinking about it. Mmmm... that poor guy came so many times he was begging Jock to stop. Oh, that sweet little guy. The poor thing probably can't even walk today."

"Ah, nice," I said, pretending I was hip and relaxed. "I'm glad you two had a fun weekend. Do you want to know what I did? I went to see..." I tried to change the subject, but Brad's motor-mouth kept on like I didn't even speak.

"Oh, Steve, you would have liked him. He was almost pretty--reminded me of you. And he had the tightest little butt. Though it wasn't very tight when Jock was done with it."

You know, at first when I listened to some things Brad talked about, I sort-of ignored them. If I let my imagination picture what he described, some of the things were kinda gross.

He'd talk about their conquests, and it seemed like most weekends they were having marathon sex sessions with some new guy. Brad even mentioned the names of various sex toys they used, though I had no idea what most of the names meant. I looked some up on the internet, just so the next time I wouldn't come across as naïve.

* *

A month passed, spring arrived, and with the weather I was noticing a change in me.

Whenever Brad talked about the things they did over the weekend, well... I don't know how to say this, but instead of repulsing me... it sort of... it kind of started to turn me on.

I have no idea why. I have a girlfriend and all that.

I've always had girlfriends and I've never ever thought about myself with men. Not until recently. Not until hearing Brad's too-explicit stories. And now, I can't seem to get certain images out of my mind. Images of Brad without his clothes on. But more often about Jock. Fantasies of Jock making me do things.

Dirty things. Forbidden things. Things like he did to those guys Brad talked about.

* *

Another couple of weeks passed and we were at a pub for an after-work drink, standing toward the back of the bar. I listened as Brad finished his tale and tried not to say anything. Afraid I'd give myself away.

By the time he was finished, I couldn't even think straight and I hoped he had no idea how aroused I was.

But this time, for some reason, I don't know possessed me. Brad was talking about this guy they'd been with that weekend--how the guy had the creamiest skin but when Jock spanked him his ass became a welter of hot pinks and reds--and instead of keeping my mouth shut, I blurted,

"Maybe we could hang out some weekend?" I could feel my face grow hot as I blushed.

Brad stopped talking, and I felt his gaze penetrate my defenses. His smile became knowing. I knew he saw through my ploy.

He walked around behind me. His hands settled on my hips, causing a shiver to roll down my spine. His hot breath was in my ear. "I would love to play with you, Stevie, but it's not up to me. Jock's the one you have to ask."

My knees grew weak, and I held tightly to the counter to keep from falling. Yet, I still felt like I was falling deeper and deeper.

"I just meant--you know--hang out. As friends."

"Sure you did," Brad said, as if to say, Yeah, right. "Ask Jock when you're ready."

Despite telling Brad I only wanted to be friends, he took it to mean more than that. At work and when we went for a drink, he started taking every opportunity to touch me... on my shoulder, or my lower back just where my ass begins, on my arm, my hand, even my thigh. Like he thought he had an open invitation. Nothing really inappropriate, but enough to make me feel uncomfortable. And he continued to tell me sexual stories much more openly.

He said I was cool. He said I was sexy. He said he liked that my hair was growing longer. He asked when I was I going to ask Jock.

I'm not like that, just friends, a drink or something, I would always reply. And yet, maybe I was going to ask. My dreams and fantasies were of Jock and Brad.

I knew it would be a stupid, stupid idea. I was their manager--managers don't fraternize with their subordinates that way. A drink after work is one thing, but the other ... it's just not right.

But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get the idea through to my needy body, and eventually I waited until I was alone with Jock.

"Jock," I asked. "Maybe I could hang out with you and Brad one weekend?

"Sorry," he said, bluntly. "We've got plans for the weekend. Just me, Brad and a friend. We don't have room for a manager."

My face burned. "Oh, okay," I said, stupidly. "Well, have a good time then."

Damn it, I wanted to kick myself. You are such a chicken, Steve.

But, really, maybe it was for the best.

Later, Brad was no help.

"You asked?" Brad said, placing a hand on either side of my hips. God, why did he like coming up behind me like that?

He stood there behind me, leaning against me and in general making it difficult to think about anything but the heat of our bodies. "Yes," I said. "But he said No." I wished he would just leave me alone.

"What exactly did you ask?" he said.

I told him.

"You know what you need to do," he said, and then drew near my ear and told me, him voice barely a whisper. What he told me sent a shiver down my spine.

"But I don't want to be a twink," I answered, my face feeling like it was reddening. I wasn't even exactly sure what being a twink meant. "I already told you I just wanted to hang out or something."

"Look," Brad explained patiently. "No matter what you say, you'll still be his manager at work. Being a twink doesn't mean anything real. It's just a name for a kind of ... relationship. Besides, you've never had sex with a man before, have you?"

"No."

"But maybe you're curious about the lifestyle?"

I flushed and bit my lip.

"And particularly about Jock?"

Was I that obvious?

"Then you my dear boy, are a twink," he said and left me standing there.

* *

It took me until Friday at 4:50, just before the end of the work day, before I screwed up my courage.

"Jock, I was wondering if you'd like to do something this weekend."

"Steve, I already told you." he said. "Just me, Brad and a friend."

I was sweating and my knees were weak. I felt like I had to pee. I felt weak for being afraid to ask. And weak for asking when I knew I shouldn't.

"Jock, wait..." I said. "I'll uh--" Whew, so hard to say it. Then I blurted it out:

"I want to be a... I want to be a twink."

Her eyes zeroed in on me. I knew what a mouse feels when it sees a hawk that last second. "Are you sure," he asked. "Do you know what you are asking?"

"Yes." Okay, I didn't actually know. I did know one thing, knowing that I was going to be his twink, whatever that meant, had my blood coursing and my cock swelling in my underwear.

He looked at me hard, as if appraising me anew.

"Come by our apartment at seven tonight. Lose the suit and wear something sexy." He stepped in close, his hand gripped my jaw and tilted my chin up. He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips. "Twink... always thought there was something kinda metrosexual about you."

Me, I was trembling and my pants were painfully tight in the crotch. What had I gotten myself into?

* *

I modeled my outfit in front of the mirror. A warm spring evening, so I had chosen a pair of light, loose pants and a sky-blue cotton shirt. I was freshly shaved and showered. I had on my favorite pair of sandals. Only one thing that was bothering me. Under my pants I had on my usual cotton underwear. I was debating between them or a thong. I had just bought the thong on the way home from work.

The thong was an impulse, and seemed ridiculous.

I didn't want to give them the wrong idea. And yet ... and yet, Jock said to wear something sexy. And who was to say he would see my underwear anyway. My mind replayed the afternoon over again. The tone of his voice when he called me twink. I wondered if I should even show up at all. I was a little scared of these feelings I was having. Get a hold of yourself, guy, I told myself.

It wasn't like anything had to happen at all. I could go, see how it felt, and leave any time.

There was something about Brad and especially Jock that I found compelling. But I couldn't see myself, say, kissing him or any man in that way. I tried to imagine it, but shook my head No.

A moment later, though, I had taken off my pants and stripped off the boring underwear. I put the thong on. Just because I wanted to, and for no other reason. Then I picked up my keys and drove to Jock and Brad's apartment.

* *

I drove by twice before I finally stopped and walked to the door. Jock opened it and showed me in. I looked around for Brad. Part of me wanted his comforting presence to counteract Jock's hungry stare.

"Come with me," Jock ordered in a matter-of-fact tone, taking me by the hand, leading me to the living room and maneuvering me so that the arm of the sofa was in front of me, while he hemmed me in from behind.

"Umm, where's Brad?" I asked, trying to buy a little time as things were moving a little too fast for my taste.

"Twinks don't speak unless spoken to." Jock's strong arms encircled my waist and went straight for my crotch. His mouth pressed tightly against my neck. Instead of kissing me, he sucked hard at my tender skin, even biting me.

I was too caught up with the multiple liberties he took with me to mount an adequate defense. I muttered unintelligibly, "Wait--don't--it will show." Just what I needed for work... bite marks on my neck.

He ignored me, pushing me over the arm of the chair. I was even more helpless than before as he yanked my pants down and flipped my shirt up over my back. "My, what long legs you have, my twink."

"Stop it, Jock," I pleaded. "Listen..."

Jock was going much too fast for me. I expected more courtship and flirting, and then after that I could decide whether I wanted things to go any further.

"And what sexy hot thong you have. That's a slut thong," he continued, ignoring my protests.

Worse, he must not have thought too highly of my thong because--after slapping my mostly exposed ass a couple of time--he was rapidly yanking the thong down, divesting me of even their minimal protection.

"Jock," I begged, but he never stopped. His fingers delved between my legs to caress my sex and then to run up between the crack of my ass. There was no way I could hide my growing arousal. "Jock!"

"And what a tight-looking ass."

Jock had defeated me in less than a minute. I was a conflict of shame and arousal. His fingers sought out my delicate anus, unbelievably, and teased it for a few moments before slipping down to fondle my testicles. He was stopped short of reaching my cock, which was trapped under my body against the arm of the couch. But god his sure touch felt so good. I surrendered even more of my dignity when my thighs spread of their own will.

Jock chuckled, making my burn in shame. "You twinks are all the same. You say No at first but in the end it always comes down to the same thing. Do you still want me to stop, Stevie twink?"

I ignored his crude jibe, refusing to answer. He circled my anus with his fingers, slid back to my testicles and caressed them before repeating the process, teasing me, frustrating me.

"Want me to stop?" he taunted.

"No!" I gasped.

"Want to be my twink?" his finger probed my opening.

Oh god, suddenly I wanted his finger ... inside. I pushed back to impale myself. "Huh, want to be my plaything?"

"Yes," I admitted. My cock and anus were on fire with desire.

They burned for his touch. And for the things he was saying. The words were so crude and domineering. They seduced me, turning me into a moaning squirming wreck.

"Are you sure?" he asked, stroking me, teasing me. "There's no going back. When you're here, you're no manager at the office. You're only a toy for me to play with however I want. Still want to be my twink?"

"... Yes," I gasped, more in response to his fingers than his question.

"Beg me," he said. "Beg to be my sweet play-toy guy."

I was defeated by his fingers and by his power. There would be no middle ground or compromise. With him it would only be submission to his will. "Please--omigod." I was rewarded by a swift thrusting stab of his finger.

It was fucking me. Encouraged, I begged. "Please--ugh--let me--oh--be your--ugh--sw- sweet--twink guy."

He added another finger and I was in heaven, with two of his fingers invading me. "Such a tight little ass," he said. "Keep begging. I love hearing you beg for it."

And beg him I did. From the sensations of his fingers taking sweet liberties with my ass I became oblivious to everything else. I told him I would do anything. My cock was so hard against the fabric of the couch, and I felt liquid precum from my cock on the skin of my belly.

I begged until I felt a sharp pain in my anus and realized he was stretching my opening further than it was meant to go--and then I was begging him to stop.

I opened my eyes and I was greeted by a further shock. There was Brad, clad in only in his socks, one hand masturbating himself as he looked on. In the other hand, he held a video camera.

"Wait--stop!" I shouted. I tried to struggle under Jock's grip, but not only was I trapped, sharp pains shot from my overtaxed ass the more I struggled.

"Just relax, Steven twink," Jock said. "You're only going to hurt yourself."

I had to obey. I didn't want to, but I was helpless to do anything about it. "But you're hurting me." I felt tears almost come to my eyes.

"Just relax and everything will be okay," Jock said. "Just be my good little plaything and Jock will take care of everything." His fingers backed off a bit, his other hand slipped in front of my hips, raising me enough to find my cock.

"Isn't this better?"

"No," I moaned. It didn't hurt anymore. In fact, the position felt very sensual--my ass raised high and open and his strong hand stroking my cock--but I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of knowing it.

"Then tell us what it feels like." It was Brad with his goddamn video camera in my face."

"Fuck you!" I spat, knowing the two of them had somehow tricked me from the beginning. Jock suddenly withdrew his fingers from my ass--but then almost immediately pain abruptly exploded in my ass as he thrust his cock hard into me. God, it was unbelievable. My vision was blotted with flashes of darkness. It felt like I was going to be ruined.

"The twink will be respectful at all times. And he will answer the question," Jock ordered.

"Fuck, oh, it hurts. It hurts, Jock! Oh please you're splitting me apart." I yelled.

"Keep going," Brad said. "And look in the camera and tell us what it feels like."

"His cock is too big. Oh God, and he's putting it in further. Please Brad, have mercy. Make him stop. Please. Please."

"How far does it feel like it's in?" Brad asked, his voice thick with passion. His hand was stroking his cock quickly now. The bastard was getting off on my distress.

"All the way. Oh God, I think I feel it in my stomach."

Thank God it didn't hurt as much now that the largest part had cleared my opening.

"Are you in all the way?" Brad asked Jock.

"About half," Jock said. "Come take a look."

Brad took the camera and they humiliated me further by documenting my stretched surrender. "Wow, it looks huge in him."

"It's because he's so small," said Jock, parting the cheeks of my bottom. "And look at his adorable little asshole. Can you imagine what it will look like when it's red and gaping?"

"Oh fuck," Brad groaned. "I'm so close, baby. Can I have him now?"

"Sure," Jock said. "Be my guest."

Brad knelt down beside the couch and held the camera right in my face. "Here's the deal, twink," he said. "Jock can take his cock out and you can go home or you can agree to be our twink guy."

It was an easy choice. "I want to go home," I pleaded. This wasn't what I wanted. Not even close.

Just then Jock started to pull out his cock, but it felt trapped at my ass's sphincter. It felt like the head of his cock was so big and swollen that it would kill me if it was pulled out. He thrust back into me, and then pulled back again, the huge head of his cock again stretching out my sphincter. The sense of being impaled by something so massively male made my own cock surge with desire.

All of a sudden being a twink didn't sound quite so bad.

"Wait--wait. Ow, ouch," as Jock thrust partway in again and back almost out. "I want to be--I want to be your twink guy."

"Are you sure?" That bastard was grinning. He knew! There was never a choice. It was all part of their cruel game.