The Full-time assistant. MM - CMNM

[rigus]

I´ve been wanting to write something involving some kinks like CMNM, voyeur, exhibition, domination.
Here´s an introduction to what this may lead to. It´s a slow burn, hope you are patient.

The full-time assistant

CHAPTER 1

It was one of those slow nights at the hotel bar where I worked. I had been there for a year, and I’d met all kinds of people. But nothing had prepared me for what happened that night. Right in the middle of the bar sat a man who commanded attention—Dominic Bennett. He was in his mid-forties, with an imposing presence that seemed to fill the room. His dark hair, streaked with gray, framed a strong jawline adorned with a well-trimmed beard. He wore an expensive suit that accentuated his fit, broad shoulders, and exuded an air of confidence that drew the eye.

As I dried glasses behind the bar, I noticed him down his fourth glass of scotch, and when the empty glass hit the counter, I approached.

"Rough night?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

He shrugged, his gaze steady. "I've had worse," he replied, pushing the glass toward me for a refill.

I wasn’t as skilled at reading people as the more experienced bartenders, but I could sense something beneath the surface. He looked like a businessman—maybe a meeting hadn’t gone as expected, or perhaps an investor had backed out. I didn’t think it was a problem with a lady; even as a straight guy, I could tell he was undeniably attractive.

"Do you have a room here?" I asked while refilling his glass, trying to make some small talk. His gaze shifted to me, lingering—assessing. I wasn’t trying to imply anything; I just wanted to make sure he didn’t have to drive after drinking so much. "I mean… are you sure you want another?"

Without a word, he reached under his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and slid a hundred-dollar bill across the bar. I hesitated for a second before shrugging and pouring him a double. As I walked away, I heard him chuckle.

"My assistant quit," he said suddenly, downing half the glass in one go.

I raised an eyebrow. "That’s a new one," I said. "I’ve seen people drink over breakups, getting fired… but losing an assistant?"

"Couldn’t handle it."

"Too much pressure?"

"Nah…" He shook his head. "I think my requests were fairly reasonable."

"Maybe it was the money," I offered, though judging by the size of his tip, that didn’t seem likely.

"Money has never been the problem," he stated firmly.

I nodded. "Maybe he didn’t feel qualified. You know, like impostor syndrome? Sometimes you get in your head and sabotage yourself."

He shook his head. "More like a moral issue."

"I see… that kind of work, huh?" I wasn’t judging, but I could understand why someone wouldn’t want to do something illegal.

He chuckled again. "And yet, you were willing to let me drown in alcohol for a tip."

"You wanted privacy," I said simply.

"Depends on the point of view." His smirk was subtle but deliberate. "What else are you willing to do for a tip?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on me, his attention unnervingly sharp.

I hesitated for a moment. I’d had plenty of sexual offers during my time as a bartender—from men and women—but this didn’t feel quite the same.

"Look, man… I appreciate it, but I don’t do that."

I’d had offers before. Once, I went home with a customer—a mature woman, good-looking, big breasts. But the night ended with me trying to calm her down as she sobbed about cheating on her husband. Not exactly worth it.

"I don’t want you to suck my dick," he said plainly. "I just want to know if you’d follow orders for a nice tip."

I hesitated. He didn’t want sex… so what the hell did he want? "You mean like… kill someone?" I asked, only half-joking.

Dominic laughed. "See? That’s what I’m talking about. I’m not asking for the moon here."

I was still confused when he reached into his pocket and pulled out another crisp hundred-dollar bill, placing it on the counter. "Do you want this?"

It took me a moment to answer. I nodded. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, more intrigued than willing.

He shrugged, as if thinking on the spot. "I don’t know… uhm… what about you sell me your underwear?"

I blinked. "My underwear?"

"Yeah. Your underwear."

"You mean the ones I’m wearing right now?"

He nodded.

I let out a dry laugh. "You want me to go to the restroom, take them off, and sell them to you?"

"Oh, no," he said smoothly. "I want them right now. Take off your shoes, pull your pants down, take off your underwear, and put them here." He tapped the counter.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You’re kidding, right?"

He sipped the last of his drink, eyes locked on me, completely unfazed. I glanced around—the bar was nearly empty. No one nearby. Then my gaze dropped to the hundred-dollar bill.

I’d been struggling with money. It was tempting.

I let out a slow breath. It wouldn’t be the first time I undressed quickly—I’d stripped in record time before when bringing a girl home. This wasn’t that different… right?

Toeing off my shoes, I unbuckled my belt, pushed my pants and underwear down, and stepped out of them. The blast of cold air from the AC hit my bare ass, making me tense. My instinct was to pull my pants up immediately, but Dominic held up a hand.

"Underwear first."

I exhaled sharply, grabbed my boxer briefs, and set them on the bar. My pulse hammered as I glanced around, checking for witnesses. Still no one. I yanked my pants back up, tucked in my shirt, and breathed a little easier—adrenaline still rushing through me.

Dominic picked up the underwear, nodding approvingly, that smirk still on his face. For a second, I thought he’d do something weird—smell them, maybe—but instead, he neatly folded them and tucked them into his jacket pocket.

I took the hundred-dollar bill and slipped it into my pocket—the easiest tip I had ever earned. And that was the moment I stepped onto the path of my own surrender. I was a 23-year-old college dropout, juggling two jobs—bartender by night, personal trainer by day—just trying to make ends meet.

Dominic Bennett introduced himself, extending his hand—the same one he’d just used to grab my boxer briefs.
"I’m Connor," I said, taking it. His grip was firm, unwavering.

"Nice to meet you, Connor," he said before sliding off the barstool. "I guess I’m done here."

"You want me to call you a cab?" I offered.

"There’s no need." He stood there for a moment, then added, "And just in case you’re interested in the assistant position… I’ll be in room 1069. Feel free to knock when your shift is over."

It was the strangest job offer I’d ever received… well, technically, I’d never really received a job offer before. I was usually the one asking for the opportunity.

That’s why, despite all my doubts, I pressed the button for the elevator.

Walking down the quiet hallway, I stopped in front of the door to room 1069. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and knocked.

A moment later, Dominic opened the door. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew I’d come.

"I’m glad you came, Connor," he said smoothly. "Come in."

I stepped inside, taking in the luxury I’d never had the chance to experience before. The room was spacious, with a king-sized bed in the center, a sleek desk, and a massive flat-screen TV.

"Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward the bed.

I hesitated before sitting on the edge of it. Dominic, meanwhile, settled into the chair at the desk, watching me with quiet amusement.

"Forgive my manners! Do you want something to drink?" Dominic asked as he got up and walked toward the minibar. "You can drink, right? Your shift is over…"

"I’m fine, thanks." I stayed perched on the edge of the bed, feeling a little anxious about this supposed job interview.

"Just so you know, you’d be allowed to drink while working for me," he said, pouring himself a glass. Then, as he turned back to me, he added with a smirk, "…sometimes. When I allow it."

"Yeah… about that," I interjected. "What exactly are you expecting from me as your assistant? I mean, I dropped out of college. I have no experience other than bartending or guiding people through a gym. I don’t even know what line of work you’re in."

"Well, that’s the good part," Dominic said, settling comfortably into his chair. "You don’t need a degree to follow orders."

I frowned slightly, but he continued.

"I’ve had plenty of highly qualified and even overqualified assistants, and I’ve realized that was my mistake—trying to mold them into what I truly want."

"And what exactly is it that you want?"

He fell silent for a moment, letting the question hang in the air. The pause felt deliberate, almost like he was sizing me up.

Taking a slow sip from his glass, he finally said, "Connor, having power… it changes a man. It’s given me a particular appetite—for dominance."

"Dominance?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he said, leaning forward slightly. "A hunger to make others do as I say."

I let out a short chuckle. "So why not just hire, I don’t know, a prostitute, if that’s what gets you off?"

His expression darkened slightly, but not with anger—more like amusement. "Because I don’t want a whore, Connor. The kind of dominance I crave goes far beyond barking a few orders and hearing some call boy pretend he likes it while moaning… ugh… ‘daddy.’"

I smirked at that. "And you think hiring a personal assistant and expecting him to agree to all that is the solution?"

Dominic exhaled, shaking his head. "I’ll give you that, Connor. That’s been my mistake. And it’s cost me a few legal fees to avoid getting sued."

"So… you want me to do everything you say. But what if I don’t like it? What if I don’t want to do something? What if it’s too much for me?"

Dominic tilted his head slightly, watching me with that unreadable expression. "Like undressing at your current job just to sell me your underwear?"

I didn’t answer. My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing.

He smirked. "I think you have potential, Connor. And this will be gradual. You can always walk away if it’s too much." He took another sip of his drink before adding, "Which, of course, I wouldn’t want you to. So… I’ll go slow."

To be honest, it felt weird—but also, somehow, appealing. It was easy money, and I had a million questions.

"What happens if I say yes? I mean… when would I start? Do I have to go to your office? Is it a normal work shift? And… would you pay me every time you give an order? Before or after?"

Dominic chuckled, clearly amused. He knew he had me. "Take it easy, Connor." He leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same knowing smirk. "Like I said, we’ll take it slow. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made before. You’ll be on probation—so you can decide if this is for you… and I can determine if you’re fit for the position."

Dominic stood up and clapped his hands together—a clear signal that the meeting was over. I startled slightly before getting up as well.

"I want you to think this through properly," he said. "So, you’ll stay here."

"Here?" I glanced around the luxury room, confused.

"Yes. Get comfortable. Order room service. Use the bathtub. And tomorrow, I’ll send someone to pick you up."

"I have work tomorrow," I said instinctively.

"Oh, right…" He sighed, clearly displeased by the inconvenience of my other commitments. "The gym thing. What time should my driver pick you up?"

"There’s no need," I started, but the sharp look he gave me made it clear that wasn’t an option. I corrected myself. "Uh… nine. I need to go home and change first."

"I’ll send something for you to wear," he said dismissively. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, "Now. Give me your clothes."

"My clothes?"

"Yes. You’ve been working in them all night." He tilted his head slightly. "You’ve slept naked before, haven’t you?" Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, "If you’re shy, there’s a robe in the bathroom… though I doubt that’s the case, considering how quickly you dropped your pants at the bar."

His smirk made my stomach flip, but I didn’t argue. I stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Sure enough, a white robe hung neatly on the wall. But my eyes were drawn to something else.

Right beside the sink, laid out in plain view, were my boxer briefs—the ones I had sold him. The fabric was soaked, an unmistakable stain darkening the front. He had jerked off all over them.

A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Disgusted? Flattered? Turned on? I swallowed hard, pushed the thought aside, and quickly undressed, wrapping the robe around myself. Then, stepping back into the room, I handed Dominic my clothes.

He took them without a word and walked toward the door.

Dominic turned back and said, "I left another tip on the nightstand, just for agreeing to come over. I hope it's a nice incentive for you to consider being my… let’s not call it a personal assistant."

He paused, smirking.

"I’ll come up with something later."

And then he left, leaving me alone to think about my life-changing decision.

 

[bartsbasement]

Great start, can't wait for more!

 

[Infamous Hacker]

Very sexy! Can't wait for the next part!

 

[freakyretro69]

Very good potential, thanks!

 

[rigus]

CHAPTER 2

I hadn’t slept so profoundly as I did in the king-size bed. Compared to the old mattress in my tiny apartment, it felt like sleeping on a cloud. I followed Dominic’s orders and took a long bath while waiting for room service—double cheeseburger with extra bacon.

I was pleasantly asleep when a loud knock jolted me awake. “Shit!” I overslept. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, flinging it open.

Standing there was a big, imposing man, muscles rippling beneath his fitted shirt and a tough expression etched on his face. Then it hit me—I was completely naked. “Fuck!”

I quickly closed the door, scrambling to find the robe. Once I had it wrapped around me, I returned to the door and asked, "Yes?"

“I’m here to pick up Connor.”

"Yeah, that’s me..." I said, scratching my head, a bit embarrassed that I’d flashed this man—who looked more like Dominic’s bodyguard than a driver. He handed me a bag without further ado.

“What’s this?” I asked, peeking inside.

“Clothes.” His tone was sharp, leaving no room for questions. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

"But—" I couldn’t say more because he was already walking away, leaving me to process the whirlwind of the morning.

I walked back inside, glancing into the bag’s contents. It was one of those small paper bags you get from stores after buying something… small.

I couldn’t believe what Dominic had sent me; it had to be a mistake. Inside was a bright yellow mesh tank top that looked almost see-through, along with a pair of incredibly short shorts reminiscent of the 80s soccer players wore—those snug, slightly open-sided shorts that left little to the imagination. And to top it all off, there was a jockstrap.

I had a lean, athletic physique, but those clothes felt incredibly tight on me. Jockstraps are meant for support, but the small pouch gripped my junk so tightly that I was afraid to speak—what if my voice came out high-pitched? I walked down the hallway, clad in the tank top, shorts, and a pair of hotel slippers.

The driver was waiting for me, and he looked me over from head to toe without even flinching. I would have at least smirked if someone walked in on me dressed like this.

The morning breeze caressed my exposed skin as we stepped outside, flowing through the holes of the almost see-through tank top. I felt my nipples harden in response to the cool air, adding an unexpected thrill to the situation.

I got in the back seat of a sleek black luxury car, sinking into the soft leather. I sighed, relieved to be away from judging eyes, but my stomach reminded me of another problem—I hadn’t had time for breakfast. The smell of bacon from last night’s burger still lingered in the room when I rushed out, and now I regretted not ordering something extra.

As if on cue, I noticed a smoothie cup sitting in the car’s center console with a note tucked under it. “Figured you might need this. – D.”

I hesitated before grabbing it. A protein smoothie, thick and cold. I took a sip, feeling a little more at ease—at least he wanted me functioning, not just looking ridiculous in this outfit.

The driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Where are we headed?”

I told him the gym’s address but then remembered what I was wearing and added, "Actually, I need to go home first."

"There’s no time," he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Uhm… I need to go," I insisted, not wanting to mention the choice of clothes. I didn’t want to insult either Dominic’s or the driver’s taste, in case one of them had picked out what I was wearing. "I need my sneakers."

Without a word, the driver pulled over. He got out and walked to the trunk, leaving me to fidget in the backseat. A moment later, he opened my door and handed me a box.

"Oh…" was all I could manage to say as I looked down at it. Inside were a pair of exclusive sneakers—ones I recognized and knew cost way more than I could ever afford. "Are these for me?" I asked, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

The driver didn’t respond. Instead, he climbed back into the front seat and resumed driving, leaving me to process the unexpected gift.

I understood that Dominic Bennett was loaded and could afford a lot of things. The thought of being one of those things he could pay for made me feel uneasy. It felt strange to receive tips just for joining him in his room or to be given brand new exclusive sneakers simply because there was no time to stop at my place. But what was the price I would have to pay?

When I was dropped off at the gym where I worked, I walked in and immediately caught the attention of both customers and staff. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I felt the urge to run away or call someone to pick me up. Then I remembered, "Oh shit!" My phone!

With no place to carry it, I had been holding it the whole time. I quickly set it down on the back seat next to me while drinking the smoothie. Panic set in as I dashed back outside, but the driver was already gone.

I felt exposed. Not only did I receive looks, but a coworker whistled at me like I was a girl walking down the street in a skimpy skirt.

"Fuck off, Derek," I muttered, rolling my eyes as he laughed at me.

It occurred to me that I might find something to wear in the lost and found—maybe not a full outfit, but at least a hoodie to cover up a little. I hurried to the storage room and reached for the box.

Empty.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath.

Before I could think of another solution, the door opened, and my boss peeked inside.

"Connor… What the hell are you wearing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed, rubbing my face. "Long story."

"Uh-huh." He crossed his arms, clearly waiting for an explanation.

I considered telling him the truth but something told me that wouldn’t go over well.

"Just… a bet. Lost a bet," I said instead.

He shook his head. "You look like you're about to star in an 80s workout video. Get out on the floor. You’re late."

I groaned but nodded. I had no choice.

And my boss knew exactly how people used to dress back in the ‘80s—he had been a bodybuilder back then. Now, though, he was just a man in his sixties who looked more like an old PE teacher, always tucking his shirt into his shorts.

"Iron Works Gym" was a locally owned gym that had been a big deal when it first opened about 40 years ago. But with the rise of big chain gyms, it struggled to keep up. Still, thanks to its loyal customers, it managed to stay afloat.
Mornings brought in the usual crowd—older guys who had been lifting here since before I was born, a few younger gym rats who took their training seriously, and the occasional newbie looking lost among the rusted dumbbells and worn-out machines.

I made my rounds, wiping down benches, racking stray weights, and making small talk with the regulars. Joe, a retiree who spent more time chatting than lifting, gave me a slow, approving nod as his eyes dragged over me. “Damn, kid. Didn’t know you had legs like that. Lookin’ good.”

I forced a chuckle and moved on, pretending I didn’t notice the way he was still watching. I’d caught Joe checking me out before—me and some of the other trainers, too. He was never creepy about it, just observant in a way that made me suspect he wasn’t just there for the workout.

Between setting up a squat rack for a member and refilling the water station, I kept tugging at the tiny shorts, trying to convince myself that nobody cared what I was wearing. But every time I turned, I caught another set of eyes on me—some amused, some just plain curious.

And then I felt it. A twitch.

Right there, snug inside the way-too-tight jockstrap.

I swallowed hard, my fingers still gripping the waistband of my shorts. Was it the embarrassment? The attention? I didn’t know, and that uncertainty made it even worse. My face burned, and I forced myself to keep moving, acting like nothing was happening.

By the time the first hour was up, I had managed to avoid looking in the mirrors too much, focused on keeping busy. But deep down, I knew the day was only going to get worse before it got better.

The twitching beneath my underwear didn’t stop. If anything, it got worse.

Suddenly, the jockstrap felt tighter—squeezing, pressing. Was that even possible? Could fabric just shrink out of nowhere? Or was it something else?

A slow, creeping realization crawled up my spine.

Shit.

I swallowed hard. My junk was… rising.

I went to the restroom and stood in front of a urinal. Taking my dick out, I held it in my palm for a second. It wasn’t fully awake, but it definitely wasn’t resting either.

I let the stream flow, closing my eyes as the relief washed over me.

It’s normal for a guy to give himself a little tug to shake off the last drops—nothing unusual about that.

My problem? I was too determined.

Because suddenly, I had a full, throbbing hard-on between my hands.

“Shit.”

I tried to put it back inside the jockstrap, but it was useless—it just didn’t fit. What the hell was wrong with me?

Seeking some privacy, I ducked into a stall and attempted a few breathing exercises to calm myself. But my heart was racing, and my dick was throbbing. It felt like my body was betraying me, acting against my will.

I leaned against the cool wall of the stall, trying to steady my breath, but all I could focus on was the heat pooling in my gut and the undeniable arousal coursing through me.

I couldn’t stay there hiding forever; I had to get back to work eventually. I needed to figure out what to do, so I did the obvious. I took my cock with one hand and dealt with the problem.

A few minutes later, I walked out of the restroom, sweat staining the collar of my shirt and, of course, a raging boner straining against my shorts. As I couldn’t fit my dick back into the jockstrap, I made the executive decision to take it off entirely.

I hoped that my entire outfit would draw attention away from the obvious bulge in my midsection.

I thought about carrying something in front of my bulge the whole time—like a dumbbell or a weight plate. They always do that trick on TV when an actress is pregnant, so why wouldn’t I hide a notorious part of my body from everyone else?

It seemed like a ridiculous plan, but at that moment, it felt like my only option. I scanned the gym for a way to discreetly shield myself, hoping to blend in with the crowd and avoid any awkward encounters.

But just when I was looking for something to grab, Joe called me.

"Hey Connor, can you help me with..."

I could tell he had noticed. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight, and walked toward him.

Joe was sitting on the leg press machine, positioned almost at floor level, which put him right at eye level with my crotch. His gaze was fixated on my bulge without any qualms.

"Can you tell me if I'm doing this right?" he asked, completely oblivious to my discomfort.

I explained the proper way to do the exercise, though I suspected he already knew. His attention was clearly focused on the silhouette of my dick outlined in my shorts; you could even tell I was circumcised.

I tried to maintain my composure, but the heat of his gaze made it difficult to concentrate on the instructions I was giving. I could feel my face flush as I awkwardly shifted my weight, desperate for the moment to pass.

As I finished explaining, Joe adjusted his position on the leg press and asked, “Can you check my form? I just want to make sure I’m pushing with my legs properly.”

“Sure,” I replied, trying to sound casual as I moved closer. I squatted down beside him to get a better angle for observation.

But as I did, the leg of my shorts shifted unexpectedly, and I felt my dick slip out, exposing me completely.

It was so unexpected that I froze. Joe dropped his jaw, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Oh Jesus! Connor!” he exclaimed. “You are…”

Hard? Don’t tell me.

“Leaking…”

What?!

Without any modesty, Joe reached out to pick up the drop of precum that had emerged from my tip. A strange shock ran through my body, making me involuntarily moan.

“I’m sorry!” I blurted, standing up and grabbing my length to rush away from there.

I hid in the locker room, but not before noticing a guy staring at me. It wasn’t because of my outfit or my hardon, but because I was breathing heavily.

“Too much cardio…” I lied, trying to play it cool.

Suddenly, a wave of heat washed over me. I walked to the showers, an open space covered in tiles and surrounded by faucets. Fuck privacy, right?

I took my clothes off and stepped under the cold shower, hoping it would help. I let the water rinse away the sweat and relieve the heat. Tilting my head down, I let the cool indoor rain hit my neck and flow down my body.

It wasn’t until I heard the shower next to me turn on that I opened my eyes.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked, his voice cutting through the sound of the water.

“Uhm…” I hesitated. “Yeah… it’s just… It doesn't go down!”

“Don’t be ashamed. It’s normal for a guy your age.”

"But... I just jerked off, and it still won't go down..."

"Are you bragging, kid?" Joe said with an edge of annoyance.

"I'm sorry, no. It's just that... this isn’t exactly normal, right?"

"I don’t see anything strange," he replied, glancing at my rigid appendage. "Maybe you need to release one more time."

"Again?" I asked, surprised.

"Hey! Don’t ask me, ask your little friend right here..."

Did I have another choice? I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. I couldn’t go back out like that; I couldn’t hide it. I was more desperate than horny, and it didn’t even occur to me that I could just go back to the restroom and take care of it right there.

Instead, I started rubbing myself gently, feeling the tension build, until Joe handed me some body wash.

“This will help,” he suggested, his tone casual.

I squeezed some into my hand, making foam, and it definitely helped my hand slide up and down. I began to quicken the rhythm, the sensation intensifying.

It didn’t take me longer than usual to finish, but the orgasm felt more intense. My body spasmed as I struggled to remain standing, and Joe had to take my arm to steady me. I was catching my breath when someone else walked into the showers.

“Careful with that, boy! You’re gonna stab someone!”

“This guy is unbelievable,” said Joe. “He just came a second time after having jerked off minutes ago, and he’s still hard.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the other man chimed in. “He’s young.”

What did youth have to do with this? It wasn’t normal; I was sure of that.

“I bet he can do it one more time,” Joe added.

I was still catching my breath when the other man moved to stand under the shower next to mine. “I… I… I can’t!” I protested.

Joe took my hand and poured more body wash into my palm. The other man faced me and grabbed my shoulder. “I know you can do it. Grab that thing… beat that meat off!”

I nodded enthusiastically, recalling how my coach would give pep talks to the team before a match, and I went at it.

Soon, I was sandwiched between these two older men—one had a firm grip on my shoulder while the other rested his hand on my back. We were so close, yet our bodies weren’t touching. Under different circumstances, it would have felt weird, even creepy, but I had to focus on taking care of my unusual situation.

I was going at it energetically, my breaths coming in quick, strong gasps. My right arm started to burn, so I switched to the other. I needed more soap, so I lifted my hand as if Joe were some kind of masturbation pit crew.

“Keep going, Connor,” Joe encouraged.

“This is intense,” the other man said. “Are you always like this? Or did you take something?”

“What?” I asked between breaths. “Took something?”

“Yeah… like Viagra or something like that.”

“No… I’ve never…” I assured him, then suddenly realized, I only had a smoothie...

Motherfucker! The smoothie! It had to be that; there was no other explanation.

If I weren’t so close to finishing again, I would have stopped and rushed out of there. But then, the third orgasm burst forth like a geyser.

I hadn’t thought to grab a towel before getting into the shower, so I quickly began searching for my clothes. They weren’t where I had taken them off! I looked around, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?” I muttered, then remembered the gym’s strict policy of not leaving things on the floor—if you did, they’d be thrown away. It couldn’t be; I had been right there. I should have seen if someone took my clothes. But... I had been busy. A wave of shame flooded my mind, imagining someone from the staff witnessing what I had been doing in the shower.

Fortunately, I found a clean towel draped over a bench and quickly wrapped it around my waist. I stepped outside and walked toward the storage room when my boss walked in again.

“Connor, what the fuck?” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, boss! I just can’t find my clothes.”

“I can see that... But why are you naked in the first place? You’re supposed to be working.” I could see him frowning as his gaze drifted down. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I followed his gaze to the prominent teepee in front of me.

“I… I’m not sure... I’m sorry.” I walked past him and headed out. I didn’t mind that I’d have to walk home wearing only a towel. The police can't arrest me for that, right? I wasn’t completely naked.

I felt the rough sidewalk beneath my feet as I walked down the street when I heard a voice calling out to me.

“Connor!”

Great! What now?

“Need a ride?”

I turned back to see Dominic’s driver leaning against the car, a big smile on his face.

I walked toward him, and he opened the back seat door for me.

“Get in. Mr. Bennett wants you to have lunch with him.”

 

[Nanh_trang]

Omg i love your story so much . Plz dont keep me wait too long haha

 

[rigus]

CHAPTER 3

I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I was sitting in the back seat of the car, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist. I hadn’t hesitated to get in—I didn’t want my boss chasing me down to demand the towel back as gym property.

As my breathing steadied, I realized I had no idea where we were headed. But honestly, that was the least of my concerns.

"Did you put something in my smoothie?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

The driver kept his eyes on the road, not even sparing me a glance in the rearview mirror.

"Yes," he said.

"What?!" I exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

"Bananas and strawberries. Protein too."

I tilted my head, irritated. "Are you fucking serious?"

He finally adjusted the mirror, meeting my eyes.

"You know what I mean," I said, pointing at my crotch, making it clear exactly what I was talking about.

"You got a problem there?" he asked, glancing at me through the mirror. "You should let a doctor take a look at it."

I rolled my eyes and huffed.

"Where are we going?"

"To have lunch with Mr. Bennett."

"Yeah, but where?"

He didn’t answer.

"Is this how it’s going to be?" I asked, leaning forward slightly. "If I accept to be his… assistant?"

He gave me a brief look in the mirror but said nothing.

"Is this what he meant when he said he likes controlling people?" I asked. "Giving them ridiculous clothes, picking them up without telling them where they’re going? Did you choose your outfit today, or did he?"

The driver didn’t react. He was dressed in black dress pants and a crisp white shirt with a black tie—similar to what I’d wear at the bar.

When he didn’t answer, I sighed and leaned back against the seat. I turned to the window, watching the buildings, trees, and people blur past as he drove. But no matter how much I tried to distract myself, my attention kept drifting back to the problem between my legs—still hard, still trapped between my thighs.

I stole a glance at the driver. His eyes were fixed on the road, his expression unreadable. Slowly, I lifted the edge of the towel, worried about what I might find. Was it red? Sore?

Nope. Maybe a little swollen, but nothing to worry about—aside from the fact that it hadn’t deflated in over an hour. I looked down at it and whispered, begging it to calm down, to just go away. But as if it had a mind of its own, it twitched in defiance.

“Traitor,” I muttered under my breath.

I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling how unusually hard it was. The thought crossed my mind—just one more time, maybe that would finally make it go down—but I quickly came to my senses.

Suddenly, the car slowed to a stop.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

I looked up and met his gaze in the rearview mirror. My eyes widened as I realized he had caught me red-handed.

“Do you want some time to finish?” he asked, deadpan.

“I wasn’t—” But what was the point in explaining? I sighed and glanced out the window.

A fancy restaurant.

“Wait… you’re dropping me off here? Like this? I’m naked, man.”

The driver let out a breath, the kind that told me he was done with my bullshit. Without a word, he pulled forward, turning down a side alley. Once the car stopped, he got out, walked to the trunk, and pulled something out. Then, he opened my door, revealing a garment bag hanging from his hand.

I took the garment bag and opened it in the back seat, unsure of what to expect. I exhaled in relief when I found decent clothing inside—well-tailored dress pants, a crisp button-down shirt, and best of all, a fresh pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I quickly got dressed, grateful to finally be covered. Just as I was about to ask about shoes, I noticed the driver standing outside the door, holding a brand-new pair of dress shoes, waiting for me to take them.

I walked toward the restaurant's front door, my confidence growing with each step. I felt more than just nice; I felt transformed. I had never worn anything this fancy before—clothes I would never be able to afford on my own. The fabric hugged me perfectly, and for a moment, I reveled in the sensation of looking polished and put-together.
The hostess greeted me with a warm smile, treating me with the same respect she offered the usual customers. It felt good to be recognized in this way, as if I belonged in this world of sophistication and class.

Maybe working for Dominic could be a good opportunity after all, I thought. But then I recalled how awful the past hours had been—the embarrassment, the unexpected arousal, the humiliating situation in the gym. It was hard to reconcile the allure of this new life with the chaos I had just endured.

I told the hostess that I was there to meet someone, and as soon as I mentioned "Mr. Bennett," her eyes sparked with recognition. She quickly guided me through the elegant restaurant.

In the distance, I spotted him. Dominic stood there, dressed as elegantly as he had been the day before. He was engaged in conversation with another man who looked just as imposing, his face stoic as if they were discussing something serious. But as soon as Dominic saw me, a slight smile broke across his features. He interrupted the man he was talking to and stepped forward to greet me.

“Connor! I´m glad you could join me” he said, his gaze scanning me from head to toe, admiring my outfit. I was wearing gray pants, my hands crossed in front of me, desperately trying to hide the outline of my erection.“You look nice”.

He stretched out his right hand, daring me to expose what I was trying to hide. I sighed and shook his hand, and he smirked knowingly.

“Please, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the table to my right. He then turned back to his companion, commanding him in a firm voice to have some paperwork ready as soon as possible.

We both sat facing each other; I perched on the edge of my seat, back straight and tense from the situation, while Dominic lounged comfortably, exuding an air of power that only his confidence could provide.

After a moment of silence, we both spoke at the same time. “Thanks for…” We chuckled at the overlap, but Dominic, ever the polite host, gestured for me to continue.

“Thanks for the invitation. And the clothes,” I said, referring to the outfit I was wearing rather than the ones I had left at the gym. “It was really nice of you.”

Just then, a waiter approached our table and poured water into our glasses before offering Dominic a selection of wine, clearly recognizing who held the higher status.

“No, thanks. I don’t drink when I’m conducting business.” He then signaled toward me. “You are free to have a drink if you like,” he added, referencing our earlier conversation about my allowance to drink while working for him.

“No thanks,” I replied, and Dominic dismissed the waiter with a nod.

“So… this is a business meeting…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he clarified. “I just wanted to know if you’ve thought about the idea of becoming my assistant. But we could simply enjoy lunch instead.”

“I…” I had mixed feelings about accepting the job offer. I had so many doubts, but the money seemed incredibly tempting. Having accepted his previous requests felt like just a glimpse—the very tip of an iceberg I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore.

“It’s okay if you have your reservations,” Dominic said, his tone understanding. “It won’t be a binding contract; you can step out whenever you want.”

I sat there, staring at him, feeling my mouth go dry and my dick straining against my pants. I took a sip of water to steady myself. Dominic reached into his jacket, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across the table. “Just as encouragement, this will be your salary.”

I took it, and even the paper looked expensive—like a sample for a wedding invitation.

The amount of zeros took me by surprise.

“This will be…” I asked, intrigued.

“Weekly.”

“Weekly!” I couldn’t hide my shock. Dominic nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression.

“And that’s just your salary. If you agree to the terms of employment, housing, clothes, and food are all on me.”

I couldn’t believe it. I would be out of debt in a couple of months. I could help my dad. I could actually have savings!

I furrowed my brows, deep in thought. “Why do I feel like there’s a catch?”

“Don’t worry about that; there won’t be any fine print in the contract.” For the first time, he shifted in his seat, leaning forward. “You can ask me anything”

“You’ll pay for my rent?”

He nodded. “Unless you live with roommates.” He flinched at the thought, as if having roommates was beyond his comprehension. “You’d have to move out. I have a few apartments in my name that you could live in, but you can choose wherever you want, as long as it’s not too far.”

“There’s a restriction,” I pointed out.

“You can see it that way, but it’s more about convenience. Why would you want to waste too much time in traffic?”

“Will you give me a car?”

“You’ll have my driver take you anywhere you want.”

“Huh…” I guessed that was part of his control—having someone drive me wherever he wanted. “What about clothing?” I asked, suddenly more interested in that aspect.

The waiter interrupted us, asking if we were ready to order. I hadn’t had the chance to see a menu, but Dominic was ahead of me. “We’ll both have the glazed salmon, medium.”

The waiter nodded, jotting it down. “And what sides would you like with that? The salmon comes with asparagus.”

Dominic replied, “I’ll take the asparagus, but not for him.” He glanced at me with a smirk before continuing, “Get him something else. How about the garlic mashed potatoes?”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter said, noting the changes. He didn’t even glance at me as he wrote it down.

“It’s going to be like that, huh?” I noted, a hint of frustration creeping into my voice. “That’s part of the control you said you wanted. You’ll decide what I eat and what I wear… even if it’s…”

“Uncomfortable. Embarrassing,” he pointed out.

“That’s what you like,” I remarked, and he nodded in agreement.

“But also, there will be times when I want you to dress accordingly, like today. I’ll also spoil you, Connor… keep that in mind.”

I excused myself to go to the restroom; I needed a moment to think without his excruciating gaze on me. I washed my face and looked in the mirror. Was I really considering this? Others would have turned him down immediately.

He said he was going to take a chance on me—that he had made mistakes with his other assistants, that they weren’t suited for the job. But why would I be any different? What set me apart? He had just met me the day before; I was just a bartender.

The door swung open, and Dominic walked in, heading straight for a urinal. Damn it! I needed to pee too. I had drunk too much water at the gym, trying to ease the heat I was feeling, and all I had consumed while waiting for our meal was more water.

I was about to stand in front of a urinal, following the unspoken men’s rule of leaving an empty space, but I felt my raging boner pressing against my pants.

“Use this one next to me,” he commanded as I started toward a stall. I didn’t know why I obeyed, but I did.

I stood there and unzipped my pants, struggling to pull my stiffness out. It took me a moment to let out the stream. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dominic finish and zip his pants, but he didn’t move.

“Shy bladder?” he asked, taking a peek.

“Did you…?” I sighed. “Did you put something… did you ask your driver to put something in my smoothie?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he replied.

“Did my drink have something to make my dick get rock hard?”

“Not precisely,” Dominic said, sounding as evasive as I had come to expect. “It had a few things. You said you were a personal trainer, and I was worried that you weren’t taking everything you need—like protein, pre-workout, creatine, and a few others. I’ll have to check if any of those have that side effect.”

I chuckled, not amused at all. “You must be fucking kidding me.” I dared to look at him, and he was staring back, his eyes dark and deep. “You drugged me.”

“That’s a serious accusation, Connor.” His gaze shifted from my green eyes to my lips. “Maybe you should save some of that piss… Want me to bring a cup so we can send it to a lab to confirm your suspicions?”

“I guess there’s no point in doing that,” I replied. “How long will it take?”

“How long will it take what?”

“How long will it take to go down?”

“It depends… have you been stimulating it?” he asked, glancing down at my dick, which I hadn’t put away because it was still too hard to fit comfortably back into my underwear.

I sighed, biting back a sharp response. Dominic left my side to wash his hands. “I mean, it will help keep the blood flow. You wouldn’t want it to gangrene, would you?”

“What?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

“Oh yes… if it doesn’t go down, you’ll have to visit the ER. Do you know what they do to fix it?” He paused, waiting for me to come up with something I didn’t know. “They stick a needle in and drain it.”

“Bullshit.”

“You can google it,” he replied with a casual shrug.

Leaving modesty aside, I grabbed my dick and started rubbing it, my heart pounding more from worry than arousal. I had already jerked off in front of Joe—twice—so what did it matter if I did it once more in front of Dominic? I closed my eyes, trying to distance myself from the situation. At least this was better than the gym restroom.

I heard the soft pop of a bottle cap. Opening my eyes, I saw Dominic standing beside me, holding one of those small lotion bottles they put in fancy restrooms. Without a word, he tilted it, pouring the cool liquid over my throbbing cock. A moan escaped me as my fingers slid effortlessly along my length.

“How many times have you jerked off today?” he asked.

“T-three…”

“This will be the fourth?” I nodded.

“Goodness… Did people stare at your boner?”

I nodded again, my hand still working.

“Nice… I bet it was hard to keep it inside those little shorts.”

Another nod.

“It… it slipped out…” I admitted, my breath shaky.

“Oh? Really?” He sounded almost delighted. “Did someone see?”

I swallowed and confirmed. “It was so embarrassing.”

“I bet it was…” His voice was smooth, coaxing. “What did you do?”

“I went to take a cold shower…”

“Did it help?”

I shook my head. He chuckled.

“Did you jerk off in the shower?”

“Yes… twice…”

“Did anyone see you?”

I hesitated, then nodded again.

Dominic let out a low moan, as if it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard.

He gently cupped the back of my head and guided me toward him until his forehead pressed against my temple. His warm breath brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Tell me about it…” he murmured.

I swallowed hard. “This guy… I think he followed me to the locker room. I didn’t understand why I was so hard… He told me I needed to jerk off… so I did. But it didn’t go down. Then another guy came in… said it was normal… but I knew it wasn’t normal! They encouraged me to do it again…”

Dominic hummed, pleased. “Oh, Connor, you’re so obedient. That’s why I believe you’ll make excellent entertainment…”

“What?” My body tensed at the unfamiliar word, but before I could dwell on it, a deep spasm curled through me, pulling me closer to the edge.

“I said you’ll be an excellent assistant,” he corrected smoothly. “If you accept my offer. What do you say?”

Never agree to anything when you’re about to cum. It clouds your common sense. But right then, my body ruled over my mind. I nodded enthusiastically, my breath hitching as my balls tightened. A strangled moan ripped from my throat as my orgasm took over, my cock pulsing as thick streams of cum shot out.

Dominic held me close, steadying me through it, his grip firm, possessive.

We finished our lunch, and with a full stomach and empty balls, my mind felt a little more reasonable.

“I can’t go back to that gym… It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m glad you have a better job offer,” Dominic said smoothly.

I frowned, thinking it over. Then it hit me. “You did this on purpose. You wanted me to get fired. That’s manipulation.”

He tilted his head, unconcerned. “I’d call it coercion. A little push.” Then, as if he’d just thought of it, he added, “But now that I know what happened… I’d actually like you to keep working there.”

I stared at him, at a loss for words. I was about to tell him to fuck off when someone approached our table. It was the man Dominic had been speaking to when I arrived.

“Here it is, Dom.” The man handed him a stack of documents.

“Thanks Richard.” Dominic placed them on the table and slid them toward me. “Richard Langley, my lawyer,” he added casually as the man walked away. “This is your contract. Read it, have someone review it if you’d like, and reach out when you’re ready to sign.”

 

[Nanh_trang]

plz keep writing hard and dont let us wait toooooo longgggg

 

[rigus]

CHAPTER 4

I looked at the impressive 20-story apartment building across the street, still unable to believe it. I was carrying a box with half my life in it, while the other half was being held by my best friend, Logan. We had met in high school and had been inseparable back then, but things changed after graduation when Logan went off to college. I reached out to him a few days ago with my awkward dilemma.

“Dude!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. “This is awesome! Look at this place.” He gestured not just at the apartment building but at the entire area—one of the most exclusive parts of town.

“Yeah… it’s nice,” I said, trying not to sound less excited than him. I had hoped Logan would give me a slap of common sense when I told him about the job offer, but to my surprise, he encouraged me to accept it.

Logan was about to earn his degree in finance, and his professional advice was straightforward: “Man, you’re so stupid if you don’t take that job.” He argued that I was only focusing on the risks instead of the opportunities. I had a chance to earn a substantial amount of money in a short time, and by the time he graduated, I could be well off, avoiding the massive college debt that weighed heavily on him.

I saw his point, and reluctantly, I called Dominic to tell him I would accept his offer.

We walked into the lobby and were greeted by the doorman, who looked at us as if we didn’t belong there. I had chosen to wear a pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless shirt—not my best outfit—but one of Dominic’s instructions was not to bring any of my clothes and to wear something I wouldn’t mind throwing away.
The doorman frowned when I told him who I was and who my new boss was. He nodded and pointed to the elevators.

“I still can’t believe this is your new place, man,” Logan said, his excitement palpable.

“Neither can I.”

“You should have asked him for the penthouse.”

“I didn’t want to go all the way and ask for the queen’s pearls. What if it was a test? Or what if his requests matched the number of things I asked for?” It was enough that I had sold my willpower to Dominic; I still felt uneasy about what he might ask me to do.

"Dude! The man owns the damn building," he pointed out. "The man OWNS buildings. Plural..."

"I still can’t believe you investigated him."

"Googling someone is not investigating. The man is a big deal—fucking Dominic Bennett, businessman, millionaire... pervert..."

"Shut up," I told him, trying to brush off the comments.

"Hey... it’s not a big deal," Logan reassured me. "A lot of people do whatever they can to survive. A great opportunity has landed in your lap."

"Why can I still not see it...?"

"Well... you can still reject the offer... and I’d be willing to step in if you don´t want to..."

I chuckled, incredulous at the thought.

"You would?" I asked, surprised.

"Sure! Why not?" he replied confidently. "Dom-Dom would be getting an upgrade, though. You know, me being hotter than you..."

"Don’t call him that," I shot back, irritated. Logan had baptized Dominic as "Dom-Dom" because, well, he was dominant and his name was Dominic. It was stupid.

And that other thing wasn’t true. Sure, Logan was blonde and good-looking. We had both played basketball in high school, but he became a swimmer in college, developing that swimmer’s build—broad-shouldered with a narrow waist. But I still attracted the attention of women—and apparently men—more than he did.

The elevator doors finally opened, and we stepped out. As we walked down the hallway, I lingered behind.

“Logan… would you really do something like this?” I asked. My friend stopped and turned back to face me. “I mean, let a man decide your every step, tell you what to do and what not to do?”

Logan sighed. “Connor... my parents are extra religious. I’m used to being told what to do and what not to do.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “What better but to get paid for it? Besides, the contract says that you’re not obligated to do anything you don’t want to, and you can walk away from it without a penalty. My buddy said the contract doesn’t have anything sketchy.”

Logan had shown the contract to his roommate but hadn’t mentioned it to me until after it was done. I was still mad at him for that, but his roommate was in law school and had a better chance of finding something off in the contract than I did—and he didn’t find anything concerning. At first, he thought it was some kind of prank contract; he couldn’t believe that someone would hire someone to dominate, let alone that someone would agree to do it.

We finally reached the apartment door—my new apartment. I juggled the box I was carrying to knock, and just as I did, the door swung open. It was none other than Dominic’s driver, the brick wall of a man who looked at me, then at Logan.

“Who is this?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“This is my friend, Logan,” I said, glancing at my friend. “And this is…” I realized I didn’t know his name. I looked back at the mountain of muscles and waited for him to introduce himself.

“Raymond,” he said simply.

We both nodded in acknowledgment. “Can I call you Ray?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” he replied sharply.

I understood he was only there to do his job. I tried to step inside, but Raymond didn’t move. He looked directly at me and shook his head.

“Clothes,” he said. “Mr. Bennett’s orders.”

“Right now?” I asked, still holding the box. “Can’t I just get inside and take them off?”

Raymond shook his head again.

I huffed, knowing arguing was useless. Setting the box down, I glanced at Logan, who only shrugged. With a sigh, I pulled my shirt over my head, then pushed down my shorts, stepping out of them. My hands instinctively moved in front of me—not out of shame, since Logan and I had spent plenty of time in locker rooms and showers—but because I had a feeling I needed to get used to stripping in unexpected places.

I waited for Raymond to step aside, but he nodded toward my sneakers.

“Those too?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just waited. I toed them off, and finally, the human wall let me inside.

The moment I stepped inside, I was hit with the smell of new furniture and polished wood. The place looked… expensive, but not flashy. The living room, dining area, and kitchen blended together in one open space, giving it an airy, seamless feel. Everything was sleek—clean lines, neutral colors, modern but not cold. A gray sectional couch faced a low, minimalist coffee table, and behind it, a dining table with four chairs sat beneath a sculptural light fixture. The kitchen had dark cabinets and stainless steel appliances that looked like they had never been touched. It was the kind of place that belonged in a magazine, not to someone like me.

But what caught my attention the most was the wall of windows stretching from floor to ceiling. No blinds, no curtains—just glass, completely exposing the apartment to the world outside.

I swallowed hard, my eyes darting to the neighboring buildings. Some were far enough away that I couldn’t make out the windows clearly, but others… others weren’t. Someone, somewhere, could be looking in right now.

I shifted uncomfortably, standing there with just my hands covering my private parts. I had barely set foot in this place, and I already felt on display.

Logan was nowhere in sight until I heard him curse in amazement from down the hall. I followed the sound and found him standing in what could only be described as an entertainment room.

“Dude, you’re kidding me,” he said, running a hand through his hair as he took it all in.

A long, plush couch stretched across the room, facing a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Beneath it, two high-end gaming consoles sat neatly on a sleek media stand. A surround sound system was built into the walls, and to the side, a compact but fully stocked mini bar gleamed under soft lighting.

Logan spun to look at me, his grin wide. “You think Dom-Dom would let me move in too? I could be your emotional support roommate.”

I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s not part of the deal.”

He flopped onto the couch, spreading his arms across the back. “Shame”

I exhaled, taking it all in. It was undeniably impressive, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this—every last luxury—came with a price.

I left Logan enjoying himself on the couch and went to explore the rest of the apartment. I opened one door and found the bedroom—a huge, comfy bed in the center, with a nightstand on each side. But what impressed me the most was the walk-in closet. But there was something odd, it was completely empty.

I walked back to the living room and found Raymond going through the contents of my boxes.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I snapped.

Even though I had agreed to be exposed and ordered around under this contract, this felt like a huge invasion of privacy. In each of his hands, Raymond held framed pictures of my family.

"I have to verify that you’re not sneaking in anything Mr. Bennett hasn't approved," Raymond said.

I walked up to him and took the pictures from his hands, moving naturally, not at all bothered that I was the only one undressed in the apartment.

"These are all personal items," I said, placing them back in the box and closing it.

"It’s fine," Raymond replied. "I already checked. They’re clear."

"What the fuck, man?!" I exclaimed. But before I could start ranting, Logan walked into the living room with more exciting news.

"Dude, you have every streaming service!" he announced. "The sound system is insane! Imagine watching porn on that screen with this sound."

"Porn is not allowed. It’s blocked," Raymond stated flatly.

"Oh, shoot. Well, you’ll have to settle for some mildly erotic movies," Logan joked.

"Parental controls are on. No R-rated movies either," Raymond added, just as deadpan.

"Fine!" I said, not particularly worried about my TV privileges at that moment. "Where are my clothes?" I frowned. "The closet is empty."

"They’ll be delivered any moment now. Mr. Bennett took his time selecting what would suit you best."

For the first time, I caught a slight smile from Raymond—and it wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. I suddenly wondered what kind of wardrobe I would be allowed—or rather, forced—to wear.

Before leaving, Raymond asked for my cellphone—along with my passcode written down.

"My phone? Why?"

"Mr. Bennett will provide you with a new one and transfer only the necessary information from your old device."

"He gets to decide which contacts I keep?

Raymond gave a short nod.

I clenched my jaw. "Tell him I want to keep Logan in my contacts. And my father." Those were the only two that came to mind—the only ones that really mattered.

"That’s up to Mr. Bennett to decide," Raymond said matter-of-factly.

The door clicked shut behind Raymond as he left. I let out a breath and walked into the kitchen, only to find my best friend raiding the fridge.

He was biting into a plum while absentmindedly tapping at the touchscreen on the fridge’s door.

"Your fucking fridge has a computer in it," he said through a mouthful. "Oh, look—there’s a welcome message." He tapped the screen again, opening it with a smirk.

"Welcome, Connor. I trust you'll find everything to your satisfaction. This space is yours—make yourself comfortable. I expect you to adapt quickly. I’ll be in touch with further instructions. Check here for any messages or orders."

Logan turned to me with raised eyebrows. "Damn. Even your fridge takes orders from him."

We spent the next couple of hours relaxing, first testing the comfort of the living room couch before moving to the TV room when I started feeling too exposed in front of the glass wall. We talked, joked, and laughed like we always did, and strangely, I didn’t feel uncomfortable being the only naked one in the room.

Then a beeping sound caught us off guard. At first, we had no idea where it was coming from. For a moment, we thought it might be the fire alarm—but it didn’t sound like that. And honestly, the thought of having to evacuate without clothes on was a nightmare I didn’t want to entertain.

Then I realized the sound was coming from a phone mounted on the wall.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Foster? Connor Foster?"

"Yes, that’s me."

"You have a delivery waiting at the lobby."

"Oh, great!" My clothes. Finally. "Please send them up to apartment..." I hesitated for a second, trying to remember the number. "1203."

"Yeah... uhm... that won’t happen. You’ll have to come down and pick it up," said the front desk attendant.

I sighed. "Well… tell them to leave the package there in the lobby. I’m kind of busy right now." A lied, but I wasn’t about to parade downstairs naked.

"He says he can’t do that."

"Fine," I huffed. "Someone will be right there." I glanced at Logan—my friend wouldn’t say no.

But before I could even ask, the man added, "He says it has to be you. You have to sign. Strictly required for this delivery."

Of course, it did.

I groaned, already considering borrowing Logan’s clothes, but then the man continued, "And you better bring someone with you. It looks heavy… and I can’t help you—I don’t have a strong back."

After a brief argument with my friend about how we both could share his clothes, we finally gave in and took the elevator down.

Logan strutted out shirtless, his lean torso on display, while I wore his—thankfully oversized—T-shirt, which draped over me like a flowy little dress.

The moment we stepped into the lobby, two men turned their heads, their gazes immediately locking onto my bare legs.

"Where do I sign?" I asked, pointedly ignoring them as I looked at the box on the floor—one that, to my annoyance, was neither as big nor as heavy as I’d been led to believe.

The delivery guy handed me the device, and I barely glanced at it before signing and handing it back. Then, I bent down to grab the box, trying not to expose my bare ass in the process.

"I think I can handle a single box myself," I said dryly.

But the delivery man just smirked and pointed toward the entrance.

I followed his gaze—and my stomach dropped.

A pile of shoeboxes sat neatly stacked beside a rack of garment bags. And next to them, like some kind of final insult, was a trunk.

A fucking trunk.

We stacked the shoeboxes on top of the trunk, grabbed a side each, and carried it toward the elevator. The weight wasn’t too bad—we were young, athletic. We had this figured out. What could go wrong?

First, we rolled the clothing rack inside, then quickly lifted the trunk and stepped in. That’s when we realized our mistake.

Neither of us had a free hand to press the floor button.

Logan, ever the genius, suggested he could lean in and push it with his nose. We almost dropped the damn trunk trying.

Then, just as the elevator doors began closing automatically—

“Wait for us!” a voice called out.

Two men rushed in.

One was broad, strong-looking, and covered in thick body hair. The other was on the chubby side, carrying a tiny dog. Even though the elevator was already packed, they still tried squeezing in.

“Sorry, sorry—my bad—”

“Watch out—I’m coming through—”

Logan and I exchanged a look, both bracing ourselves so we wouldn’t drop the trunk on our feet. Somehow, we managed.

Unfortunately, so did they.

One of them wedged himself behind me, the other pressed up behind Logan. The space was beyond cramped now.

This was going to be the longest elevator ride of my life.

“What floor are you going to?” the chubby one asked from behind Logan. “Oh! Never mind, I think I accidentally pushed them all while squeezing in. Sorry!”

 

[rigus]

The elevator began its eternal ascent to the twelfth floor.

“Moving in?” the strong, hairy guy behind me asked. I hummed in confirmation.

“Welcome then!”

“Is there going to be a housewarming party?” the chubby one chimed in. “We love parties! Right, Fuzzy?”

The dog barked right in Logan’s ear.

“Hey, Fuzzy…” Logan said, trying to shake off the surprise.

“Oh no. I’m Fuzzy,” the hairy one corrected him, smiling. “The dog’s name is Keith.”

“Oh…” we both replied, momentarily thrown off.

Suddenly, Keith grew anxious, perhaps because the elevator was taking too long or because the doors kept opening on each floor. With a burst of energy, he jumped out of the man’s arms.

“Oh my god! Keith! No! Don’t go out!” the chubby man yelled. The dog barked excitedly, running around our feet, making it impossible for anyone to catch him.

A commotion erupted among the four of us as the two men argued about how to get the dog to calm down while Logan and I struggled to keep holding the trunk.

“Oh no!” Logan exclaimed.

I saw the surprise in Logan’s eyes. “What’s going on?”

“He’s chewing my shorts… he’s pulling them down…”

“Oh no! Keith! No!” the chubby man exclaimed. “We don’t go around pulling other people’s shorts! That’s rude!” But apparently, Keith kept tugging at the hem of Logan´s shorts.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” the man said, reaching for Logan’s waistband and giving it a pull, which only made Keith angrier.

“Help!” yelled Logan, panicking. “I think I’m going to drop this!” he shouted, as the man behind him tugged him toward his crotch.

“Honey! Help him with the trunk!” Fuzzy called out, sliding his hands beside my waist to help me hold it.

With four of us carrying the trunk, it became easier, but then we had these two men right behind us, their bulges pressing against our backsides. And the worst part? I noticed Fuzzy starting to get… fuzzy.

I felt him getting firmer against my naked butt, his strong arms on my sides, his warm breath on my neck. I couldn’t help but succumb to the sensations as I felt my dick starting to wake up. I hadn’t had a full erection since that day when I spent nearly twelve hours hard; it had felt like a vacation for my dick, a few days of hibernation. Why did it have to wake up now?

I began to sweat, and Logan looked worried as his shorts finally slid down his legs to the floor. Fortunately, he still had his underwear on.

Then, as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, something caught Keith’s attention. I felt him sniffing at my feet.

“He’s licking me… it tickles!” I exclaimed when I felt the damn dog licking my calves.

“Keith! We don’t lick other people’s feet!” the chubby man scolded.

“Speak for yourself,” Fuzzy quipped, chuckling.

But then Keith continued up, sniffing my legs. Fortunately, he was a small dog. Unfortunately, he started jumping as if he wanted to reach something.

“Oh my god, no!” I exclaimed. “He wants to bite my dick!”

“Keith, no!”

“Please! Help me!” I pleaded, my voice rising in panic.

“I don’t understand,” the chubby one said. “He only acts like that when we open his favorite snacks—oatmeal cookies.”

“Oh fuck,” Logan and I both said, remembering the box of oatmeal cookies we’d polished off from the pantry while watching TV. Crumbles may have fallen on Logan’s shorts and in my lap.

“He won’t get tired until he has a bite.”

“PLEASE!” I begged Fuzzy. “I need to cover my dick, or your dog is going to chop it off!”

I’m not sure what exactly the man understood, but my plan was to let the trunk go and cover myself while he still held it. Instead, the fuzzy man grabbed my dick with one hand and cupped my balls with the other.

I deprived myself of any emotion showing on my face as I felt his warm hands around my shaft. My balls were cradled in his other hand, protected from any harm. He stood still for a brief moment, but my treacherous dick responded to the touch by twitching.

“Oh…” Fuzzy let out an acknowledgment right in my ear. I swallowed hard, not wanting to say anything. It was so embarrassing, and I didn’t want to cause any trouble between the couple. Plus, Logan would never let me forget that I got hard in a stranger’s hand.

His thumb began rubbing the head of my dick, and I couldn’t pull away from it. I looked up at the floor numbers—three more to go. I wished I could hold on; it had been three days of sleep, and my dick was fully awake.

I bit my lip to stifle a moan. I had never felt anything like this before—his big hand wrapping around me, soft yet firm at the same time. His movements were gentle, almost as if he didn’t want to do it. I looked up—two more floors. I could hardly stand the subtle massage.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked, concern lacing his voice.

I nodded, trying to keep my composure.

Fuzzy held me tightly, his sizable bulge rubbing against my naked butt. He could feel my dick throb, and we both knew what was coming. I was cumming. He cupped his hand to capture every drop.

They were kind enough to help us take my things to my door. I avoided looking them in the eye until they headed to their own apartment, which, to my luck, was on the same floor as mine.

Once inside, Logan stared at me, clearly wanting to know what had happened in the elevator. I didn’t tell him. Maybe he had his suspicions, but he kept quiet.

I needed a cold shower—or was it too late for that? But first, I noticed a light blinking on and off on the fridge. I went to check it out.

As I approached the fridge, I noticed the screen flashing with a new message. I tapped it to read:

"Hello, Connor. I hope you’re settling in well. I’ll be coming by for dinner tonight at 8 PM to see how you’re adjusting. I want to see what your cooking skills are like. Please wear something from the casual garment bag. Also, don’t forget to put on underwear number 7."

 

[Infamous Hacker]

So hot! I can't wait for things to heat up more!

 

[MrDuuude69]

Great idea and I like the slow burn.

 

[rigus]

CHAPTER 5

Who would have thought that a shower could be impressive? The main faucet above me released a steady, warm rainfall, but what caught me off guard was the sensation of water hitting me from the sides.

Jets were built into the walls, spraying streams of perfectly pressurized water at just the right height to massage my back and shoulders. Another set lower down hit my legs, and for a moment, I just stood there, arms slightly out, letting the water surround me from all directions. It was the kind of luxury I never thought I’d experience.

I reached for the control panel—because of course, this thing had a digital control panel—and shut the water off. At first, I felt overwhelmed, thinking I wouldn’t know how to work it, but the interface was surprisingly intuitive.

I grabbed a towel, and stepped out into the spacious bathroom. Drying myself off, I wrapped the towel around my waist.

I still couldn’t believe my luck. Whether it was good or bad was up for debate, but at the very least, I was going to be extra comfortable.

I grabbed a new toothbrush and brushed my teeth while combing my hair. When I leaned forward to spit into the sink, my eyes landed on something I had noticed before but hadn’t really paid much attention to—the toilet had a bidet beside it.

There were going to be a few more "firsts" for me while living there.

I stepped into the walk-in closet. A few things had been put in place, but for the most part, it was still a mess. Logan had been eager to go through everything Dominic had sent me, but I wasn’t exactly keen on sharing the embarrassment of whatever I might find.

So, I told him I needed to get ready for my boss’s visit, thanked him for his help, and saw him out.

Dominic had asked me to wear something casual. There were two outfits marked as "casual." One was a crop top paired with jeans so shredded with holes that I probably wouldn’t even need to unzip them to take a piss. The other was a pair of chino pants and a Henley-neck T-shirt.

Not exactly a tough decision.

I took the outfit and laid it out on the bed to see how it looked together. I even grabbed a pair of brown Chelsea boots that caught my attention right away. It made for a nice ensemble; the only thing left was the underwear. I went to check the box that contained a lot of small boxes marked with numbers, like an advent calendar. I picked number 7, just as Dominic had instructed.

I had a nice outfit, right? Nothing could ruin it—until I saw it.

A thong.

I stood in front of the mirror for quite a while, trying to decide what to think about Dominic’s choice. It was absolutely deliberate; he had picked it to make me uncomfortable. I didn’t think he believed I was the kind of guy who would choose to wear a thong—no offense to those who like wearing them.

The truth was, it didn’t feel as bad as I thought. I mean, it fulfilled its purpose. But still, I examined myself from every possible angle, turning around and even leaning forward. My dick and balls were completely covered by the pouch, making it look like I had a bag of marbles. The waistband sat a little low, but thankfully I trimmed my pubes.

In the end, it didn’t matter much, because I had a nice pair of pants to cover that tiny piece of cloth.

Dominic wanted to test my cooking skills, which were basic at best. But in my early years—after my mom passed away and my dad fell into a deep depression—I had to step up. Out of necessity, I developed survival skills in the kitchen, asking people around me how to cook the basics, especially Logan’s mom. That’s when I discovered the simplicity of one-pan meals. Throwing a bunch of ingredients together could sometimes go horribly wrong, but other times, it turned out surprisingly good.

Still, I didn’t want to take any chances and serve Dominic something that tasted like it came from a can. So, I decided to make lasagna—something I could assemble in a single pan with the confidence that it would turn out well.

I was tossing a salad in a bowl—same principle as a one-pan meal, just a bunch of chopped vegetables thrown together—when I heard the front door open.

So, it was my apartment, but he could walk in as he pleased. No knocking from him. Noted.

I didn’t stop what I was doing to greet him. I wanted to test him just as much as he was testing me. Did he want me to rush over, take his jacket, and hang it for him? Apparently not. Dominic took it off himself and draped it over a chair. He moved through the space like he already knew it well. I wondered if he had personally chosen every piece of furniture. I doubted he placed them himself—but he definitely made sure someone did.

“Good evening, Connor,” he greeted me with a slight smile, holding a bottle of wine.

“Good evening, S...ominic.” I stumbled over my words, unsure if I should start calling him sir now that he was officially my boss.

“Sominic?” He smirked, setting the bottle on the counter before leaning forward, resting his hands on the kitchen island.

“Sorry... I wasn’t sure if—”

“You can call me by my name,” he said, his gaze steady. He was evidently pleased that I’d followed his instructions.

"Good to know," I said. "Are you hungry?" I pulled the oven door open and leaned down to take out the lasagna. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dominic’s gaze drop to my lower back—confirming I was wearing his choice of underwear.

"It smells delicious," he remarked.

"It’s just one of the few things I know how to cook," I admitted. Better to set expectations now.

He stared at me for a moment and said, "You look good."

And I did. The pants fit perfectly, hugging my thighs and butt just right, while the Henley shirt framed my chest and biceps.

"Thank you," I replied.

We sat down for dinner, and I couldn’t shake the anxiety of waiting for Dominic’s reaction. He took a bite, then another—but said nothing. Not a single word. That was worse than any criticism. Was it good? Bad? Or just not even worth commenting on?

The silence stretched between us, and out of habit—maybe my bartender instincts kicking in—I asked, “Busy day?”, trying to make casual conversation.

Dominic exhaled softly, setting down his fork. “I’d rather not talk about work,” he said. His gaze lifted to mine. “Tell me about your day instead.”
I went into a full monologue, and Dominic listened attentively, seeming genuinely interested in everything I had to say. I told him about how Logan helped me move my things out of my old apartment and into a storage unit, how I was convinced that Raymond desperately needed to get laid because his temper was the worst, and how the apartment had completely exceeded my expectations.

Dominic simply nodded and smiled, letting me talk.

“Have you thought about keeping your job at the gym?” he asked. “I want you to keep working out, but your bartender job… I’m not sure. I’d like you available some nights to be my plus one at events or just to join me for dinner.” He took a sip of his wine, which was really good.
“I thought the job was to be your assistant…” I said, a bit confused. “And you pay really well; I don’t see why I would need a second job.” I smiled, lifting my glass to toast to that.

“Sure, the job is to be my assistant. You’ll assist me… on certain matters. And yes, it’s a full-time job. But due to my long hours, there will be times I’ll ask you to handle things while you’re busy with other tasks. I prefer you to keep your days occupied as well.”

I sighed, recalling the events at the gym. I hadn’t stepped foot in there since that day, and even though my former boss had called me, I didn’t want to check his messages. As for my bartender job, I had asked for some days off they owed me to move, so I figured I’d need to tell them I wouldn’t be going back.

“I guess there have to be some gyms around. I’ll check them out and apply for a job,” I said. Dominic simply nodded in approval.

We talked about a few other unimportant things—music, movies, food, travel. Although Dominic’s experiences always surpassed mine by far, he assured me that there would be time for me to experience some of them. Then Dominic changed the subject drastically. “Did you have a hard time getting the clothes I sent up here?” He was looking at me attentively, not even blinking. I could see a slight smirk on his face, as if he already knew what had happened.

I didn’t say anything at first. Then he added, “Luckily, there were plenty of hands around to help you.”

“How do you…?” I stammered, startled. I looked around the apartment, scanning every corner and mirror. “Are there cameras? Are you spying on me?”
Dominic laughed as if I had just said the funniest thing ever. “Don’t be silly, Connor,” he said. “I have access to the cameras in common areas, like the lobby and the elevators.” The man owned the whole building—buildings, plural, as Logan had said.

“So you watched everything…” I said, my voice trailing off as he nodded.

I felt my face burning, flushed with embarrassment and anger. Dominic reached out to grab my chin, tilting my head to face him. “I really liked what I saw. I’m not an envious man, Connor. I always let others play with my toys.”

It infuriated me. “That’s what I am to you? A toy?!” I yanked his hand away from my face.

“Oh! Come on, Connor. Don’t be overly dramatic,” Dominic waved his hand dismissively.

“Overly dramatic?!” I was stunned. “The guy basically assaulted me. Someone might even call it rape!” I pushed my chair back, standing up and walking away. Dominic followed.

“Do you want to press charges?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious. “You have my legal team to support you. We have the video as evidence.” He seemed so confident, but something about it felt part of a bigger plan.

Yes, I could press charges, but the video would show me asking for help, and Fuzzy would claim he misunderstood. There would be questions about why I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

I sighed, feeling defeated. I had gotten myself into this situation, and now I had two options: keep going or quit on the spot. I accepted the job with the intention of lasting as long as possible; one day wasn’t enough to get out of debt. I had rented the storage unit for a month—my self-imposed deadline—and I would have to continue.

I turned back to look at Dominic. “It’s okay. Forget about it.”

“Fine,” Dominic said. “Well, I think it’s time to end the night. I have a couple of meetings in the morning, and I’d like you to be there with me.” I nodded. “Raymond will pick you up at 9. Wear what’s in the country club bag,” he instructed before leaving.

 

[rigus]

I let the events of the previous night flow under the bridge after having one of the best nights of my life sleeping in my new bed. It was perfectly firm for my back, and the linens felt incredibly soft against my skin. Since Dominic hadn’t sent any pajamas in my new wardrobe, I slept naked.

I took the elevator down—alone—and checked myself in the mirror. Dominic had asked me to wear what was in the country club bag, which consisted of a white polo shirt that hugged my chest and shoulders tightly, white shorts that fell above the knee, and matching white socks. Underneath, I wore the low-rise briefs from box number 12—thin, paper-white, and barely there.

I glanced up at the security camera, feeling tempted to show my middle finger, but just then the doors opened.

Raymond was already waiting for me. I got into the car and said, “Good morning.” The driver immediately hit the gas, and we were on our way. He raised his hand holding a smoothie cup and offered it to me, to which I replied, “No thanks.” I had already had a light breakfast at the apartment and wasn’t going to risk it.

As we pulled up to the country club, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. The grand entrance was flanked by perfectly manicured hedges and vibrant flower beds, a stark contrast to the more modest surroundings I was used to. I had lived in this town my entire life, yet I had never set foot in a place like this. It was a world of its own—elegant, sophisticated, and just a little intimidating.

Raymond parked the car in front of the impressive building, and I took a moment to absorb the sight. He opened the door for me, I stepped out, feeling slightly out of place in my country club attire. "Mr. Bennett is waiting for you at the restaurant," Raymond informed me, his tone professional as always.

“Thanks,” I replied, adjusting the collar of my polo shirt nervously.

“Just head straight through the lobby, and you’ll find it on the right,” he added, nodding toward the entrance.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way into the club, ready to face whatever the morning would bring.

The inside was like one of those resorts shown on TV. I walked with confidence until I found the restaurant’s entrance. There weren’t many members at such an early hour, so I spotted Dominic right away. He was having breakfast with another man who looked to be around his age, both exuding the same wealthy, polished vibe.

Dominic acknowledged my presence and gestured for me to wait there, so I stood a few feet away, acutely aware that this morning I was an employee, and I didn’t have a place at the table.

It didn’t take long for them to finish. As they stood up, I noticed Dominic in a different light—more casual than I was used to seeing him. He wore tailored shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, but even in this relaxed attire, I could tell his entire outfit must have cost more than a month’s rent for my previous apartment.
Next, we walked outside, passing by the sparkling pool surrounded by sun loungers and umbrellas, where a few early risers were already enjoying the morning sun. To one side, I spotted a small outdoor bar with a bartender preparing for the day, mixing smoothies and pouring drinks for the members.

Finally, we reached the tennis courts, the vibrant green surfaces gleaming under the sun, ready for action.

“Alright, Dom,” the other man said to my boss. “There’s no other way to settle this than with a tennis match.” Dominic nodded in agreement.

I had been listening to their conversation about a new development they wanted to invest in. One man insisted the location was perfect for building condos, while the other argued that it would be better suited for a luxury hotel.

“Shall we call for the usual ball boy?” asked the man, to which Dominic replied that it wasn’t necessary.

“I brought my own ball boy today,” he said, grinning as he grabbed my shoulder firmly.

I didn’t understand much about tennis or how the points were scored, but I knew that every time a ball was missed, I was supposed to retrieve it and hand it to one of the opponents.

It would have been easier if the court was surrounded by a fence or a net, but this one was open next to the golf fields. More than once, I had to run across the lawn to fetch a wayward ball. Why couldn’t they bring more than one ball? They were millionaires, weren’t they?

But it didn’t bother me—until one thing happened. As I was retrieving a ball, some of the sprinklers on the lawn suddenly turned on. At first, it wasn’t a big deal, but as the match went on, the balls kept being hit in the same direction more frequently, drenching me even more.

Before I knew it, I was completely soaked. I handed the man the ball and couldn’t help but notice him checking me out. I didn’t expect him to be concerned about my clothes getting wet, but then I glanced down at my outfit. The polo shirt still hugged my athletic build tightly, but my shorts were now completely glued to my skin, the water rendering them entirely translucent.

The match wasn’t going to take a break because of that, of course. I had to keep doing my job, as simple and uncomfortable as it was. The next time the ball was hit out of bounds, I handed it to Dominic.

“Connor! Your clothes!” he exclaimed, clearly surprised. “Take them off; they’ll never dry if you keep running around the field.”

“If you didn’t keep throwing them in that direction, that wouldn’t happen,” I shot back.

“Hey! Don’t judge our skills! It’s a friendly match; it’s not like we’re professionals. Come on, take them off and put them on that bench. I need you spotless for my next meeting.”

Did I have a choice? A moment later, I stripped off my shirt and shorts, placing them neatly on the bench under the sun. I was left wearing only my tennis shoes and the tiny white underwear.

As soon as I ran across the field again, that little piece of cloth covering my dick and balls got drenched. I glanced down at my bulge and could see everything perfectly—the soft length resting over my balls, and the head of my dick was clearly visible.

“Good match,” the man said, still catching his breath. “And congratulations. It’s going to be a nice hotel.” He acknowledged Dominic’s win with a nod as they shook hands. “Good call on bringing your own ball boy. He got me distracted quite a bit, honestly,” he laughed. “At one point, I didn’t know which balls were bouncing more—his or the one we were hitting.”

I felt more embarrassed than ever, looking down to avoid their gazes. I walked toward my clothes to put them on when Dominic called out to me.

“Connor, go get us a couple of drinks.”

“Sure. Let me just—”

“Please. Go right away; it won’t take you long. Ask for two drinks for Mr. Bennett; they’ll know.”

I sighed and hurried off, but before I could get far, my boss called me again.

“Go to the restaurant, not the bar by the pool.”

“Why can’t it be from the pool bar?” I protested, not bothering to contradict his orders in front of his friend.

“The bar at the pool is not properly stocked with what I want. Do as I say.” His tone was calm but authoritative.

I could have argued more. I mean, it wasn’t even noon, and he was asking for drinks—there had to be a problem. But I knew I had no choice; I could only delay the embarrassment I had to face.

I hurried along the way, searching for something I could use to cover myself, but there was nothing available. What if I grabbed something that got me accused of stealing? I stepped into the main building, half-expecting someone to kick me out for dressing inappropriately, but I didn’t give them a chance; I was almost running.

I arrived at the restaurant and asked a passing waiter for the drinks. He stopped and looked me up and down before telling me that the restaurant only served guests dining there and that I should ask for them at the pool bar.

I told him who the drinks were for, but upon realizing I was just an employee and not a guest, he directed me to the kitchen.

Fucker.

I stepped into the most chaotic kitchen I had ever seen—chefs, cooks, and waiters coming and going, everyone yelling and asking for something. I had no luck asking for Dominic’s drinks; I had to grab someone by the arm to get his attention.

“What’s a naked guy doing in the kitchen?” he exclaimed.

That was all it took to bring the place to a complete standstill. Suddenly, I had all eyes on me. Someone shouted to ask who I was, while another wondered if there was going to be a bachelorette party they weren’t aware of.

“My boss, Dominic Bennett, asked me to get him drinks. Can any of you make them?” I asked desperately.

But the only reply I got was, “We’re busy, boy. Ask at the lounge.” The chaos resumed as if I hadn’t spoken.

Defeated, I left the restaurant, scanning for a sign. I immediately spotted the lounge and made my way inside. At least it wasn’t as brightly lit as the other areas; there were couches all around and a round bar with stools.

I approached the bar and asked a bartender who looked to be no older than me for the drinks. Without hesitation, he nodded and began preparing them. I sighed, relieved.

“Look at that!” someone exclaimed behind me.

I didn’t even turn around—I just focused on waiting for the drinks. But soon, two figures stepped up on either side of me, standing way too close for my liking.

They were two mature men, likely in their fifties, dressed in comfortable slacks and button-down shirts.

"Hey, pretty boy," one of them said. "What are you having?"

The other man waved at the bartender. "Put whatever this sweet thing is having on my tab."

I’d seen this move a thousand times while working as a bartender, and now that I was on the receiving end, it felt just as awful as I’d imagined.

"No, thanks," I said. "The drinks aren’t for me. They’re for my boss."

"Oh!" the first man exclaimed. "And who’s your boss? We might know him."

At that moment, the bartender placed the two drinks in front of me. "Drinks for Mr. Bennett."

"Is that so?" the other man said, his tone shifting slightly.

"You’re Dominic’s new plaything," his friend added.

"Assistant," I corrected, though it was useless. They both chuckled.

"Have a drink with us."

I ignored them, picking up the drinks—one in each hand—and turning to leave.

"Hey, don’t run off so soon. We’re just getting to know each other. What’s your name, Bennett’s boy?"

"That’s none of your business," I said, taking a few steps away. But they followed.

"Dominic wouldn’t mind," one of them added. And the worst part? I knew he was right. Dominic had made it clear that he didn’t mind "sharing."

I didn’t know how I ended up cornered between them, my back against the wall with no clear way out. They stood in front of me, blocking my path, and I couldn’t push them away—not with both hands occupied, gripping the glasses.

One of them ran a finger down my abs, tracing the lines of muscle. "You’ve got a nice set of abs. Do you work out?"

"Not just his abs—he’s got a great body," the other added. Then, with a smirk, "Did you get a look at his ass?"

"Hey! Back off," I snapped. But they ignored me.

"Relax, pretty boy. We’re just being friendly."

"Just let me go," I said, trying to keep my voice firm.

"Of course. You can go," one of them said, grinning. "But first, let us get to know you a little better."

As he spoke, he dragged his finger over my nipple. A sharp jolt ran through me as it hardened instantly.

What the fuck?

"Did you see that?" the other man laughed. "He liked it!"

"I did not!" I shot back.

The first man chuckled, then reached out and pinched my other nipple. It responded just the same.

Shit.

I didn’t care if I spilled the drinks—I just needed to get out of there. Not just because they were creeps, touching me in ways they had no right to, but because after a few more pinches, my body had started betraying me.

I shoved past them, squeezing through the narrow gap and rushing out. My hands were raised, still clutching the glasses, but my mind was elsewhere. As I walked, I glanced down, and my stomach dropped—my dick had grown in size.

Shit.

I spotted Dominic and his friend lounging under an umbrella, looking completely at ease.

"What took you so long, Connor?" Dominic asked, watching me approach. His eyes flicked to my heaving chest and the liquid dripping from my forearms. "Were you running?"

I shook my head and handed them their drinks, trying not to look as flustered as I felt.

"If you don’t mind, I’ll go get dressed," I said, eager to finally put on some clothes.

"Don’t bother," Dominic replied casually. "I sent them to be washed—they were covered in grass and dirt."

"What?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.

"Relax," he said, waving a hand. "Go sit on a lounger until they bring them back. We have a meeting soon."

That’s when his friend chuckled, eyes dropping to my crotch. "He definitely needs to relax. Look at that."

I clenched my jaw, but Dominic just sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, Connor, you can’t go walking around like that," he said. "There could be families."

Luckily, there weren’t.

"Go to the bathroom and take care of that before—" He suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Then a knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

"Oh, never mind," he mused. "He got here early."

I turned around and froze. Walking toward us was my former boss—the gym owner.

"What is he doing here?" I asked, dumbfounded.

Dominic took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "Well, you weren’t answering his calls, so I reached out to let him know you work for me now." He glanced at me with a smirk. "But the conversation took a different turn, and I figured I had to meet him."

My stomach tightened.

"You´ve got to be kidding me"

 

[rigus]

CHAPTER 6

Long story short, Dominic had my phone. He was supposed to get me a new one, but first, he wanted to back up the old one. Vincent—my former boss and the gym owner—had been calling me ever since I left the gym that day. He’d left voicemails and messages I hadn’t bothered to check. Honestly, I didn’t want to. Leaving that job had been humiliating enough.

Apparently, Dominic had decided to call him back. Not just that—he thought it would be best if they met in person. Why? I had no idea. But I was about to find out.

“The next day, a bunch of guys wanted to join the gym,” Vincent said, his excitement clear. “That hadn’t happened before. I mean, we have loyal customers, but my gym isn’t the kind that suddenly floods with new members.”

I listened as Dominic nodded, clearly interested.

“But a lot of them left when they found out you weren’t there…” Vincent added.

I frowned. “What?”

“I told them you took a few days off to deal with some personal stuff, but that you’d be back. Most of them said they’d return on Monday.”

I shook my head, confused. “I don’t get it… why were they looking for me?”

Vincent grinned. “Well, I’m guessing some of the guys you’ve trained spread the word about what a great personal trainer you are.”

Immediately, one name came to mind—Joe.

My face heated, and despite already being nearly naked in nothing but a tiny white brief, I suddenly felt even hotter.

They were both staring at me, waiting for me to say something. We were sitting on wooden lawn chairs at a table under a large umbrella. Dominic still had his drink in hand, while Vincent sipped from a cup filled with some awful-looking green juice.

Dominic had asked if I wanted a smoothie, but the man had ruined smoothies for me. I ordered just water instead.

I took a sip and finally spoke. “I’m flattered. Honestly. But… I don’t think I’ll be going back to the gym.”

Vincent’s expression fell, but Dominic remained unreadable, his face as stoic as ever.

“I work for Mr. Bennett now,” I continued. I wasn’t about to admit the real reason I never wanted to step foot in that gym again. “And besides, it’s kind of far from where I live now.”

Dominic cut in, raising a finger as if about to make an important point. “Connor, listen to Vincent.”

Now they were on a first-name basis?

“He sees a great opportunity for his business,” Dominic continued. “A local gym that has managed to survive despite the relentless expansion of big chain gyms.” He nodded, as if convincing himself. “I see the potential…”

“What?!” I blurted out, turning from Dominic to Vincent and back again. I had a bad feeling about this.

“That’s why I’m going to invest in Vincent’s business,” Dominic announced.

“What?! Why?!”

Dominic chuckled, sipping his drink like this was all perfectly normal. “Because that’s what I do, Connor.”

I was ready to stand up and leave. This was nonsense. Of course, it was all part of Dominic’s plan. I had told him what happened that day, and now he wanted to keep exposing me. Humiliating me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said firmly.

Dominic simply shrugged, a silent reminder that it wasn’t my decision to make.

Vincent let out a deep sigh, his expression a mix of relief and joy. He had just secured a major deal—if only he knew it wasn’t because Dominic truly believed in his gym’s potential. No, the only potential Dominic saw was another opportunity to put me on display.

“So… what now?” I asked. “Am I still working for Mr. Carter? Do I have two bosses now?”

“Not exactly,” Dominic replied. “You work for me exclusively. But as an investor, I need someone to keep an eye on the business. And who better than the very person people are joining the gym for?” He grinned. “Connor, you’ll be the face of the gym—the one who brings in new clientele.”

I shook my head. I didn’t like where this was going.

“Of course!” Vincent exclaimed. “Every day, guys have been coming in asking about you.”

“Guys?”

“Well, yeah. Only men, actually. Mature men.”

I sighed.

“That’s why I suggested Vincent consider making it an all-male gym,” Dominic added smoothly.

Of course.

“Not that we had many female members to begin with,” Vincent admitted. His excitement was palpable. “I can’t wait to start making calls and let everyone know you’re coming back. The place will be packed by tomorrow!”

At least someone was benefiting from this. I’d seen Vincent struggle, making cuts and laying off staff.

“Hold on, hold on,” Dominic interjected. “Connor won’t be back tomorrow. He has the photoshoot.”

“Oh, right.”

“Photoshoot?” I repeated, flabbergasted.

Dominic turned to me. “Connor, you’re the new face of the gym. You’ll be everywhere, promoting it.”

Fantastic…

“Hey, Dominic!” Vincent exclaimed, a sudden idea striking him. “Do you businesspeople do something special when closing a deal? Like lighting a cigar or something?”

Dominic considered it for a moment before responding. “Well, I don’t smoke.”

“Neither do I. I just thought it looked elegant…”

“But when it comes to business, we usually head to the steam room to relax. The best ideas come when we’re sweating.”

There was nothing else I could contribute to that conversation; everything was settled, and I was the one most affected. We headed into the main building toward the steam room, but first, we stopped at the locker room, which was far fancier than the one at Vincent’s gym.

Since I was only wearing the tiny white briefs, there wasn’t much I could take off. I sat on a bench while the two men continued discussing renovations and legal documents regarding the partnership.

I’d seen Vincent in the showers before, and there wasn’t much to say about it. He was in his sixties, with the body of someone who had once been a bodybuilder but had spent the last decade on the couch, watching TV, drinking beer, and eating chips.

Meanwhile, Dominic was a completely different story. The man was in shape—despite being a businessman in his forties with an almost full schedule, he had clearly found time to work out. He didn’t have a six-pack, but he also didn’t have a belly. His firm pecs and flat stomach were covered with a coat of dark hair, and his biceps and legs looked just as solid.

He bent down to take off his underwear, but I couldn’t get a look—he had turned his back to me. Not that I wanted to stare at his dick, but a part of me was curious. Was all this power and control just compensating for something else?

Apparently not. Because when my boss turned to face me, I found myself at eye level with his manhood. It was flaccid, and even then, it looked... hefty. Thick, even when soft, with a pair of heavy balls that he didn’t mind tugging slightly to let them hang freely after being confined in his underwear.

Dominic looked at me, waiting for something. I glanced up slowly, taking in his imposing, naked figure. When our eyes met, I swallowed hard. What did he expect me to do?

"Connor?"

"Yes?"

"Towel."

"Oh—yes!" I shook my head, snapping back to reality. Grabbing the towel beside me, I handed it to him.

He smirked.

We stepped inside, and the warmth wrapped around me instantly, thick and heavy with moisture. The room was smaller than I expected for a country club—intimate, almost. The walls, ceiling, and benches were all lined with smooth, polished wood, darkened slightly from years of absorbing heat and humidity. A gentle glow came from recessed lighting along the ceiling, casting soft shadows through the swirling mist. The wooden benches were arranged in tiers along the walls, inviting us to sit back and let the heat seep into our muscles.

I didn't feel out of place being the one wearing the least clothing. Back in the locker room, I had left my briefs behind, and now, like the others, I was wrapped in a towel around my waist.

Dominic took a seat on the left side, while Vincent settled across from him on the right. Wanting some space, I chose the back bench, leaning against the warm wooden wall as the steam curled around us.

It was indeed relaxing. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, letting the two men continue their conversation without me. The humid heat wrapped around me, loosening the tension in my muscles. Soon, droplets of water and sweat began sliding down my skin, tracing slow paths over my chest and arms. I took deep, steady breaths, letting the warmth seep into me, as if it could steam away all my recent worries and concerns.

The peacefulness didn’t last. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and two figures stepped inside. The thick steam blurred their outlines, the dim light casting hazy shadows over their forms. I squinted, trying to make out their faces, but I didn’t have to wait long to recognize them.

“Dominic! Good to see you!” one of them called out.

“Julian?” Dominic acknowledged, a hint of familiarity in his voice. “Long time! How have you been?”

“It’s been great,” said the man I had encountered earlier at the lounge. “Look who we have here?” He exclaimed as he approached. I felt intimidated by the two men towering over me, wanting to scoot to the side next to Dominic and leave them the space at the back. But Julian said, “Oh no, stay there.” He settled right next to me as the other man took a seat on my other side. “I don’t think your boss would mind.”

“Ethan,” Dominic addressed the other man. “Have you met Connor before?”

“We met him at the lounge,” Ethan replied. “We didn’t have enough time to introduce ourselves.”

“Yeah… he was eager to flee and fulfill his boss’s wishes…” Julian said, laughing along with Ethan.

“I think I’m going to…” I started, attempting to get up and leave, but the two men grabbed my arms and pulled me back.

“Wait, we just got here!”

“Please, Dominic,” Ethan said, looking at him. “Tell him to stay.”

I pleaded with my eyes, silently asking him not to force me into this situation, but to Dominic’s delight, he was clearly enjoying my discomfort.

If the heat of the steam wasn’t enough, I had two men practically pressed against me. Their sweaty skin rubbed against mine, and I shrank into the little space I had left. They kept chatting, catching up with Dominic and getting to know Vincent. Both men expressed interest in joining Vincent’s gym, though they didn’t seem like the type who spent much time working out.

A wave of anxiety crept over me. I felt trapped, wedged between their slick bodies, like I was slowly being suffocated. My pulse quickened—I needed to do something.

“I really have to get out,” I blurted.

Dominic’s gaze snapped to me, his expression shifting. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern. The truth was, nothing was wrong—except for the unbearable discomfort these men were causing me.

“It’s… it’s just too hot in here,” I said quickly. “I need to get out.”

Dominic tilted his head slightly. “Is that so?” A smirk ghosted his lips. “You should have said that before.”

He paused, then gave me a pointed look.

“Lose the towel, then.”

I shook my head repeatedly, my words tumbling out in protest. “That’s not what I meant.”

But Ethan and Julian clearly had no interest in listening.

Before I could react, they each grabbed a side of my towel and pulled it open, leaving me completely exposed.

“Come on,” Ethan coaxed, his tone smooth. “Relax. Enjoy the steam.”

“Yeah, you seem really uptight,” Julian added. His hands suddenly landed on my shoulders, giving them a brief, firm squeeze before sliding his arm behind me. He draped it casually across my back, his hand settling on my chest like he belonged there.

Ethan gave me a friendly tap on the leg—at least, that’s what it seemed like—before letting his hand rest on my thigh. My muscles tensed beneath his touch, but I forced myself to stay still.

I shut my eyes, trying to picture myself anywhere else, willing time to move faster. But I didn’t even get the chance to retreat into my thoughts.

A faint, deliberate touch grazed my nipple.

My breath hitched.

Julian, who had his arm draped over my shoulders, had started moving his hand.

I swallowed hard and turned to look at him, expecting a smirk or some sign of what he was doing.

But he just sat there, head tilted back, eyes closed—like nothing was happening at all.

That same unsettling feeling from the lounge crept back over me—the one I had when they started pinching my nipples.

You know how women say they can’t be turned on like a switch? Well, my body didn’t get that memo. My nipple was a fucking switch, and the moment Julian’s fingers brushed over it, my dick started getting hard.

I tried squeezing my legs together, trapping it between my thighs, but that only made things worse. The tight friction of my own skin sent another wave of heat through me, pushing me to full hardness.

Ethan’s hand was still resting on my thigh, dangerously close. Just like Julian’s fingers had started moving before, now his did too—slow, deliberate caresses against my skin, sending shivers straight through my nervous system.

I turned to look at Ethan, but he had his head back, eyes closed, just like Julian. Meanwhile, Vincent and Dominic were still deep in business talk, completely unfazed.

Tension coiled inside me, slowly, relentlessly. The light, teasing touches were working against me, pushing me toward something I didn’t want to acknowledge. Then, just as subtly as it had started, the teasing turned deliberate.

I flinched when I felt a sharp pinch on my nipple. My head snapped toward Julian, and this time, he met my gaze directly. I turned the other way, but Ethan did the same—his fingers pressing into my thigh, his touch no longer accidental.

“Are you more relaxed now?” Julian murmured, reaching for my chin. He tilted my head slightly, making me nod. My lips were parted as I struggled to control my breathing.

“Relaxed?” Vincent cut in, his voice light with amusement. “I’d say stiff.” He laughed, nodding toward the obvious problem between my legs.

“Look at that,” Ethan chuckled. “Connor, don’t keep it trapped like that—spread your legs.”

Before I could protest, he grabbed my leg and draped it over his. Julian followed suit with my other leg, leaving me completely exposed—the worst advertisement for manspreading.

"Connor..." Dominic's voice was calm but firm. "I told you to take care of that before."

"Let him be, Dominic," Julian interjected smoothly. "He's young."

"Yeah," Ethan added with a smirk. "I bet he’d still be hard even if he had taken care of it. Don’t you remember what it was like at his age?"

They all chuckled, the sound low and knowing.

"Anyway," Dominic continued, his voice carrying that unmistakable authority, "he can't leave like that. There are rules of modesty in this place."

Oh really, Dominic? Now he cared about modesty?

"Well," Julian drawled, his fingers still resting lightly on my skin, "we wouldn’t want you getting kicked out of here…"

I glanced around, my gaze shifting from one face to another—the eager eyes of Julian and Ethan, Vincent’s look of mild surprise mixed with encouragement, and finally, Dominic’s unwavering, authoritarian stare.

Ethan’s hand slid over my forearm, guiding me downward. I hesitated but let my fingers wrap around my own girth, my chest rising and falling with tension.

"Go on," Ethan whispered in my ear.

"Do it," Julian murmured, his voice thick with expectation.

I turned to Dominic one last time, searching for something—a nod, a signal, anything. He didn’t give one, but he didn’t stop me either. And that was all the permission I needed.

As soon as I started stroking, the last shred of restraint crumbled. A shaky moan slipped past my lips as I gripped myself tighter. Julian's fingers continued teasing my nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me. The damp heat, the sweat slicking my skin—it made every movement smoother, easier. Ethan's hand roamed my inner thigh, but I didn't care. I couldn't care. I needed this.

Encouraging words spurred me on, their voices blurring together. How could this be wrong when everyone was telling me how good I was? How well I was doing? My pace quickened, my breathing turned ragged. I was close—so fucking close.

"You got yourself a pleasing one, Dominic," someone commented, amused.

And that’s when it hit me.

The realization, cold and stark even in the suffocating steam.

I had been lured into this. Coaxed, cornered. And I had fallen right into it.

Panic surged through me. I bolted up, shoving past the hands on me, and stumbled out of the steam room. The rush of cool air hit my overheated skin like a slap. My body was still too far gone, muscles locked in release.

It was too late.

I braced myself against the nearest wall, legs spread as my orgasm tore through me, my body shuddering in relentless spasms. Ropes of cum splattered onto the floor, beyond my control. A guttural groan escaped me as the last thick drop fell.

Then, as my breathing evened out, I became aware of someone standing nearby.

"You’ll have to clean that mess yourself," the janitor muttered, unimpressed.

 

[MissingHood]

So good! Looking forward to the next one!

 

[Tphilatl]

Guess we know why the previous assistant quit. I wonder how far Connor is willing to go to keep his new posh lifestyle.

 

[rigus]

CHAPTER 7

I jumped into the car and stared out the window, deliberately avoiding Dominic’s presence. I was dressed again—above-the-knee shorts and the skin-tight polo—but no underwear. I had no locker, and Dominic had told me to leave my briefs on a bench. They were gone, of course.

I could still feel the lingering sensitivity in my dick, that swollen sensation that lingers after an intense jerk-off session. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I felt tricked, manipulated. Dominic had told me he wanted control over me, and yet I still found myself caught off guard by his actions. Maybe I hadn’t fully grasped the magnitude of the deal I had made with him.

"You did a great job today," Dominic broke the silence. "So far, you've exceeded my expectations."

I turned to look at him—always composed, always presentable, sitting perfectly straight. I shook my head.

"What?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

"That was not okay..."

"What exactly, Connor?" He sounded genuinely confused. "I had two successful meetings, made two very profitable deals, and even got to relax a bit—which I needed."

"Yeah!" I blurted out. "And did you have to humiliate me like that?" I frowned at him. "Did you have to let those guys—"

"Connor..." Dominic cut in, his voice calm. "Why are you so surprised? It’s all written in your contract."

I didn’t respond.

"Were you expecting something else?"

I looked down, my anger simmering beneath my skin.

"Do you want to quit?" he asked after a brief silence.

"No," I answered immediately. I had only been doing this job for a couple of days. I was furious, but I wasn’t a quitter.

"Good," he said. "That would have disappointed me." Then, after a pause, he added, "Let’s get lunch. You must be hungry."

That simple thought infuriated me. I wasn’t one of those chicks who got mad just because they were hungry. I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed—then felt my stomach grumble.

Okay, maybe I was a little like one of them.

I’d had a light breakfast that morning, then went straight to the country club. I watched the tennis match, sat through a meeting where they decided—without even asking me—that I’d keep working at the gym. Not just that, but I’d be the fucking face of the place. Then came the humiliating ordeal in the steam room. I had to clean up my own jizz off the locker room floor, then spent a good thirty minutes searching for my missing tiny white briefs—without success.

And after all that? A shower. Because of course Dominic wouldn’t let me put my clothes back on without rinsing off first. So there I was again, standing naked among those men, washing away sweat and shame.

Maybe I was allowed to be a little hangry.

Raymond drove us to yet another fancy restaurant. As soon as we stepped inside, they greeted Dominic like he was some kind of VIP—clearly a regular, but one that got special treatment. We were shown to a table right away.

I sat there, feeling out of place again. It was one of those restaurants where a certain dress code was expected, but I guess those rules didn’t apply to my boss.

As I looked around, taking in the elegant décor, Dominic spoke to the waiter.

"This is a really nice place," I said.

"It’s one of my favorites," he replied. "I’m glad you like it. The food here is excellent. And I hope you don’t mind—I already ordered for us."

I shrugged, waving it off. "Sure, whatever."

Dominic started sharing stories about his experiences in that place, casually dropping the names of people he’d met. Some of them were big names—celebrities, business moguls, people I’d seen on TV or heard about on social media. It was surreal.

I was starting to like Dominic again—or at least, I was feeling more comfortable with the conversation—when the waiter arrived with our meals.

Dominic was served a thick, juicy steak that looked absolutely delicious. And then, in front of me, the waiter placed a tall glass filled with some thick, foamy liquid.

I frowned. What the hell?

“What’s this?” I asked, eyeing it like it might bite me. “Are you joking? A fucking smoothie?”

Dominic chuckled as he picked up his silverware. “Of course not, Connor. It’s a protein shake.”

“I’m not drinking that,” I said firmly. “No way.”

“You need it,” Dominic replied, cutting into his steak. “You have a photoshoot tomorrow—you need to look in shape.”

“I am in shape.”

“Yes, but I want you to look cut, defined,” he said. “A heavy meal will make you look bloated.”

“Well, I’m not drinking it,” I said, sitting back in my chair while he enjoyed his steak. I could smell it from where I was, rich and savory, making my mouth water. Damn it.

“I’ll just order something else,” I added, determined.

Dominic didn’t even look at me as he took another bite, chewing like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Maybe it was.

“Do as you like,” he said casually. “Though, of course, that would be considered a breach of contract.”

I frowned. “What?”

He finally looked up, completely unbothered. “It would be the same as quitting. Which you are allowed to do, of course. But as stated in your contract, you’re paid weekly. That means if you walk away now, you leave with nothing. No paycheck for these past two days.” He took another bite before adding, “And you’d have to vacate the apartment. Today.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. So this is how it’s going to be? “So... this is just blackmail?”

Dominic finally set his fork and knife down, dabbing his mouth with his napkin before meeting my gaze.

“Connor, no.” He shook his head, completely unfazed. “I don’t do blackmail. That’s illegal.” Then, with a small smirk, he added, “I give ultimatums—which is perfectly acceptable.”

I decided to stay.

Not because I felt cornered by Dominic, but because I had a goal. And that goal was money—as much as I could earn—or at least enough to get a new place and knock down some of my debts. Though, at this rate, I was starting to think I’d stay until I ran out of dignity.

For example, I lost a few points when my stomach growled again, and suddenly, the protein shake didn’t seem so awful. Besides, this was a fancy restaurant—probably had some Michelin stars—so that shake had to taste amazing, right?

Turns out, it did.

Or maybe I was just starving.

We hopped back into the car, and there was a sleek white box sitting between us.

“What’s this?” I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Your new phone.”

I picked it up, lifted the lid, and blinked at the device inside. It was an Iphone, the latest model. I turned it in my hands, feeling the smooth glass back.

“Damn,” I muttered. “This is nice.”

Dominic smirked. “Of course. You’ll need it for work. Your old phone was…” He trailed off, waving a dismissive hand.

I scoffed. “Crap.”

He didn’t deny it.

I powered it on, watching the logo flash across the screen. But then a thought struck me, and I couldn’t resist. I glanced at Dominic, feigning disappointment.

“This isn’t the Pro Max, though,” I said, tilting my head. “What, couldn’t afford it?”

Without hesitation, Dominic reached over and plucked the phone from my hand. “Alright. I’ll exchange it.”

I blinked, staring at my now empty hand. That was not the reaction I was expecting—I was just teasing him, a little payback for what he’d put me through.

“Wait! No!” I exclaimed. I didn’t actually care about having the most expensive model. I’d never been the kind of guy who fussed over what phone I had. And I knew that exchanging it would mean being without a phone for a day or two—something I definitely didn’t want.

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “I’ll give you the one you want. Seriously. I told you—you’ve been doing a good job so far.”

“It’s fine. I was just—” I hesitated. I didn’t want to say I was joking. I didn’t want him to think I was getting comfortable around him.

He handed the phone back.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

I went straight to my contacts and scrolled through. The most important ones were still there—my dad and Logan. But as I kept looking, I noticed a lot of numbers were missing. Mostly girls’ numbers.

Raymond pulled over in front of the apartment building. Dominic reminded me to be ready early the next day. I nodded, already dreading whatever I’d have to face at the photoshoot.

“Raymond will pick you up at nine,” he said.

I lingered for a moment, watching him, expecting more instructions.

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

I hesitated. “Do you want me to… wear something specific?”

He chuckled. “No. It will be provided at the photoshoot.” His smirk told me he was pleased with the question.

Later that day, I was on facetime with Logan. We were catching up—he told me about school and his upcoming trip to visit his parents, and I gave him an edited version of my day at the country club. In this version, I conveniently left out the part where I ended up naked in a steam room and came hands-free on the locker room floor.

“You’ve got to take me there sometime, man!” he said, excited.

“I don’t know… I’m not a member. I don’t think I can do that.”

“But I bet your boss can put you on a list or something.”

I walked around the apartment with my new phone in hand. The moment I stepped inside, I had stripped off the polo and shorts and stayed naked. I was starting to get used to the comfort of wandering around in the nude.

“Maybe,” I said, though the truth was I had no desire to go back unless absolutely necessary—especially not with my best friend in tow, where I might risk running into Julian and Ethan.

Still holding my phone, I opened the fridge with my free hand, scanning for something to eat. I was starving. That protein shake had done nothing, and I was still craving real food—real protein.

“Dude,” Logan groaned. “It’s cool that you have a brand-new phone, but you don’t have to flash me your naked ass in HD.”

“Oh shit!” I exclaimed, quickly moving the phone to a better angle. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve seen plenty of it over the years,” Logan said with a chuckle.

I laughed too, but before I could change the subject, he asked, “By the way, have you run into your neighbors again?”

“By the way?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Why does that sound like it’s related to my naked ass?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “And hopefully, it stays that way.”

Logan shifted the conversation. “Are you going to tell your dad?”

“About what?” I asked, caught off guard. The thought of telling my dad anything about my life lately hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“About your new job, dumbass.”

I sighed. “I guess… eventually.”

My dad and I had a complicated relationship. We rarely spoke. Still, I wanted to keep his number. I still called him sometimes—just to check if he was doing okay.

I didn’t want to admit that I followed Dominic’s instructions and had something light for dinner—but he was kind of right. If they were going to take photos of me, I might as well present myself at my best. I went to bed early, mostly to avoid the temptation of raiding the pantry out of sheer hunger.

The outcome was worth it, though. In the morning, I got up to take a piss and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Morning abs were always the best abs. I flexed for a moment, admiring the sharp definition of my six-pack and chest before getting ready for the day.

Dominic hadn’t told me what to wear, so I checked the bags and decided on something from the "workout" selection—a pair of short running shorts and a long-sleeved compression shirt. My body looked damn good in it.

I hopped into the back seat of the car and greeted Raymond. He nodded from the driver’s seat and lifted a smoothie.

I sighed. I had skipped breakfast to keep my stomach flat, but after barely eating the day before, I was starving. I was about to shake my head when Raymond said, "It’s safe."

I hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching for the cup. "Thanks."

I didn’t pay attention to the road; I simply focused on my drink. One of the perks of having a driver—I could definitely get used to this.

Then I realized we weren’t near Vincent’s gym, which made me think we were heading to a different one for the photoshoot, perhaps one with newer machines that looked better. It seemed logical. But then Raymond parked in front of something completely different. A spa.


"What are we doing here?" I asked the driver.

"I only follow orders."

Aren't we all these days?

"Get out. I’ll pick you up later."

"Uhm..." I opened the door and stepped out, confused. "Weren't you supposed to drop me at the photoshoot?" But he drove off before I could finish my sentence.

 

[rigus]

As I stepped through the ornate glass doors of the spa, a wave of calming scents enveloped me—lavender and eucalyptus mingled in the air, instantly soothing my frayed nerves. The interior was beautifully designed, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors and elegant decor.

I approached the reception desk, where a friendly woman greeted me with a warm smile. She was dressed in a crisp white uniform, and her hair was pulled back neatly.

"Good morning! Welcome to Serenity Spa. How can I assist you today?" she asked, her voice smooth and inviting.

"Uh, hi," I stammered, still trying to process my surroundings. "I don’t know if I’m at the right place. I was supposed to be at a photoshoot. My boss, Dominic Bennett..."

The receptionist's smile widened. "Oh, Mr. Bennett! Yes, of course! You must be Connor. We’ve been expecting you!"

"So I’m at the right place?"

"Yes! Mr. Bennett has arranged a full treatment for you, I guess to prepare you for your photoshoot and ensure you look your best. Come this way, please!"

I thought it was nice of Dominic to pay for a full spa treatment before the photoshoot. It would help me relax—which I definitely needed—and make sure I looked my best for the pictures.

The receptionist led me to a dressing room and handed me a fluffy white robe. "First, you'll be getting a facial, manicure and pedicure," she said with a bright smile.

"Okay. Do I need to take everything off?" I asked automatically.

"You can leave your underwear on if you like, whatever makes you feel more comfortable"

It was nice to finally have a choice for once. Unfortunately, that day I chose to go commando as I didn't want to open one of the mystery underwear boxes.

I got the full treatment. And I mean full. They sat me in the most comfortable reclining chair I’d ever been in and got to work. My face was cleansed, scrubbed, exfoliated—basically, they did whatever it is they do to make skin glow. Then, they slathered on some kind of mud mask and placed cool cucumber slices over my eyelids.

Meanwhile, one woman was working on my hands, carefully trimming and shaping my nails, while another focused on my feet. And the best part? They were all women—beautiful women.

It took a good hour and a half to move on to the next step—not that I minded. If everything was going to feel this good, I was more than happy to be pampered all day. But I was thinking too far ahead. I wasn’t expecting what came next.

After joking around with the ladies and faking disappointment that they wouldn’t be coming along for the next part, I stepped into another room. A massage table sat in the center.

Nice, I thought.

A woman entered—not as young as the others, but just as gorgeous. She gave me a warm, professional smile. “Go ahead and take off your robe and hang it up,” she instructed. “Then, lie down on the table and cover yourself with this.”

She handed me a tiny towel.

I didn’t hesitate. Modesty had never been an issue for me, and besides, this was her job. She’d probably seen hundreds of clients naked—not all of them as athletic as me.

I was lying on my back, eyes closed, when I heard the door open again and footsteps approaching. Before I could react, a shadow loomed over me. I opened my eyes and nearly flinched at the sight of a man standing just above me.

“Sorry!” he said quickly, noticing my reaction. “Not what you were expecting, I guess.”

“Oh, no. I just had my mind elsewhere,” I lied. In reality, I’d been expecting the hot MILF—and I got the MILF’s dad instead.

Still, I tried to roll with it. “But, hey, I’m actually glad it’s you. Stronger hands and all…” I shrugged, adjusting the tiny towel draped over me. “I wouldn’t mind if you went rough on me.”

I could feel the tight knots in my shoulders and back from that morning, and I definitely needed them worked out.

“Oh… okay,” he said, sounding a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected me to say that—like it was an odd request.

“Do you need me to turn around?” I asked.

“Not yet. I’ll start with your abdomen.”

Weird choice, but whatever. I closed my eyes again, listening as he moved around, grabbing oil or whatever else he needed. Then, suddenly, I felt something warm—no, hot—spreading over my lower abs.

“What—?!” I snapped my head up just in time to see him smoothing a strip of wax over my happy trail.

Before I could fully process what was happening, he pressed a sheet down and—

RIP.

I nearly jumped off the damn table.

I had asked for rough.

Stupid.

“Oh God!” I yelled. “Wait!”

I shot up on my elbows just in time to see him scooping up more wax.

“There’s no need for that. I can shave—or use a razor.”

“It won’t be the same,” he said, completely unfazed. “And you could cut yourself.” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m a professional.”

Men have body hair, right? Why the hell did I need to be smooth just to appear in some local gym ad? But then I remembered Dominic’s contract. Maybe this was one of those unspoken expectations—another thing that, if I protested too much, could be twisted into some breach of agreement.

So I let him continue.

Luckily, I wasn’t a particularly hairy guy. Or so I thought.

“Hmm,” he mused, inspecting me like a sculptor eyeing a block of marble. “There’s a little fuzz here and there, but under certain lighting it’ll show.”

Just when I thought the worst part was getting waxed around my nipples, he told me to turn over.

The lower back was quick and not too bad, but the hamstrings? Those made me flinch.

I sighed in relief when he finished—or when I thought he had finished.

Because suddenly, I felt his hands parting my buttcheeks.

“What are you doing over there?”

“I definitely need to wax this area,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No, you don’t,” I snapped.

“Do I need to call someone to restrain you?”

Was this some kind of spa-slash-mental hospital?

“It’ll be quick,” he said. “Let’s make this easy… Pull your cheeks apart.”

Was he serious?

I hesitated for a second before reluctantly reaching back and doing as I was told. “What the fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

The hot wax spread across the most sensitive area of my entire body. A second later—rip.

And just like that, I was as smooth as a newborn.

Though not entirely as a newborn—apparently, he had saved the best for last.

I turned over, already bracing myself, and was about to start praying, since the only part left was my pubes.

But then, the man stepped back and said, “Alright, I need you to get off the table.”

I blinked. “Wait… what?”

Apparently, prayer works.

But I had no idea which god had heard me—because next, the man placed a mat right in front of me and kneeled.

“What are you doing?” I asked, already suspicious.

“Trimming your pubic area,” he said casually, adjusting his posture and pulling a pair of small scissors from his bag.

“Uhm… I think I can do that myself with a razor…”

He didn’t even bother replying. Instead, he reached out and took hold of my dick and balls with a practiced grip. I gasped.

The man examined the area like he was searching for gold, shifting my junk from one side to the other with complete focus.

I wanted to step back, but he warned me not to move. His hand settled near my navel as he raised the scissors. Small, yes—but sharp.

And then, with surgical precision and the patience of a four-hour heart surgery, he began snipping away.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the fact that this very mature, but very soft hand was cradling my dick and balls like a bunch of grapes.

I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, refusing to look down. The last thing I needed was the visual confirmation of an older man handling my junk like some delicate artifact.

But not looking only made things worse. My body focused entirely on the sensation—the careful touch, the occasional brush of his fingers against sensitive skin. And then, of course, my brain had to betray me.

Desperate to keep my mind away from what was happening, I started thinking about the women who had pampered me earlier—young, beautiful, busty…

And that was my mistake.

I felt it happening before I could stop it—my dick stirring, thickening right there in the old man’s hand.

"Sorry..." I muttered, mortified.

"Don't worry," he said casually. "It’s normal."

"Oh, really? Okay… uh… yeah, I guess that makes sense. The touch, the closeness…" I forced out a chuckle. "I mean, it must happen all the time, right?"

He paused briefly before answering.

"Uhmm… not really."

And just like that, I wanted to die.

The next minute, the man had a firm grip around my fully hard dick while he continued trimming my pubes with meticulous care.

"Uh… is this gonna take much longer?" I asked, my voice strained with embarrassment.

"We can take a break if you need," he offered.

"No!" I blurted out. "Just—just finish it."

He let out a small, amused sigh. "Be patient. I'll be done in no time."

Hearing him say that so close to my cock made me shiver, his warm breath ghosting along my length. My dick twitched in his hand.

"Are you sure you don’t need some time to… deal with this?"

"No!" I snapped, my voice strained. "But please… just hurry up."

I clenched my jaw as I felt a drop of precum emerging at the tip, my body betraying me.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he let go and said, "We’re done here."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, quickly grabbing the robe and wrapping it around myself as if that would somehow undo everything that had just happened.

"Uh… thanks," I muttered, unsure if I meant it.

The man simply nodded, already tidying up his tools.

Before I could dwell on it any longer, the door opened, and the receptionist peeked in with a bright smile. "All set? Great! Next up, your massage."

A massage. That sounded like something I actually wanted.

Still a little rattled, I followed her to the next room, hoping to finally relax.

The masseur was a big guy—stocky and strong with broad shoulders and big hands. And, as soon as he pressed those hands into my back, I realized I was in for an experience.

His thumbs dug into the knots between my shoulder blades, firm and unrelenting, forcing out the tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying. A deep groan escaped my lips before I could stop it. He worked methodically, palms sliding down my spine, pressing with just the right amount of weight—enough to send waves of relief through me, but also enough to make me wince.

My muscles burned under his grip, but each stroke was followed by a soothing, almost hypnotic glide of his palms, like he was smoothing away all the strain. He pressed into the curve of my spine, and I let out another groan—half pain, half pleasure.

By the time he reached my legs, methodically working up my calves and thighs, I felt like I had been wrung out, every ounce of stress forced from my body. It was intense, almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

The masseur asked if I wanted him to apply some balm to ease the redness from the waxing. I thought it was a great idea and agreed.

The moment his firm hands slid over my skin, spreading the cool, soothing balm, I felt an immediate sense of relief. The sting from the waxing faded under his touch, replaced by a warm, relaxing sensation. I let go, exhaling slowly as my muscles loosened.

He worked over my chest, arms, abs, and legs with practiced precision, the rhythmic motion almost lulling me into a trance. When he gestured for me to turn over, I obeyed without a second thought, letting him continue on my back, hamstrings, and calves.

I was lost in the bliss when the tiny towel covering my butt was suddenly removed. I barely reacted—glute massages were a thing, after all. And since my cheeks had been waxed too, the last thing I wanted was to appear in an ad photo with a red, irritated ass.

So, I let him do his work. His hands moved with expert precision, kneading my glutes, covering every muscle—maximus, medius, and minimus. His touch was firm yet smooth, the balm easing any lingering sting from the waxing. I was on the verge of drifting off for what felt like the tenth time during the session when something unexpected happened.

His balm-covered fingers slid down my crack.

I tried to turn over, but his other hand pressed firmly against my back.

“You were waxed there too,” he said, his voice calm. “It’ll only take a minute.”

I froze. I’d never had someone else’s fingers so close to my hole before—not even the wax guy, who had only worked around it.

His touch was gentle. He murmured something about how this area needed careful attention, how it was delicate—highly sensitive. I swallowed hard as his fingers moved in slow, circular motions, spreading the balm with almost teasing precision.

I didn’t know how to respond. My muscles tensed instinctively, but the masseur leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Or all that work getting rid of your knots will have been for nothing.”

Meanwhile, his fingers kept circling my rim—slow, deliberate.

I bit my lip as I became aware of another kind of pressure, not just his hand on my back, but the hardening of my cock against the massage table. Then his fingers stopped circling and settled on one spot. My tight sphincter.

I turned my head to protest, but he leaned over again, his voice low and assured.

“I’ll stay at the entrance.”

Yes, those exact words.

I wanted to make sure that for me, that was a one way road only, but before I could say something an involuntary twitch of my dick made me clench my glutes, trapping his finger in between. It was a strange sensation; I let loose and clenched again, pressing my cock against the massage bed. I felt pleasure blooming from both ends—my trapped dick and the teasing at my hole.

“Keep doing that...” he encouraged. And I did. I began humping the bed while the masseur continued to tempt my sphincter.

The tension within me built rapidly, and my orgasm began to effervesce. With a rush, I discharged right there, making a mess.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting, filled with shame and regret. “I’m sorry... I don’t know what just happened...”

“Don’t worry,” he said, handing me a towel to clean myself.

I quickly headed to the shower, trying to wash away the awkwardness of the experience. Once I was finished, I walked out of the treatment area to find Raymond waiting for me.

“Isn’t the whole spa thing supposed to help you relax? Why do you look all tense?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as I hopped into the car.

 

[BumViewer]

You are amazing at this