l-Fayed stood up slowly, walking around the desk until he was standing right in front of Chris. The Sheikh was tall, imposing, and he smelled of expensive oud and smoke. He reached out, gripping Chris’s chin with firm fingers, tilting his head up.
"Good," Al-Fayed murmured, his eyes roaming over Chris’s face. "Because we are tired of the paperwork. We need a form of stress relief. And you... you look like you were made to provide it."
The Sheikh glanced back at Tariq. "Shall we see if he is as obedient as he claims?"
"Yes," Tariq agreed, standing and joining them. "Let’s see what the salesman is really selling."
"Strip," Al-Fayed commanded. "Now."
The word hit Chris like a physical blow. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, the social conditioning of his normal life warring with the slutty need consuming him. But the need won. With trembling hands, he reached for the buttons of his suit jacket. He slipped it off, folding it neatly over the back of a nearby chair, conscious of their eyes boring into him.
Next came his tie, then his shirt. The air conditioning was cranked high in the office, and the cool air prickled against his skin as he exposed it. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and utterly thrilled. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then unbuckled his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops seemed deafening in the quiet room.
When he reached for his pants, he saw Tariq nodding in approval. He let them drop, stepping out of them gracefully. Now he stood in just his tight black briefs, his erection straining against the fabric, giving away his arousal despite his supposed reluctance.
"Look at that," Tariq laughed softly. "He’s enjoying this. The little whore likes being told what to do."
Chris’s face burned hotter, but he didn't deny it. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and slid them down. He stood naked before them, his breathing shallow, his body thrumming with a mix of shame and lust.
"On your knees," Al-Fayed said, his voice dropping an octave.
Chris sank to the floor immediately, the plush carpet cushioning his knees. It felt right. It felt like where he belonged in this moment. He looked up at them, waiting for the next instruction, eager to prove his worth.
"Unzip us," Tariq ordered.
Chris shuffled forward on his knees. He reached up, his hands trembling slightly as he found the zippers on their tailored dress trousers. The metal teeth hummed as he slid them down, one after the other. He could smell the musk of them, a scent that went straight to his head.
"Take them out," Al-Fayed growled. "Show us you want this contract."
Chris reached inside, freeing both men. They were thick, heavy, and already half-hard. He wrapped his hand around Al-Fayed first, feeling the heat of him, then Tariq with his other hand. The weight of their cocks in his palms was grounding, a solid reality that made the abstract concept of the deal fade away.
"Open," Tariq commanded.
Chris parted his lips, his jaw going slack. He didn't wait for them to force him. He leaned in, taking Tariq into his mouth first, swirling his tongue around the head, tasting the saltiness. He heard Tariq hiss in pleasure, a hand tangling in his hair, gripping tight.
He worked Tariq for a moment, getting him wet, before switching to Al-Fayed. The Sheikh was thicker, stretching Chris’s jaw wider. Chris moaned around the shaft, the vibration making Al-Fayed thrust forward slightly.
"Good boy," Al-Fayed breathed, looking down at him with dark, hungry eyes. "You know how to treat a VIP. You know exactly what you are."
Chris did. He was a hole to be used. He was a tool for their pleasure. And God help him, he loved it. He moved back and forth between them, lavishing attention on each, his spit mixing with their precum. He felt dirty, degraded, and incredibly alive. The fear of losing his job was still there, but it was overshadowed by the desperate need to be filled, to be owned by these powerful men.
"Deeper," Tariq demanded, gripping the back of Chris’s head and shoving him down onto his cock.
Chris gagged, his eyes watering, but he relaxed his throat, letting Tariq fuck his face. He looked up, his vision blurry, to see the two men exchanging a look of triumph over his bowed head. They owned him. In this office, high above the city, he was theirs to use. And when they finally finished with him, when he had earned every dollar of that contract, he knew he would be begging for more.
"Get ready, Chris," Al-Fayed grunted, his hips starting to snap forward with more force. "You’re going to swallow every drop. Don't spill a single bit, or the deal is off."
Chris nodded frantically around the flesh filling his mouth, his heart pounding in his chest. He was so close to his reward, so close to the degradation he craved. He hollowed his cheeks, ready to take everything they had to give. |
