White Collar Tales Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
WARNING: The following is for adults only. It contains depiction of sexual acts between men. If this offends you or is inappropriate for you to read, go no further.
Another in the series of full-blooded professional men getting their rocks off together. For more of my stories, check out the Authors page here at Nifty, or my Yahoo Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/ Send me your ideas and comments... billdrake@hotmail.com.
White Collar Tales #9 Office Holiday Party
Patrick McCullough, up and coming investment strategist at Peterson Brothers LLC, always looked forward to the annual company holiday party. It wasn't the open bar, or the sleek setting at the "in" bar of the year, or the chance to flirt with the young women in Marketing or to schmooze with his managers without seeming too much of a brown-noser. That was all fine, but as a 34-year-old married man and father of two, the night mostly gave him an excuse to stay out drinking and hanging out with his buds at the office. He stood and surveyed the room.
"Who's the petite brunette number talking to Reilly?" It was Patrick's best friend, Scott Barnes, snapping him out of his reverie. Just turned 30, the tall, strapping dirty blond financial analyst stood in a cocky pose, back pulled back, legs spread with his left hand in his suitpant pocket, his other clutching his drink. Already his striped tie was loosened, the top button of his checked shirt unbuttoned. His clothing was conservative as they come, heavy on the Brooks Brothers, but he was relaxed, even slovenly, in the way he wore it, so the effect was of a man who'd rather be wearing athletic sweats. Which was funny, because of the two men he was one that was elite B-school to the core: Ivy Leaguer, drank wine, played squash every lunch hour, talk in clipped syllables that just made his deep voice all the more striking. Patrick, the former college rugby player, was the one always pressed and immaculate. His wife joked that she had married a clothes horse, but the man was the first generation in his family to go to college, if he didn't have the pedigree, he'd at least dress for success.
"Holly Martin, Sales Assistant, Fourth floor." Already Patrick had a slight buzz from the gin and tonic. "Been eyeing her since she started four months ago."
"I'll say," Scott grinned, his pearly white beaming in what was the beginning of a good buzz for him as well. Since marriage two years ago, his tolerance wasn't what it used to be. And particularly now that his wife Trish was expecting in three and a half weeks meant he didn't get out as much as he used to. "Why don't you go over and work some of that McCullough magic?"
Though Patrick was married and had, to anyone's knowledge, cheated on his wife, he had the reputation of a ladies' man. That he was still fit, muscular and extremely good-looking into his mid-30s, with a winning smile, twinkling sea-blue eyes and a full head of dark brown hair helped.
"Dunno, bud. I sometimes wonder what's the point. It's not like I can actually follow through on it." He waved his left ring finger as illustration. "Besides," he added, tapping the tip of his highball glass against Scott's chest, the rim grazing the bottom shelf of the young businessman's firm pectorals stretching out the cotton dress shirt, "I think tonight's your night, stud."
"Mine?" Scott cocked his head inquisitively while taking a sip of his wine.
"Yeah," the Irish ex-jock added. He squatted down briefly and reached his hand into his trousers to adjust his cock. Damn, he was getting a hardon already! "I can't quite explain it... but you got this... 'daddy glow'."
Scott's smile turned into an outright laugh. "Daddy glow? What the fuck?"
"You know, the look a guy gets when he's about to have a kid. Proud, beaming, excited as hell..."
"Yeah?"
"... but horny as fuck. Probably haven't had a good lay, I mean a really good nut, in weeks, months even."
Scott cocked an eye. "You can read all that in my face, McCullough?"
"Shit yeah. And I'll bet you a twenty Holly Martin and that gaggle of hotties she's with can, too."
"An Alexander Hamilton from Mr. Dime Ante? Gotta take this one. What do I do?"
"When you go over to get a drink, stop by and say hello to them."
"That's it?"
"No fuckwad." He slapped his hand on Scott's shoulder and leaned in to lower his voice. "If they don't fawn over you, this twenty's yours." Patrick slipped one from his wallet and held it up.
"Contact?"
"Contact."
"You're on."
He sauntered over and it went according to script. Patrick couldn't hear what was said, but he could hear the pitch of the women's voices rise an octive as my female coworkers cooed and teased Scott about his upcoming fatherhood. They were squeezing his arms, poking him in his nonexistent love handles. When he broke away and came back, he had two drinks and a twenty dollar bill in his hands and a big grin on his face.
"You're the man, McCullough. Any longer and they would have been taking my shirt off." He sipped his wine and smirked. "Was worth losing the bet," he added.
Patrick leaned back, sticking his hand back in his pocket to nurse his hardon surreptitiously. "Why don't you go back over there, bud? Real one of them in?"
Scott held up two fingers, millimeters apart. "I'm this close, man. Believe me. But you know I can't."
"Yeah, I know." The two men understood each other. Hell, Patrick was so hard at the moment he desperately wanted some action. But ever since marrying, neither man so much as touched another woman, however much self-control it took to rein in their hormones.
"Funny how our minds work sometime," Scott mused.
"Whaddya mean?"
"I mean, I'd never cheat on Trish. Ever. And I know you've been faithful to Jenn. But for us, faithful means never sleeping with any other women. It doesn't apply to..."
"Yep," Patrick interrupted him, gulping his beer. "I hear what you're saying."
"Patrick," Scott turned and looked deep into his friend's deep blue eyes. "Going out for drinks after the party's over?"
The hunky ex-jock returned the gaze. "Always do."
"Was going to stop by the hotel first, drop off my bag. Thinking of heading over soon."
"Want me to come along?"
The analyst didn't have to answer. Both men set down their nearly finished drinks and made their way to the exit. The brisk December night air braced the men as they made their way three blocks to the Wyndham. Barnes lived way out past the inner suburbs, so each year he rented a room so he could enjoy the office party without worry about catching the infrequent late evening commuter trains. By now it was tradition that Patrick would crash there so he wouldn't have to drive home drunk.
The two men tossed our bags on the floor and stood in that hotel room, quiet, nothing but the hum of the heating system could be heard. They stood there facing each other, eyes locked. Scott snaked his hand down and started massaging the boner trapped in his suit trousers. He wasn't as well as well endowed as his friend and coworker, but a solid, round six and a half incher poked up the dark navy material in a sizeable mound. Barnes massaged the turgid flesh for several silent minutes before reaching up and lowering the zipper.
The zip sound broke the spell of silence, and Patrick shifted from side to side in his rigid stance and lifted his gaze from Barnes crotch back into the dirty-blonde's lust-filled face. He gulped as a fullsize analyst cock popped out of the open crotch. Barnes was bone-hard, the head slick and flared. "Feels funny... the tables are always turned the other way."
"Not backing out on me are you, big guy?"
"Fuck no," Patrick breathed and knelt in place on the hotel carpet. From that angle, Scott's masculine figure looked even more imposing, but Patrick had only a few seconds to admire his suited buddy before the man was right at him, pressing his crotch into his face.
"Mmmh, McCullough. That's it. Lick my fucking cock."
The hot-to-trot strategist went to town on the fresh, horny cock in front of him, lapping and gnawing at the length, teasing the tip with his tongue, sucking the dick dew leaking from the tip. What a rush. McCullough had certainly dicked around before, but it had been ages, since a pledge at Delta Tau, that he'd been on his knees fellating another man. That it was friend and confidante Scott made his head swirl in lust, his heart pound with the forbidden.
At least, he pulled down the man's cock til the head lined up, then the shaft sank smoothly into his wet, receptive oral cavity. He only had to bob his head up four or five times before Barnes' breathing went short, his patrician voice caught in his throat. "McCullough! Fuck!"
The first shot fired hard and thick, a firehose stream of hot semen that flooded McCullough's novice mouth. Patrick choked in surprise and backed of the best he could before the second volley came. Motherfuck! Barnes' balls were pumping to make up for lost time, Patrick thought as more salty spooge filled his craw. He breathed in deep through his nose then swallowed and swallowed hard, the viscous man slime barreling down his esophagus like a raw oyster.
Another shot, this time straight back into the ex-jock's throat. This time, instead of tripping the gag reflex, the pressure of Barnes' spray tickled and turned McCullough on. The older man swallowed the cock whole once more before bobbing his back up to receive the rest of Scott's load.
And it came, til by the tenth round, the jizz was just a dribble on Patrick's tongue. He leaned back and sucked in air, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The cum kept oozing out of Barnes' ramrod rigid meat. Patrick watched in fascination then swooped in with his tongue to stop the flow from staining Scott's suit pants. He fixed his mouth on the other man's pissslit and nursed gently at the aftershocks that were still coming out.
As the men wiped up and Barnes zipped up his trousers again, Patrick stood in excitement, his heart pounding and his erection straining his trousers. But this had been about Barnes' urgent need, not his own, and the night was young. Besides, their coworkers would wonder where they were if they waited any longer to join them.
The pub was crowded, mostly the spillover from the Peterson Brothers party. It was the one time when everyone could let their guard down, and let corporate anxiety over sexual harassment slide. Enough flirting and innuendo went on that night to last the year.
Patrick was seriously boned. Part of it was the crowd of twenty something blonde women around him, perched seductively over the fifth drink of the night. But the man reason was Barnes. It had been an intense experience sucking his buddy off. He thought of his buddy's sperm still sitting in his belly and wondered how long it represented: two weeks without sex? four? It was like he shared something secret and intimate. He wanted to experience it again.
He looked over at Scott, who was grinning ear to ear. Patrick excused himself and walked over to join his friend.
Patrick recognized the look. "I can't believe it."
"What?"
"You horndog. You just shot three hours ago and you still got that 'I need to get laid' look."
"The 'daddy glow.'"
Patrick sized up his friend, taking in the muscular build, the twinkle in the man's eye, the business suit in disarray, the erection trapped in his suit leg. "Yeah, fucker, the daddy glow."
"You about done chatting up the ladies?"
"What's it to you? I thought you'd sworn them off."
"I have. I'm just impatient waiting to take you back to the hotel room."
There - he said it. He didn't ask Patrick like before, just stated as fact. Cause it was. Patrick nodded and went give his goodbyes to the crowd. He couldn't believe the inner voice that was driving him on, the reason he was leaving so suddenly. But he couldn't deny it either.
Halfway down the block, Scott topped in front of a 7-11. "Hold it, McCullough, I'm just gonna pop in." Patrick wondered if Scott had taken up smoking again, only when he reappeared he had a package of K-Y in his hand. He slipped it into his suit pocket.
"Fuck," Patrick muttered. "You're a cocky one."
"Tell me I'm wrong," Scott replied.
Patrick said nothing and the two men were silent for the rest of the way.
In the hotel room, Scott attacked the investment strategist. He walked up from behind the man as he entered, circled his brawny arms around the man's still suited torso and licked and kissed at the exposed nape of his neck between the shirt collar and tapered hair.
"Thanks, McCullough."
"Thanks?"
"For the fuck I'm about to give you."
"It's been a long time since I've taken it that way, bud. Not since my time at UVA."
"It had been a long time for me too when you tapped me the first time, McCullough. Three years ago. Loved it though, didn't I?"
"You did. So why don't we...?"
"Shut up, McCullough. You need this, and I definitely need this. Not gonna let a buddy down cause you're not man enough to take it. "
"Who says I'm not man enough?"
Already Barnes was unbuckling Patrick's belt, unzipping his trousers and pulling them down. Patrick's ass was wonderfully smooth and muscular, a powerful jock ass that years sitting a desk had done nothing to slacken. He pushed him down so he was bent forward, his upper body resting on the bed, his exposed ass sticking up out from beneath his suit coat.
"Patrick, buddy, you're beautiful," Scott said as he got in position and started licking McCullough's furry ass trench. Nothing that Patrick liked more than a nice, sloppy rim job, and his buddy was making him feel pretty damn terrific. So much so that he didn't mumble an ounce of protest when the lube cap came off and a cold, slick gel daubed onto his neglected jock rosebud. Or when Barnes' masterful finger started a long, slow piston action into his tight rectum. Or when he heard the zip of Scott's suit pants, reminding him of their earlier tryst this evening, and he felt his coworker's weight shift behind him.
The entry was firm and brutal. If he didn't know Scott, Patrick would have sworn that the man was trying to wreak vengeance by marauding his inexperienced butt. As it was, he knew Scott was just too horned up to control himself, to eager to conquer the backside of the stud who'd topped him a number of times before.
"Jeez, McCullough, you're so motherfuckin' tight. Oh man, what a treat, fucking my best bud. That's it, bud, you're ass is eating my howitzer whole."
McCullough just leaned forward on that bed while Barnes tore into his backside. He bit into his finger, first to brace for the pain, then control the sensations and emotions coursing through him as he relaxed into the fuck. For Christsake, neither man had so much stripped off his coat, there they were rutting in full business attire. McCullough's tie hung down to the mattress while Barnes' swayed with each fuckthrust of its owner.
Patrick didn't want to, but when he felt Barnes' heavy balls slap against the skin between his thighs he took his hand out of his mouth. "Oh that feels good. Fuck me, Barnes."
"Yeah, McCullough? You like that? Hotshot strategist likes getting nailed by junior officer cock?"
"You know it. When I was down on my knees before..."
"Yeah?" Scott punctuated with a deep upward thrust, eliciting a groan from his fuckee.
"... sucking on your fat hog..."
"Tell me, big guy."
"I was wondering what this would be like. Feeling you pounding me. Your juiced up daddy balls beating against my tail."
"And?" Sweat was dripping of Scott's forehead now.
"It's better than I dreamed. Nice, deep thick. Gawd, I feel so full, buddy! Fuck me! Fuck me, man! That's it! Harder you fucker! Get your nut in me stud, the one you've been wanting to drop all night."
Both men were now chanting in unison. "Ungh! Ungh! Motherfuckin! UGNGHH!"
McCulloughs lips curled into a big grin as he felt Barnes' liquid salt pulse into him.
Barnes collapsed his toned upper body against his fuck buddy's suited back as the two men caught their breath.
Patrick spoke first. "Too bad we didn't invite Larson along."
Both men laughed at their private joke. It was exactly three years ago, when after a drunken, late night game of strip poker, Patrick first topped his buddy's ass. Jim Larson, another thirtysomething analyst, shook his head in disgust and kept telling the men how they were a gross couple of queers. Only after Patrick had nutted and gone to hotel bathroom to wash off his meaty cock, he returned to see Barnes in the same facedown position, with Larson's firm grip on his patrician buttocks, the man's face buried. Felched every drop of the ex-rugby player's salty sap before he raised his juice streaked face and asked if Patrick was gonna fuck that butt again that night. Next year he was the first to suggest the poker match back at his hotel room.
Scott dislodged and knelt back on the bed. He removed Patrick's shoes and socks, and pulled off his trousers. The older man carefully lifted his beefy legs and flipped over onto his back. He panted and ran his hand up to feel his stomach and chest beneath his dress shirt. Looking his fucker up and down, he smiled appreciatively, especially at the dripping, still hard dick.
"Whoo-wee," he breathed.
Scott arched an eye while he removed his jacket. Out of its pocket he removed his cell phone then draped the coat over a nearby chair. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he dialed his phone.
"Larson. Barnes here. You headed home yet?... I'm here with McCullough. Just fucked his butt full of a thick, steaming load. Thought you might want a midnight snack... No, I'm not shitting you. Here he is."
Patrick was admiring his buddy's exposed chest when suddenly the phone was thrust in his coworker's face. "Patrick," the voice rang from the receiver. "What's going on? Barnes is pulling my leg, isn't he?"
Patrick licked his dry lips. He wasn't sure about his turn at bottom being public knowledge. Still, Barnes' hands on his quads felt great right now, as did the wetness from the man's load seeping out his hole, and the sex endorphins swam thick and heavy to drown out reservations. "Nah bud. I'm lying here royally fucked. I can barely move. You coming over?"
"Jesus, I can't believe you all. But yeah, I'm coming over. Where are you?"
"Wyndham. What room?"
Scott pulled the phone back. "325. No, don't worry we're not going anywhere. I'm bone hard still and am about to pump McCullough full of another one. Yeah, great Larson. See ya." He hung up and tossed the phone aside. He wasn't lying, a proud, slick scepter of masculinity and horniness jutted up from the open crotch of his suit.
He bent down and for the first time the two men kissed. It was long, deep and intense. Scott hoisted up Patrick's rugby conditioned legs and scooted in. With his hand, he rubbed the exposed thighs while his cock rubbed the length from McCullough's overcharged nuts down the ridge to his asspucker and deep in his asstrench. Then back up again. Patrick, hornier than he could remember being in his life, squirmed beneath him.
"You haven't gotten off yet, have you bud?"
"No, sir. How many more loads you got left in ya, Barnes?"
"A lot. But we're gonna find out," he said and pushed his hips forward. This time, McCullough's rectum gave no resistance, just welcomed its new master of the evening in for a nice, tight fuck.
Patrick seized up in pleasure; this angle felt even better than before. "Incredible, man. Fuck me good."
"Ah yes... this is nice, buddy." Scott pivoted his hips and settled into a good thrust, his tool sending shockwaves to Patrick's already sensitive buttnut. He looked down at his rugged, handsome coworker and smiled. "Gonna take my time and work up a good one. Hope Larson's worked up an appetite."