u/jaybeewrites

When I moved to New York, I had just turned 22. Graduation meant that I was finally free to leave the little college town where I had spent four long years, and I wanted to see for myself whether I could thrive in the big city.

I took an assistant job within a large banking conglomerate. A friend of a friend who already lived there had set me up with the role after I'd reached out to some people about my move, and I was assigned to work for Markus, the managing director of a deal desk team. My cubicle was right around the corner from his office, and I was expected to do whatever was required to keep the division running smoothly.

It wasn't an easy job. Markus—who had instructed me to address him by his first name when we were introduced—was as demanding as he was intelligent, and I frequently worked late into the night. I didn't only fetch supplies and run errands for the team—I also learned the basics of deal work and assisted with clerical tasks.

Working in corporate also felt like being surrounded by a bunch of frat bros, and I subconsciously tried to fit in. I had never considered myself to be very flamboyant or obviously gay, yet I still tampered down on my mannerisms so that it wouldn't be an issue.

I wasn't very highly paid, but I also understood that the exposure I was afforded to the business was invaluable. It was like years of college courses in business administration were condensed into my daily workload, and I was determined to prove that I could succeed.

I remember feeling anxious when Markus called me into his office suite for the first time a few weeks after I started working there. He had been reviewing the balance sheet calculations I had prepared for the team, and I had made some errors. From where he was at his desk, he motioned for me to shut the door and sit in one of the nearby chairs facing him.

"Do you need this job?" Getting straight to the point, he looked directly at me.

"Yes sir, I do." I attempted to stay calm as I answered, glancing back at him with apprehension. I could feel his dark eyes scanning me all over.

He pointed to my calculations on the papers I'd handed him earlier that day with his red-lined comments. "Make sure you don't make the same mistakes again." And just like that, I was dismissed. I walked out of his office with the sheets in hand, intent on correcting my work, adrenaline racing through me all the while.

Over the next couple of weeks, my work improved. I became better at the simple derivations I was expected to produce. Although my workload didn't lighten, I was much more efficient and Markus seemed to approve of my contributions.

"You've been spending a lot of time with the boss," remarked Ben some time afterwards, one of the guys on our team. We were in line to pick up lunch in the cafeteria. "I always see you guys working late together."

"Yes." I didn't really know what to say to that.

"All of Markus's assistants don't typically last very long," Ben added.

"Really?" I asked. I knew there had been some turnover before me, but I had never stopped to thoroughly consider it. "Is that true?"

He shrugged. "The assistants usually quit after a few months. He's not an easy guy to work for."

In response, I nodded. I was saved from having to continue the conversation as we reached the cashier.

I supposed it was true that I was working more closely with Markus. As I tried to get better at my job, I began to function as a (very) junior banker even though I was still just an assistant on paper. Gradually, I spent more and more hours in his office, where I would often work because it was easier to be next to him as we reviewed contracts and hashed out deal terms. In the back of my mind, I would wonder why the assistants preceding me had never remained in the job.

Markus made me nervous. He was an intimidatingly authoritative figure, still relatively young in his mid-40s, and it was in my best interest to do whatever he asked of me. I avoided making too much eye contact with him, wary of his analytical eyes that seemed to dissect me whenever—and wherever—he looked at me.

One evening a while later, I was alone in Markus's suite double-checking my math when he walked in. He had evidently just returned from the gym downstairs, where he'd sometimes work out if he was spending a late night at the office, and he hadn't bothered to change out of his gym clothes. I could see his defined physique, and my heart began to pound. Markus was tall, he wasn't unattractive, and I couldn't look away.

Of course, Markus noticed me staring at him as he locked the door behind him and dropped his duffel bag onto the floor. For a split second, he seemed to smirk, as if he'd made a decision in that instant.

"Get on your knees."

"What?" I wasn't sure if I had heard him correctly.

"Put your work down and get on your knees," he said. It was a command.

"Markus, I…" I stammered. I had an inkling of what was about to happen, but my body couldn't catch up to reality.

"Do you need this job?" Markus's voice was low and dangerous.

I swallowed my nerves. "Yes sir, I do." I rose out of my chair and knelt before him.

I was suddenly eye level with his groin. Warmth radiated from him, remnants of his exertions, and the area where his legs met was stirring beneath his gym shorts.

"I can't seem to get these shorts off," Markus said lazily. "Assist me." He made no movement as he waited for me to obey.

It felt surreal, like I was watching myself from above, as I reached for the waistline of his shorts and pulled them down, exposing his underwear. He was wearing black cotton briefs, at the center of which I could easily trace the full outline of his girth that ended in a small, damp stain.

"You know what to do," Markus whispered. As if in a trance, I tugged at his briefs until they too fell at his ankles. An almost-inaudible moan escaped me as I came face to face with his cock.

It was gorgeous. Although it was still in the process of hardening, I estimated its total length to measure around 8 inches. Thick and uncircumcised, it was no wonder that he had a natural alpha temperament. Without waiting for further instruction, I took it into my mouth. I tasted his salty musk as I gently bobbed my head back and forth, coaxing him to full mast. Markus let out a groan as I slid him down my throat, feeling it stiffen.

Markus ran a hand through my hair and gripped it tightly. Holding me in place, he began to thrust. There in his office, behind closed doors and uncertain whether our coworkers were still around, my boss started to fuck my face.

I did my best to be quiet as Markus used me like a cocksleeve. He apparently relished feeling my lips dragging across the full length of his cock, and alternated between long, languid strokes and fast, aggressive pumps.

"Fuck, yeah," he muttered. "I could tell you were a cocksucker the moment I met you."

He pressed all the way into my throat, making my eyes water, and sharply slapped my face. At that, I whimpered. I wasn't used to that sort of roughness, but it felt…natural. It was almost as if this was the inevitable endpoint of the tension that had always existed between us, the source of the anxiety I had always felt when I was with him. He was my boss, he was in control…and he had every right to be doing this to me. Markus was pure masculinity personified.

My cheek stung and I could feel where the metal of his wedding ring had landed. I knew his wife was probably at home, most likely with their kids, unaware that he was currently in the process of venting his testosterone into his most junior employee. Markus shifted us so that my head rested against the side of his desk, trapping me between that and him, pounding me into its wood as he forced me to take his fat cock.

My body was reacting to the situation and my own erection began to throb beneath my clothes. I hadn't been face-fucked like this since I was in college. But, I didn't dare reach down to touch myself, somehow knowing that Markus didn't care for my relief. I was his assistant, and this was all about servicing his needs.

Markus's breathing became increasingly labored as he fucked my face with greater intensity. His strokes were merciless as he used me to bring himself closer and closer to the edge, prolonging his pleasure at my expense. Finally, long after I'd started to fear that I could handle no more—

Markus growled, pushed his cock deep into my throat, and began to spasm. Directly into me, he shot spurt after spurt of his seed. He rocked himself in and out of my mouth, milking every last drop out of him. I had no choice; I swallowed his loads as they were released.

He was wordless as he withdrew from me and pulled up his underwear and shorts. I was a mess of spit, sweat, and semen, sprawled there on his office floor, when he eventually spoke.

"Clean this up, and then you can go home."

Not looking at me, he picked up his duffel bag—which had been knocked askew during our…encounter—and exited the office. Dimly, I wondered what he would force me to do next.