Man look forward to how long and deep your main guy goes
The Full-time assistant. MM - CMNM
- Thread starter rigus
- Start date
CHAPTER 11
We were first in line to board the plane. The flight attendants—one a very gorgeous woman and the other a guy around my age—greeted us warmly. Dominic, always effortlessly charming, returned the greeting. They smiled brightly until they saw me.
"Sir… you can’t board the plane like that," the woman said, still wearing her customer-service smile.
Dominic stepped in immediately. "Ma’am, I’m sorry. My assistant here had to leave his clothes behind." He didn’t mention anything about what had happened at security, as if leaving clothes behind was a perfectly normal occurrence.
"He has to put something else on," she insisted.
"Oh, come on," Dominic said, sounding calm but with a hint of growing irritation. "There’s another passenger wearing a really short dress."
"Yes, but him…" she said, referring to me, lowering her voice. "It seems like he’s not wearing anything underneath…" She even leaned forward slightly, as if trying to peek under the long shirt I was wearing. I tugged at the hem, trying to cover more of my thighs.
"Maybe you can pull something out from your luggage?" the other guy suggested.
"That won’t be possible," Dominic cut in smoothly. "We checked all our luggage. But…" I caught that look in Dominic’s eyes. I had learned to recognize it. Something was coming.
I glanced behind us. A growing line of passengers was waiting—all because I wasn’t wearing anything under my oversized shirt. Dominic stepped closer to the male flight attendant and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Perhaps you can help us out here," he said, voice low and persuasive.
The smile on the male flight attendant’s face faltered for just a second. I hadn’t thought that was possible—they always looked so cheerful. He gave his partner a quick look. For a moment I thought he was silently asking for help. But instead, the woman turned and started waving the other passengers through while we were quietly escorted aside.
“Flight attendants carry their suitcases with them, right?” Dominic asked, glancing around as if searching for the special compartment. The guy frowned slightly, but the smile quickly returned.
“Maybe you can let Connor wear something. You both are the same height,” Dominic said, giving the flight attendant a meticulous once-over, which only seemed to put him more on edge.
“I’m sorry…” he replied, “I don’t think that would be possible.”
“I know, it’s a very strange request,” Dominic said, his voice full of understanding. “But look… Kyle,” he added, reading the name tag. “Connor has never been to Miami. He really wants to have a good time there. I bet you’ve enjoyed it before, haven’t you?”
That seemed to spark something—Kyle smirked, clearly remembering something.
“I see it,” Dominic chuckled. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll buy whatever you have for Connor to wear, just so we can board without any issues.”
Kyle looked like he was struggling with something, and Dominic—ever perceptive—caught on.
“It’s just that…” Kyle hesitated, scratching the back of his head. “When I go to Miami, I spend most of the time at the beach. I don’t bring anything except my uniform.”
“That’s okay,” Dominic said smoothly. “I’ll buy one of your swimsuits. I’ll pay double.”
But Kyle still looked uneasy.
“You don’t understand…” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I go to the nude beach.”
“Oh.”
Dominic seemed surprised—but delighted at the same time. For a moment, I thought the trip would be canceled, but then I remembered: my boss doesn’t take no for an answer.
“What about a spare uniform?” Dominic asked.
Kyle shook his head. Of course, he couldn’t give away or sell his uniform. But then he added, “The only thing I could spare, that would let him board the plane… is my underwear. The one I’m wearing right now.”
“Great!” Dominic exclaimed.
“No way,” I said immediately.
Dominic turned to look at me like I was being completely unreasonable. “Connor, come on. This is the only way.”
The only way? Really?
Next thing I knew, I was being pushed into the tiny restroom—and not just me. Kyle, the flight attendant, was scooted in there with me.
“Wait!” Kyle protested. “There’s no need”
“Let it go,” I said, knowing full well it wouldn’t matter if we could’ve done this one at a time. It just wouldn’t be as fun for Dominic.
We stood there, face to face, not really knowing what to do.
“Uhm...” I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you take off your pants first?”
“Right,” he said, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. He was wearing bright blue briefs.
He bent down to pull them down, but his head bumped against my chest. “Sorry.”
“Wait,” I said as he tried again, this time bumping the door with his rear end. His briefs were stuck halfway down his thighs.
“Try stepping out of them,” I suggested.
It worked—until he suddenly lost his balance and tripped forward into me. I caught him instinctively, my back pressed against the wall.
“Shit!”
We tried getting back on our feet, our legs tangled awkwardly. Then came a knock on the door—followed immediately by Dominic cracking it open just enough to peek inside.
“What’s taking you so long?” he asked. “It’s almost time for takeoff.”
Finally, we made it to our seats. They were beyond comfortable—spacious and plush in a way I never imagined plane seats could be. I never thought I’d travel first class, let alone doing it dressed like this—in an oversized T-shirt and someone else’s underwear.
After the usual safety instructions on how to fasten our seatbelts and what to do in case of an emergency, the plane soon took off.
We saw Kyle again when he came down the aisle offering drinks. I couldn’t help but glance directly at his crotch, knowing full well he wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath that tight uniform now.
"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?"
"Scotch, neat," Dominic said without hesitation.
I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Seriously?"
Dominic smirked, not even glancing at me. "It’s already noon in Miami."
"That doesn’t make it less early for us," I muttered.
He finally looked at me, amused. "Now you’re telling me when I can drink? You’re a little judgmental for a former bartender."
"Maybe you could skip this one?" I suggested, half-serious. "You don’t need to start drinking before breakfast."
Dominic gave a small laugh. "I had some fruit at the lounge," he said, then leaned back in his seat. "You’re cute when you’re worried. But trust me—I know my limits."
I crossed my arms and muttered under my breath, "Yeah, I’ve heard that one before."
I was surprised when Dominic actually sent back his drink when Kyle brought it, and instead ordered some sparkling water. Being as hungry as I was—and as humiliated as I’d been that morning—I ordered avocado toast with confited cherry tomatoes and burrata.
First class, remember?
I didn’t catch how much Dominic paid for Kyle’s briefs, but I saw him hand over his business card when we landed and got off the plane.
I had a strange feeling in my gut—the kind of jealousy that creeps in when someone else starts becoming the center of attention. Not that I minded it… or maybe I did.
What if Kyle was a better prospect than me? He was also young and good-looking. But a flight attendant wouldn’t have the availability Dominic requires. Still... would he quit to become Dominic’s new assistant?
Oh my god, what the fuck am I thinking?
A sleek, black luxury car was already waiting for us outside the terminal, the kind with tinted windows, perfectly polished leather seats, and a driver in a crisp suit who greeted Dominic by name. Dominic slid in and I followed, still adjusting the oversized T-shirt and unfamiliar briefs.
As we pulled out of the airport and merged onto the highway, I pressed my forehead lightly to the glass, watching the city unfold before me.
Miami.
It was my first time there, and it didn’t disappoint. Palm trees lined the roads like perfectly placed props, swaying in the breeze. The sun was brighter than I was used to, casting a golden glow over everything—buildings with soft pastel colors, wide beaches in the distance, flashy cars, and people who all looked like they belonged on magazine covers.
Everything about the city felt turned up a notch—like the colors were more vivid, the light more golden, the whole vibe somehow seductive and electric.
And the hotel… God. When we finally pulled up, I didn’t need the five stars to tell me it was exclusive. Just the way the staff opened the door and greeted Dominic with practiced ease, the polished marble, the tall glass windows framing the ocean behind the lobby—it was another world.
I stepped out of the car and felt the warm air wrap around me. For the first time since the airport mess, I took a breath and let myself enjoy it.
I always thought the best rooms were at the top—penthouses, rooftops, anything with a view sounded expensive and exclusive. But the suite we got was on the ground floor. I had nothing to compare it to, but it felt like an indoor paradise. And not just that—the wide glass doors in the living room opened straight out to our own private pool.
"This is awesome!" I told Dominic when I finally saw him again after exploring every corner of the place. My enthusiasm was genuine—I was really impressed.
Dominic smiled at my reaction, clearly familiar with the suite. "Well then, get ready to go out."
"Out?" I asked, confused. Honestly, I could’ve spent the entire weekend in that suite without stepping a foot outside and still be thrilled.
He chuckled. "Didn't you want to go to the beach?"
"I did! But I never expected this!" I stretched my arms out and did a quick twirl, showing off the suite—completely forgetting I was still only wearing a long T-shirt and someone else’s briefs.
"You want to stay then?"
I gave it a moment’s thought. The suite was perfect. But then I remembered—there was a whole city outside I’d never seen. Curiosity won.
I headed to the bedroom, and my luggage was already waiting. Dominic had selected a wide range of clothes for me—nothing embarrassing this time. Each outfit had two options, like he was giving me a say… or maybe setting me up for something else later.
We spent the whole day out. And I mean the whole day.
First stop: the Wynwood Walls, I´d seen photos online, but they didn't do the place justice. The colors, the scale, the creativity. It was like walking through someone's wildest dreams. We strolled through the murals while I pointed out my favorites. Dominic didn't say much, but he smiled every time I got excited. I think he liked seeing me like that.
"How did you know I would like this?" I questioned him, frowning intrigued.
He smiled, "I've seen you how you look at all the grafittis back at home, i just made a guess"
I simply smiled. Feeling good that he noticed those little details about me.
After that, we drove along Ocean Drive. I pressed my face to the window like a tourist, which, well... I was. The palm trees, the buildings - Miami had a vibe. Warm, a little chaotic, but alive.
Then the beach.
It was hot, really hot, but the breeze made it bearable. We walked barefoot along the shore for a while, the waves licking our ankles. Then we laid under an umbrella with some overpriced drinks, Dominic waited for me to allow him to have something with alcohol in it. I liked that facet of my boss, I felt that I could give orders too, even if it was just a trick, like everything else he did.
He wore sunglasses and sipped slowly, while I probably looked like a golden retriever amazed by everything. And the best part was that I didn't feel out of place, I got a glance of a few mature men escorted by younger guys like Dominic and I.
By the end of the afternoon, I was sun-drunk and salty, also a bit tired but I wanted to keep going. The driver took us back to the suite to freshen up, and then we headed out again, this time dressed properly. He wore a navy linen shirt and slacks, casual but expensive. I chose white pants and a fitted short sleeve button down.
Dinner was at a high end restaurant with a view of the water, all glass walls and soft lighting. The kind of place where people speak quietly and the menu doesn't have prices. We had wine, a bunch of small plates I couldn't pronounce, and more good conversation.
I couldn't tell if it was the wine, the ocean air, that I enjoyed being with Dominic - and I didnt want the night to end.
I have to say, even though Dominic was good company, he was constantly on his phone—making calls, answering texts, or reading emails. It didn’t bother me too much; I understood the busy life of a businessman. But at some point, he started looking too enthusiastic while reading a message.
“I didn’t know CEOs giggled,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
“Sorry,” he replied, placing his phone aside.
“Oh, no. It’s not a problem,” I said quickly. “Just pointing out that I haven’t seen you like that while doing business.”
“Maybe I wasn’t doing business,” he smirked.
“Personal, then?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t seen other sides of Dominic yet.
“Just a few texts from our friend Kyle,” he said, picking up his phone briefly when a new notification popped up, then setting it back down.
“Our friend?!” I repeated, dumbfounded. “The flight attendant?”
“Him.”
“Now you’re texting with him? Why? I mean…” I shook my head, struggling to keep my voice neutral. “You can do whatever you want. But you just met him. Are you…”
“Is there a problem with me texting Kyle, Connor?”
“Y–No,” I blurted out, then hesitated. “I guess it’s business then. I mean, I didn’t see you pay for the underwear… he must be following up. Can’t you just Venmo him or something?”
“I did that earlier today,” Dominic replied calmly. “He just wanted to know which places we visited. He’s a really nice guy.”
“I bet he is” I muttered, leaning back in my seat.
Dominic studied me for a moment. “I’m starting to think it does bother you. What’s the problem, Connor?”
I didn’t want to sound jealous. I wasn’t… not in a romantic way. You can feel jealous over a friend—or your boss, in this case. I mean, what if he was trying to steal my job? A job I was still struggling to adjust to. No cheerful flight attendant was going to come and take my place.
I crossed my arms. “Are you considering hiring him?”
“Hiring him?” Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? I have a whole department for that kind of thing. It’s called Human Resources.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You mean—am I thinking about making him my assistant?” He leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “No. Someone else a bit more suitable has that position right now.”
I felt my shoulders relax. I reached for my glass of wine, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
His phone buzzed again.
“Aren’t you going to check that?”
Dominic glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable.
“Are you… like… friends now then?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested, but the curiosity was eating at me.
“Do you send your friends pictures of your butthole?”
“What?”
He turned the phone toward me, and I was greeted with a very bright, very clear photo of exactly that—Kyle’s asshole.
“Oh my god, Dominic!” I yelped, jerking back. It wasn’t just the unexpected close-up—it was the fact that we were in a public place. I glanced around, but thankfully everyone else seemed absorbed in their own conversations.
“Why would he send you that?” I hissed.
Dominic chuckled. “Why else, Connor? He wants me to fuck him.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I blinked, trying to process what I just heard—what I just saw.
Then, after a long pause, I asked the one question swirling in my head. “Are you?”
I looked at him closely, waiting—maybe dreading—his answer.
Dominic took another sip of wine and shrugged, like it meant nothing—like the whole thing wasn’t even worth his time. Then he said, “He’s not the one I want to fuck.”
He looked straight at me. Held my gaze. We both knew what he meant. And we both knew where I stood on that.
“It’s probably a good idea if you do” I said finally, trying to sound neutral. Maybe he’d let off some steam. Maybe I’d get a break.
He waved a hand dismissively. “He’s too eager. If I don’t fuck him, someone else will.”
“And you want someone who puts up resistance…” I said, half a question, half a jab.
He grinned. “Not exactly. It’s just that it tastes better when you finally get what you’ve been hunting for.”
I shrugged, not sure what to say to that.
“Come on, Connor,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it more when a girl plays hard to get—and then you finally get her into bed.”
I drifted into my thoughts for a moment. When was the last time I even hooked up with someone? It felt like forever.
Back in college, it was easier. A night out could end with someone in your bed—no pressure, no expectations. But that part of my life ended when I dropped out. Since then, juggling two jobs didn’t leave much room for dating. And let’s be real—most girls don’t go for the broke guy, no matter how good-looking or fit he is.
The last time I had sex was during a night out with Logan. We both scored that night. But that was months ago.
I wanted to tell Dominic that maybe I wouldn’t mind someone easy. That I’d been horny for a while now. But I kept that part to myself.
Dominic watched me silently, then said, “You know, you should have sex.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
“You clearly need it,” he said, sipping his wine like he was talking about the weather. “Go out. Find someone. Get laid.”
I chuckled awkwardly, “You make it sound like a chore.”
“It’s not a chore if you enjoy it” he replied, then casually glanced around the restaurant. “There’s plenty of beautiful people here. Take your pick.”
I followed his gaze, but my stomach tightened. Everyone around us looked polished. Elegant. Expensive. Like they had personal trainers, skincare routines, and trust funds. Definitely not the kind of crowd I was used to.
“I don’t think this is the kind of place I’d go to pick up a girl” I said, trying to sound chill.
Dominic leaned back, amused. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like where?”
“A club. A bar. You choose.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. His expression was unreadable, like always. But the idea was... tempting.
“You’d really take me to a club just so I can get laid?”
He smirked, then asked for the check.
We were first in line to board the plane. The flight attendants—one a very gorgeous woman and the other a guy around my age—greeted us warmly. Dominic, always effortlessly charming, returned the greeting. They smiled brightly until they saw me.
"Sir… you can’t board the plane like that," the woman said, still wearing her customer-service smile.
Dominic stepped in immediately. "Ma’am, I’m sorry. My assistant here had to leave his clothes behind." He didn’t mention anything about what had happened at security, as if leaving clothes behind was a perfectly normal occurrence.
"He has to put something else on," she insisted.
"Oh, come on," Dominic said, sounding calm but with a hint of growing irritation. "There’s another passenger wearing a really short dress."
"Yes, but him…" she said, referring to me, lowering her voice. "It seems like he’s not wearing anything underneath…" She even leaned forward slightly, as if trying to peek under the long shirt I was wearing. I tugged at the hem, trying to cover more of my thighs.
"Maybe you can pull something out from your luggage?" the other guy suggested.
"That won’t be possible," Dominic cut in smoothly. "We checked all our luggage. But…" I caught that look in Dominic’s eyes. I had learned to recognize it. Something was coming.
I glanced behind us. A growing line of passengers was waiting—all because I wasn’t wearing anything under my oversized shirt. Dominic stepped closer to the male flight attendant and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Perhaps you can help us out here," he said, voice low and persuasive.
The smile on the male flight attendant’s face faltered for just a second. I hadn’t thought that was possible—they always looked so cheerful. He gave his partner a quick look. For a moment I thought he was silently asking for help. But instead, the woman turned and started waving the other passengers through while we were quietly escorted aside.
“Flight attendants carry their suitcases with them, right?” Dominic asked, glancing around as if searching for the special compartment. The guy frowned slightly, but the smile quickly returned.
“Maybe you can let Connor wear something. You both are the same height,” Dominic said, giving the flight attendant a meticulous once-over, which only seemed to put him more on edge.
“I’m sorry…” he replied, “I don’t think that would be possible.”
“I know, it’s a very strange request,” Dominic said, his voice full of understanding. “But look… Kyle,” he added, reading the name tag. “Connor has never been to Miami. He really wants to have a good time there. I bet you’ve enjoyed it before, haven’t you?”
That seemed to spark something—Kyle smirked, clearly remembering something.
“I see it,” Dominic chuckled. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll buy whatever you have for Connor to wear, just so we can board without any issues.”
Kyle looked like he was struggling with something, and Dominic—ever perceptive—caught on.
“It’s just that…” Kyle hesitated, scratching the back of his head. “When I go to Miami, I spend most of the time at the beach. I don’t bring anything except my uniform.”
“That’s okay,” Dominic said smoothly. “I’ll buy one of your swimsuits. I’ll pay double.”
But Kyle still looked uneasy.
“You don’t understand…” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I go to the nude beach.”
“Oh.”
Dominic seemed surprised—but delighted at the same time. For a moment, I thought the trip would be canceled, but then I remembered: my boss doesn’t take no for an answer.
“What about a spare uniform?” Dominic asked.
Kyle shook his head. Of course, he couldn’t give away or sell his uniform. But then he added, “The only thing I could spare, that would let him board the plane… is my underwear. The one I’m wearing right now.”
“Great!” Dominic exclaimed.
“No way,” I said immediately.
Dominic turned to look at me like I was being completely unreasonable. “Connor, come on. This is the only way.”
The only way? Really?
Next thing I knew, I was being pushed into the tiny restroom—and not just me. Kyle, the flight attendant, was scooted in there with me.
“Wait!” Kyle protested. “There’s no need”
“Let it go,” I said, knowing full well it wouldn’t matter if we could’ve done this one at a time. It just wouldn’t be as fun for Dominic.
We stood there, face to face, not really knowing what to do.
“Uhm...” I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you take off your pants first?”
“Right,” he said, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. He was wearing bright blue briefs.
He bent down to pull them down, but his head bumped against my chest. “Sorry.”
“Wait,” I said as he tried again, this time bumping the door with his rear end. His briefs were stuck halfway down his thighs.
“Try stepping out of them,” I suggested.
It worked—until he suddenly lost his balance and tripped forward into me. I caught him instinctively, my back pressed against the wall.
“Shit!”
We tried getting back on our feet, our legs tangled awkwardly. Then came a knock on the door—followed immediately by Dominic cracking it open just enough to peek inside.
“What’s taking you so long?” he asked. “It’s almost time for takeoff.”
Finally, we made it to our seats. They were beyond comfortable—spacious and plush in a way I never imagined plane seats could be. I never thought I’d travel first class, let alone doing it dressed like this—in an oversized T-shirt and someone else’s underwear.
After the usual safety instructions on how to fasten our seatbelts and what to do in case of an emergency, the plane soon took off.
We saw Kyle again when he came down the aisle offering drinks. I couldn’t help but glance directly at his crotch, knowing full well he wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath that tight uniform now.
"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?"
"Scotch, neat," Dominic said without hesitation.
I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Seriously?"
Dominic smirked, not even glancing at me. "It’s already noon in Miami."
"That doesn’t make it less early for us," I muttered.
He finally looked at me, amused. "Now you’re telling me when I can drink? You’re a little judgmental for a former bartender."
"Maybe you could skip this one?" I suggested, half-serious. "You don’t need to start drinking before breakfast."
Dominic gave a small laugh. "I had some fruit at the lounge," he said, then leaned back in his seat. "You’re cute when you’re worried. But trust me—I know my limits."
I crossed my arms and muttered under my breath, "Yeah, I’ve heard that one before."
I was surprised when Dominic actually sent back his drink when Kyle brought it, and instead ordered some sparkling water. Being as hungry as I was—and as humiliated as I’d been that morning—I ordered avocado toast with confited cherry tomatoes and burrata.
First class, remember?
I didn’t catch how much Dominic paid for Kyle’s briefs, but I saw him hand over his business card when we landed and got off the plane.
I had a strange feeling in my gut—the kind of jealousy that creeps in when someone else starts becoming the center of attention. Not that I minded it… or maybe I did.
What if Kyle was a better prospect than me? He was also young and good-looking. But a flight attendant wouldn’t have the availability Dominic requires. Still... would he quit to become Dominic’s new assistant?
Oh my god, what the fuck am I thinking?
A sleek, black luxury car was already waiting for us outside the terminal, the kind with tinted windows, perfectly polished leather seats, and a driver in a crisp suit who greeted Dominic by name. Dominic slid in and I followed, still adjusting the oversized T-shirt and unfamiliar briefs.
As we pulled out of the airport and merged onto the highway, I pressed my forehead lightly to the glass, watching the city unfold before me.
Miami.
It was my first time there, and it didn’t disappoint. Palm trees lined the roads like perfectly placed props, swaying in the breeze. The sun was brighter than I was used to, casting a golden glow over everything—buildings with soft pastel colors, wide beaches in the distance, flashy cars, and people who all looked like they belonged on magazine covers.
Everything about the city felt turned up a notch—like the colors were more vivid, the light more golden, the whole vibe somehow seductive and electric.
And the hotel… God. When we finally pulled up, I didn’t need the five stars to tell me it was exclusive. Just the way the staff opened the door and greeted Dominic with practiced ease, the polished marble, the tall glass windows framing the ocean behind the lobby—it was another world.
I stepped out of the car and felt the warm air wrap around me. For the first time since the airport mess, I took a breath and let myself enjoy it.
I always thought the best rooms were at the top—penthouses, rooftops, anything with a view sounded expensive and exclusive. But the suite we got was on the ground floor. I had nothing to compare it to, but it felt like an indoor paradise. And not just that—the wide glass doors in the living room opened straight out to our own private pool.
"This is awesome!" I told Dominic when I finally saw him again after exploring every corner of the place. My enthusiasm was genuine—I was really impressed.
Dominic smiled at my reaction, clearly familiar with the suite. "Well then, get ready to go out."
"Out?" I asked, confused. Honestly, I could’ve spent the entire weekend in that suite without stepping a foot outside and still be thrilled.
He chuckled. "Didn't you want to go to the beach?"
"I did! But I never expected this!" I stretched my arms out and did a quick twirl, showing off the suite—completely forgetting I was still only wearing a long T-shirt and someone else’s briefs.
"You want to stay then?"
I gave it a moment’s thought. The suite was perfect. But then I remembered—there was a whole city outside I’d never seen. Curiosity won.
I headed to the bedroom, and my luggage was already waiting. Dominic had selected a wide range of clothes for me—nothing embarrassing this time. Each outfit had two options, like he was giving me a say… or maybe setting me up for something else later.
We spent the whole day out. And I mean the whole day.
First stop: the Wynwood Walls, I´d seen photos online, but they didn't do the place justice. The colors, the scale, the creativity. It was like walking through someone's wildest dreams. We strolled through the murals while I pointed out my favorites. Dominic didn't say much, but he smiled every time I got excited. I think he liked seeing me like that.
"How did you know I would like this?" I questioned him, frowning intrigued.
He smiled, "I've seen you how you look at all the grafittis back at home, i just made a guess"
I simply smiled. Feeling good that he noticed those little details about me.
After that, we drove along Ocean Drive. I pressed my face to the window like a tourist, which, well... I was. The palm trees, the buildings - Miami had a vibe. Warm, a little chaotic, but alive.
Then the beach.
It was hot, really hot, but the breeze made it bearable. We walked barefoot along the shore for a while, the waves licking our ankles. Then we laid under an umbrella with some overpriced drinks, Dominic waited for me to allow him to have something with alcohol in it. I liked that facet of my boss, I felt that I could give orders too, even if it was just a trick, like everything else he did.
He wore sunglasses and sipped slowly, while I probably looked like a golden retriever amazed by everything. And the best part was that I didn't feel out of place, I got a glance of a few mature men escorted by younger guys like Dominic and I.
By the end of the afternoon, I was sun-drunk and salty, also a bit tired but I wanted to keep going. The driver took us back to the suite to freshen up, and then we headed out again, this time dressed properly. He wore a navy linen shirt and slacks, casual but expensive. I chose white pants and a fitted short sleeve button down.
Dinner was at a high end restaurant with a view of the water, all glass walls and soft lighting. The kind of place where people speak quietly and the menu doesn't have prices. We had wine, a bunch of small plates I couldn't pronounce, and more good conversation.
I couldn't tell if it was the wine, the ocean air, that I enjoyed being with Dominic - and I didnt want the night to end.
I have to say, even though Dominic was good company, he was constantly on his phone—making calls, answering texts, or reading emails. It didn’t bother me too much; I understood the busy life of a businessman. But at some point, he started looking too enthusiastic while reading a message.
“I didn’t know CEOs giggled,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
“Sorry,” he replied, placing his phone aside.
“Oh, no. It’s not a problem,” I said quickly. “Just pointing out that I haven’t seen you like that while doing business.”
“Maybe I wasn’t doing business,” he smirked.
“Personal, then?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t seen other sides of Dominic yet.
“Just a few texts from our friend Kyle,” he said, picking up his phone briefly when a new notification popped up, then setting it back down.
“Our friend?!” I repeated, dumbfounded. “The flight attendant?”
“Him.”
“Now you’re texting with him? Why? I mean…” I shook my head, struggling to keep my voice neutral. “You can do whatever you want. But you just met him. Are you…”
“Is there a problem with me texting Kyle, Connor?”
“Y–No,” I blurted out, then hesitated. “I guess it’s business then. I mean, I didn’t see you pay for the underwear… he must be following up. Can’t you just Venmo him or something?”
“I did that earlier today,” Dominic replied calmly. “He just wanted to know which places we visited. He’s a really nice guy.”
“I bet he is” I muttered, leaning back in my seat.
Dominic studied me for a moment. “I’m starting to think it does bother you. What’s the problem, Connor?”
I didn’t want to sound jealous. I wasn’t… not in a romantic way. You can feel jealous over a friend—or your boss, in this case. I mean, what if he was trying to steal my job? A job I was still struggling to adjust to. No cheerful flight attendant was going to come and take my place.
I crossed my arms. “Are you considering hiring him?”
“Hiring him?” Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that? I have a whole department for that kind of thing. It’s called Human Resources.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You mean—am I thinking about making him my assistant?” He leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “No. Someone else a bit more suitable has that position right now.”
I felt my shoulders relax. I reached for my glass of wine, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
His phone buzzed again.
“Aren’t you going to check that?”
Dominic glanced at the screen, his expression unreadable.
“Are you… like… friends now then?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested, but the curiosity was eating at me.
“Do you send your friends pictures of your butthole?”
“What?”
He turned the phone toward me, and I was greeted with a very bright, very clear photo of exactly that—Kyle’s asshole.
“Oh my god, Dominic!” I yelped, jerking back. It wasn’t just the unexpected close-up—it was the fact that we were in a public place. I glanced around, but thankfully everyone else seemed absorbed in their own conversations.
“Why would he send you that?” I hissed.
Dominic chuckled. “Why else, Connor? He wants me to fuck him.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I blinked, trying to process what I just heard—what I just saw.
Then, after a long pause, I asked the one question swirling in my head. “Are you?”
I looked at him closely, waiting—maybe dreading—his answer.
Dominic took another sip of wine and shrugged, like it meant nothing—like the whole thing wasn’t even worth his time. Then he said, “He’s not the one I want to fuck.”
He looked straight at me. Held my gaze. We both knew what he meant. And we both knew where I stood on that.
“It’s probably a good idea if you do” I said finally, trying to sound neutral. Maybe he’d let off some steam. Maybe I’d get a break.
He waved a hand dismissively. “He’s too eager. If I don’t fuck him, someone else will.”
“And you want someone who puts up resistance…” I said, half a question, half a jab.
He grinned. “Not exactly. It’s just that it tastes better when you finally get what you’ve been hunting for.”
I shrugged, not sure what to say to that.
“Come on, Connor,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it more when a girl plays hard to get—and then you finally get her into bed.”
I drifted into my thoughts for a moment. When was the last time I even hooked up with someone? It felt like forever.
Back in college, it was easier. A night out could end with someone in your bed—no pressure, no expectations. But that part of my life ended when I dropped out. Since then, juggling two jobs didn’t leave much room for dating. And let’s be real—most girls don’t go for the broke guy, no matter how good-looking or fit he is.
The last time I had sex was during a night out with Logan. We both scored that night. But that was months ago.
I wanted to tell Dominic that maybe I wouldn’t mind someone easy. That I’d been horny for a while now. But I kept that part to myself.
Dominic watched me silently, then said, “You know, you should have sex.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
“You clearly need it,” he said, sipping his wine like he was talking about the weather. “Go out. Find someone. Get laid.”
I chuckled awkwardly, “You make it sound like a chore.”
“It’s not a chore if you enjoy it” he replied, then casually glanced around the restaurant. “There’s plenty of beautiful people here. Take your pick.”
I followed his gaze, but my stomach tightened. Everyone around us looked polished. Elegant. Expensive. Like they had personal trainers, skincare routines, and trust funds. Definitely not the kind of crowd I was used to.
“I don’t think this is the kind of place I’d go to pick up a girl” I said, trying to sound chill.
Dominic leaned back, amused. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like where?”
“A club. A bar. You choose.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. His expression was unreadable, like always. But the idea was... tempting.
“You’d really take me to a club just so I can get laid?”
He smirked, then asked for the check.
The club was one of those places you always see on Instagram—neon lights, huge line outside, bass you could feel in your chest before even getting in. But we didn’t wait in line. Dominic made a call on the way there, said maybe three words, and just like that, we were being ushered past the velvet rope like VIPs.
Inside, it was chaos in the best way—music pulsing, lights flashing, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. We made our way to the bar, the glow of lights casting flickers across Dominic’s sharp features. He ordered something for both of us, then slid my glass over with a nod.
That’s when I saw her—petite, wavy dark hair, wearing a fitted black dress that shimmered under the lights. She passed by and winked at me, then disappeared into the crowd. I turned to Dominic, unsure.
He tilted his head toward the dance floor. “Go,” he said, like it was an order. “Have fun.”
So I followed her.
I found her near the center, moving to the beat like she owned the place. I hesitated at first—clubbing wasn’t exactly my scene—but she pulled me in by the wrist with a laugh, and that was that.
We danced. I wasn’t great at it, but she didn’t seem to mind. I kept glancing back toward the bar, half-expecting Dominic to be watching with some disapproving look. He was. Kind of. Not disapproving, just... there. Cool, unreadable. Like he was supervising a field trip. I felt like a teenager whose dad was chaperoning prom.
When I stopped to take a breather, he caught my eye and raised his glass slightly before turning around and walking out of the club without saying a word.
I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
A bit later, I ended up talking to another girl, blonde, with a raspy voice and a loud laugh that made me laugh too. We clicked instantly. At some point, I looked at the time and realized how late it was.
She leaned into my ear, “Want to get out of here?”
I nodded, and for a moment I thought I’d just call a cab, maybe go back to her hotel.
But as we stepped outside, Dominic’s driver was already waiting by the curb, standing beside the sleek black car like he’d been there the whole time.
“Mr. Bennett sent me,” he said, opening the door with a nod.
I looked at the girl. She didn’t ask any questions. We both got in.
We didn’t talk the whole ride back to the suite—we made out. I didn’t know her name, but it didn’t matter. She was hot, had big boobs, and I was going to fuck her.
We had both been drinking, but maybe she’d had a few more than I did. Dominic had left the tab open for me, so I didn’t exactly pace myself either.
“Who’s Mr. Bennett?” she asked, slurring a little as she looked around at the luxury car and the building we pulled up to.
“What?”
“The guy... he said someone named Mr. Bennett sent him to pick you up. Is that your dad? Are you, like, loaded?” she giggled.
“He’s not my...” I trailed off. I wasn’t about to explain the whole situation. Honestly, maybe it was more complicated than I wanted to admit—especially since I suddenly felt the urge to dodge any conversation about my job.
Instead, I helped her out of the car and guided her up to the suite. Then to my room.
I walked out of my bedroom and headed to the kitchen for some water. I grabbed a bottle from the fridge and drank the whole thing in one go. I wasn’t too drunk, but I wanted to stay ahead of the hangover. A few drops ran down my chin and bare chest as I wiped my mouth and wandered into the living room. It was dimly lit and quiet. I scratched my head, debating which couch to crash on for the night.
“That was quick,” came Dominic’s deep voice from the shadows.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ!” I gasped, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest.
Dominic was sitting on a couch tucked in a dark corner. He stood up and walked toward me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The dim light caught his bare torso—he was wearing only pajama pants. He placed a hand gently on my shoulder, his thumb brushing my skin in a way that felt way too intimate.
“No problem. I just didn’t expect to see you here,” I said.
“Neither did I,” he replied. “What happened?”
With a heavy sigh, I let myself collapse onto the nearest couch, shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Nothing happened," I confessed.
Dominic followed me and sat next to me on the loveseat.
"But you did bring a girl, didn’t you? I heard her voice a few minutes ago. Did she leave?"
"No," I said, waving my hand like it didn’t matter. "She’s in bed... passed out."
"Oh..."
"Yeah... after she puked."
"Oof, that’s awful," Dominic said, then laid a hand on my knee and rubbed it gently.
"Well, I’m glad you’re a gentleman and didn’t take advantage of her."
I shrugged. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to do something like that, even if she had come willingly expecting to get fucked. "So I decided to crash on one of these comfy couches."
"Nonsense!" Dominic exclaimed. "I have a big bed. Come sleep with me."
I looked at Dominic, trying to read between the lines. But with him, there were no lines to read between, no fine print—just giant neon signs.
We walked into his room. It was similar to mine—perfectly decorated—but the bed was definitely bigger. He wasn’t lying; there could be a decent gap between us if we chose not to sleep close.
“Uh... I’m gonna take a shower first,” I said.
“Good,” Dominic replied, already heading toward the bathroom—as if I didn’t know where it was. It was the only door besides the one we came in through. “I’ll take one too. You don’t mind sharing, right?” he added, matter-of-factly.
I raised my eyebrows, my mouth parting slightly to protest.
“Come on. It’s already late,” he said, pulling his pajama bottoms down and stepping out of them with zero hesitation.
I’d already seen my boss naked before—but this felt different. We were alone, and I was far more uninhibited. My boundaries should’ve stayed the same, right? Alcohol shouldn’t affect someone’s convictions... right?
When I stepped into the bathroom, the shower was already running. The glass door stood open, inviting. Dominic was inside, the water cascading down his broad back to his hairy butt cheeks.
I swallowed hard and reached for the waistband of my boxer briefs.
Stacy. Or Megan. Whatever her name was—she’d left me with a raging boner and aching balls.
I stepped into the neatly tiled shower, and the rainfall immediately cooled my skin. Dominic still had his back to me, the stream tracing the contours of his body. Then he turned.
He didn’t have a six-pack or massive pecs, but he still looked strong—fit, imposing in his own way. I found myself staring at his hairy chest when he lifted my chin with a single finger.
“Would you mind helping me?” he asked. It wasn’t really a request—it was direct, almost commanding.
I was under the influence. Not of alcohol—but of Dominic.
He poured body wash into my hand, and I slowly started rubbing it into his chest. It was strange, washing another man—his skin was firm beneath my palms, but softened by the lather and the layer of hair.
I worked over his torso, his arms. He lifted his arms so I could wash his armpits. Then he turned around so I could do his back.
When he faced me again, I braced myself, expecting he’d ask me to wash... other areas. But instead, he took the bottle and returned the favor.
His hands moved over my smooth skin without hesitation. He didn’t just wash—he groped, firmly, confidently, exploring every muscle like he had every right to.
He gripped my hand in a slick, soapy handshake. I didn’t get it at first—until he used the remaining lather on his hand to clean his dick and balls. It was methodical but gentle, tugging at his manhood with the same confident ease he did everything else.
I followed his lead, doing the same. The only difference was, I was rock hard.
And I hated that.
I didn’t want him thinking I was hard because of him. I’d already walked in with an erection—left over from the girl, from the frustration. That’s what I kept telling myself. But what unsettled me was the possibility I couldn’t ignore anymore… maybe I was still hard because of him.
But soon, we were both in the same state. Dominic’s cock had grown with his own slow, soapy massage—gaining size and girth. It was big… intimidating.
“Turn around,” he said.
I gulped, suddenly afraid. “W-Why?” My voice came out shaky.
“I’ll help you clean your back,” he replied calmly, placing his hands on my shoulders. He gently turned me, and I didn’t stop him. My heart pounded, my thoughts spiraling with a thousand what-ifs and what-do-I-dos.
But then, he simply started rubbing my back.
His palms glided up from my waist to my shoulders, then slowly down again. Over my neck, across my shoulder blades—firm, methodical. For a moment, I let myself breathe. The warmth of the water, the scent of soap, his touch… it was calming.
But then his hands slid from my flanks toward my abdomen. He spread his fingers, and I felt the weight of his embrace. One arm wrapped around me firmly, anchoring me in place, while the other hand moved up to my chest. A quiet moan slipped out when his fingertips grazed my nipple.
He slowly pulled me against him until I felt the heat of his body pressed to my back. His warmth seeped into me, grounding and disarming. Then I felt it—his cock, thick and heavy, slipping between my thighs. The remaining lather let it glide easily along my skin, brushing my perineum, until it nudged against my balls.
He didn’t go further right away. Instead, he gave me time—to adjust to the closeness, to the invasion between my thighs. Is this really happening? “Are you okay with this?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, not commanding— considerate.
“…U-huh…” I nodded, barely audible, my heart thundering in my chest.
Then he began to move—slow, gentle thrusts that made his cock slide back and forth between my thighs. It felt… strange. Not painful, not uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar. My body didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stop it. It’s weird, I thought. Weird bad… or weird good? I couldn’t tell. My mind was trying to make sense of it, throwing up all the reasons I shouldn’t be okay with this, while my body—warm, tense, strangely eager—kept giving me a different answer.
Dominic pulled me tighter against him, his slow, steady thrusts never faltering. The faint rasp of his five o’clock shadow skimmed my neck, and when a low moan rumbled near my ear, it sent a shiver down my spine.
Instinctively, I reached back and held onto his thighs. His movements were rhythmic, his dick throbbing—and so was mine. If it weren’t for the rain of the shower, I was sure there’d be a long slick of precum stretching from my tip to the floor. I couldn’t deny it—I was aroused. But I wasn’t about to admit it was because my boss was sliding his cock between my thighs.
Dominic grabbed one of my wrists and guided it forward. I understood what he meant. I wrapped my hand around my dick and started stroking it. I was so fucking horny—I needed to release. I tilted my head back, and he rubbed his scratchy beard across my cheek and neck, the sensation making me shiver.
"Yes... yes..." he whispered into my ear, his voice low and breathy. "Stroke it," he encouraged, and I obeyed, lost in the haze of heat and need.
"I want to fuck you so bad," he said, his voice rough and low. "Can’t wait until I finally fuck you, Connor… You’ll let me fuck your ass, right?" he almost growled in my ear.
People say all kinds of things during sex—dirty talk, fantasies, stuff they don’t always mean. I could’ve played along, told Dominic what he wanted to hear. But that wasn’t what would turn him on the most. What would really get to him was if I resisted. If I made him work for it.
"...No..." I mumbled, my hand still stroking my cock. "I won’t..." I said again, firmer this time.
It was like setting off a switch in him. A shot of pure adrenaline. The second those words left my mouth, he grabbed me by the waist, spun me toward the tiled wall, and pinned me there, his body pressing hard against mine.
With my body pressed against the wall and Dominic thrusting harder, I couldn’t move except for the jerks of my own hand stroking my cock.
"I will... I fucking will… and you’ll love it… you’ll beg for it," Dominic growled.
I squeezed my thighs together, giving him a tighter grip around his thick cock. That sent him over the edge—he went at it full throttle, moaning and grunting into my ear.
My cheek was against the cold tile, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"No... no..." I kept saying, trying to hold on to something—control, denial, I don’t know. But my no’s melted into broken moans as the orgasm took over.
I reached back blindly with my free hand and grabbed Dominic’s butt cheek. I could feel the tension in his glutes with every thrust—something I’d known happened, sure, but never felt like that, never on another man.
I came hard, pinned against the tiled wall, just as Dominic finished too, coating my drawn-up balls with his release.
I stayed there, catching my breath, leaning on the wall as the water poured over us. Dominic quietly cleaned himself, not saying a word about what had just happened. He waited for me in silence.
Back in the bedroom, he pulled his pajama pants back on and slipped into bed. I stayed standing for a moment, towel in hand, drying my hair and realizing all my clothes were still in my room. I didn’t think too much about it—there wasn’t much choice. I’d have to sleep naked next to my boss.
Inside, it was chaos in the best way—music pulsing, lights flashing, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. We made our way to the bar, the glow of lights casting flickers across Dominic’s sharp features. He ordered something for both of us, then slid my glass over with a nod.
That’s when I saw her—petite, wavy dark hair, wearing a fitted black dress that shimmered under the lights. She passed by and winked at me, then disappeared into the crowd. I turned to Dominic, unsure.
He tilted his head toward the dance floor. “Go,” he said, like it was an order. “Have fun.”
So I followed her.
I found her near the center, moving to the beat like she owned the place. I hesitated at first—clubbing wasn’t exactly my scene—but she pulled me in by the wrist with a laugh, and that was that.
We danced. I wasn’t great at it, but she didn’t seem to mind. I kept glancing back toward the bar, half-expecting Dominic to be watching with some disapproving look. He was. Kind of. Not disapproving, just... there. Cool, unreadable. Like he was supervising a field trip. I felt like a teenager whose dad was chaperoning prom.
When I stopped to take a breather, he caught my eye and raised his glass slightly before turning around and walking out of the club without saying a word.
I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
A bit later, I ended up talking to another girl, blonde, with a raspy voice and a loud laugh that made me laugh too. We clicked instantly. At some point, I looked at the time and realized how late it was.
She leaned into my ear, “Want to get out of here?”
I nodded, and for a moment I thought I’d just call a cab, maybe go back to her hotel.
But as we stepped outside, Dominic’s driver was already waiting by the curb, standing beside the sleek black car like he’d been there the whole time.
“Mr. Bennett sent me,” he said, opening the door with a nod.
I looked at the girl. She didn’t ask any questions. We both got in.
We didn’t talk the whole ride back to the suite—we made out. I didn’t know her name, but it didn’t matter. She was hot, had big boobs, and I was going to fuck her.
We had both been drinking, but maybe she’d had a few more than I did. Dominic had left the tab open for me, so I didn’t exactly pace myself either.
“Who’s Mr. Bennett?” she asked, slurring a little as she looked around at the luxury car and the building we pulled up to.
“What?”
“The guy... he said someone named Mr. Bennett sent him to pick you up. Is that your dad? Are you, like, loaded?” she giggled.
“He’s not my...” I trailed off. I wasn’t about to explain the whole situation. Honestly, maybe it was more complicated than I wanted to admit—especially since I suddenly felt the urge to dodge any conversation about my job.
Instead, I helped her out of the car and guided her up to the suite. Then to my room.
I walked out of my bedroom and headed to the kitchen for some water. I grabbed a bottle from the fridge and drank the whole thing in one go. I wasn’t too drunk, but I wanted to stay ahead of the hangover. A few drops ran down my chin and bare chest as I wiped my mouth and wandered into the living room. It was dimly lit and quiet. I scratched my head, debating which couch to crash on for the night.
“That was quick,” came Dominic’s deep voice from the shadows.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ!” I gasped, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest.
Dominic was sitting on a couch tucked in a dark corner. He stood up and walked toward me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The dim light caught his bare torso—he was wearing only pajama pants. He placed a hand gently on my shoulder, his thumb brushing my skin in a way that felt way too intimate.
“No problem. I just didn’t expect to see you here,” I said.
“Neither did I,” he replied. “What happened?”
With a heavy sigh, I let myself collapse onto the nearest couch, shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Nothing happened," I confessed.
Dominic followed me and sat next to me on the loveseat.
"But you did bring a girl, didn’t you? I heard her voice a few minutes ago. Did she leave?"
"No," I said, waving my hand like it didn’t matter. "She’s in bed... passed out."
"Oh..."
"Yeah... after she puked."
"Oof, that’s awful," Dominic said, then laid a hand on my knee and rubbed it gently.
"Well, I’m glad you’re a gentleman and didn’t take advantage of her."
I shrugged. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to do something like that, even if she had come willingly expecting to get fucked. "So I decided to crash on one of these comfy couches."
"Nonsense!" Dominic exclaimed. "I have a big bed. Come sleep with me."
I looked at Dominic, trying to read between the lines. But with him, there were no lines to read between, no fine print—just giant neon signs.
We walked into his room. It was similar to mine—perfectly decorated—but the bed was definitely bigger. He wasn’t lying; there could be a decent gap between us if we chose not to sleep close.
“Uh... I’m gonna take a shower first,” I said.
“Good,” Dominic replied, already heading toward the bathroom—as if I didn’t know where it was. It was the only door besides the one we came in through. “I’ll take one too. You don’t mind sharing, right?” he added, matter-of-factly.
I raised my eyebrows, my mouth parting slightly to protest.
“Come on. It’s already late,” he said, pulling his pajama bottoms down and stepping out of them with zero hesitation.
I’d already seen my boss naked before—but this felt different. We were alone, and I was far more uninhibited. My boundaries should’ve stayed the same, right? Alcohol shouldn’t affect someone’s convictions... right?
When I stepped into the bathroom, the shower was already running. The glass door stood open, inviting. Dominic was inside, the water cascading down his broad back to his hairy butt cheeks.
I swallowed hard and reached for the waistband of my boxer briefs.
Stacy. Or Megan. Whatever her name was—she’d left me with a raging boner and aching balls.
I stepped into the neatly tiled shower, and the rainfall immediately cooled my skin. Dominic still had his back to me, the stream tracing the contours of his body. Then he turned.
He didn’t have a six-pack or massive pecs, but he still looked strong—fit, imposing in his own way. I found myself staring at his hairy chest when he lifted my chin with a single finger.
“Would you mind helping me?” he asked. It wasn’t really a request—it was direct, almost commanding.
I was under the influence. Not of alcohol—but of Dominic.
He poured body wash into my hand, and I slowly started rubbing it into his chest. It was strange, washing another man—his skin was firm beneath my palms, but softened by the lather and the layer of hair.
I worked over his torso, his arms. He lifted his arms so I could wash his armpits. Then he turned around so I could do his back.
When he faced me again, I braced myself, expecting he’d ask me to wash... other areas. But instead, he took the bottle and returned the favor.
His hands moved over my smooth skin without hesitation. He didn’t just wash—he groped, firmly, confidently, exploring every muscle like he had every right to.
He gripped my hand in a slick, soapy handshake. I didn’t get it at first—until he used the remaining lather on his hand to clean his dick and balls. It was methodical but gentle, tugging at his manhood with the same confident ease he did everything else.
I followed his lead, doing the same. The only difference was, I was rock hard.
And I hated that.
I didn’t want him thinking I was hard because of him. I’d already walked in with an erection—left over from the girl, from the frustration. That’s what I kept telling myself. But what unsettled me was the possibility I couldn’t ignore anymore… maybe I was still hard because of him.
But soon, we were both in the same state. Dominic’s cock had grown with his own slow, soapy massage—gaining size and girth. It was big… intimidating.
“Turn around,” he said.
I gulped, suddenly afraid. “W-Why?” My voice came out shaky.
“I’ll help you clean your back,” he replied calmly, placing his hands on my shoulders. He gently turned me, and I didn’t stop him. My heart pounded, my thoughts spiraling with a thousand what-ifs and what-do-I-dos.
But then, he simply started rubbing my back.
His palms glided up from my waist to my shoulders, then slowly down again. Over my neck, across my shoulder blades—firm, methodical. For a moment, I let myself breathe. The warmth of the water, the scent of soap, his touch… it was calming.
But then his hands slid from my flanks toward my abdomen. He spread his fingers, and I felt the weight of his embrace. One arm wrapped around me firmly, anchoring me in place, while the other hand moved up to my chest. A quiet moan slipped out when his fingertips grazed my nipple.
He slowly pulled me against him until I felt the heat of his body pressed to my back. His warmth seeped into me, grounding and disarming. Then I felt it—his cock, thick and heavy, slipping between my thighs. The remaining lather let it glide easily along my skin, brushing my perineum, until it nudged against my balls.
He didn’t go further right away. Instead, he gave me time—to adjust to the closeness, to the invasion between my thighs. Is this really happening? “Are you okay with this?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, not commanding— considerate.
“…U-huh…” I nodded, barely audible, my heart thundering in my chest.
Then he began to move—slow, gentle thrusts that made his cock slide back and forth between my thighs. It felt… strange. Not painful, not uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar. My body didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stop it. It’s weird, I thought. Weird bad… or weird good? I couldn’t tell. My mind was trying to make sense of it, throwing up all the reasons I shouldn’t be okay with this, while my body—warm, tense, strangely eager—kept giving me a different answer.
Dominic pulled me tighter against him, his slow, steady thrusts never faltering. The faint rasp of his five o’clock shadow skimmed my neck, and when a low moan rumbled near my ear, it sent a shiver down my spine.
Instinctively, I reached back and held onto his thighs. His movements were rhythmic, his dick throbbing—and so was mine. If it weren’t for the rain of the shower, I was sure there’d be a long slick of precum stretching from my tip to the floor. I couldn’t deny it—I was aroused. But I wasn’t about to admit it was because my boss was sliding his cock between my thighs.
Dominic grabbed one of my wrists and guided it forward. I understood what he meant. I wrapped my hand around my dick and started stroking it. I was so fucking horny—I needed to release. I tilted my head back, and he rubbed his scratchy beard across my cheek and neck, the sensation making me shiver.
"Yes... yes..." he whispered into my ear, his voice low and breathy. "Stroke it," he encouraged, and I obeyed, lost in the haze of heat and need.
"I want to fuck you so bad," he said, his voice rough and low. "Can’t wait until I finally fuck you, Connor… You’ll let me fuck your ass, right?" he almost growled in my ear.
People say all kinds of things during sex—dirty talk, fantasies, stuff they don’t always mean. I could’ve played along, told Dominic what he wanted to hear. But that wasn’t what would turn him on the most. What would really get to him was if I resisted. If I made him work for it.
"...No..." I mumbled, my hand still stroking my cock. "I won’t..." I said again, firmer this time.
It was like setting off a switch in him. A shot of pure adrenaline. The second those words left my mouth, he grabbed me by the waist, spun me toward the tiled wall, and pinned me there, his body pressing hard against mine.
With my body pressed against the wall and Dominic thrusting harder, I couldn’t move except for the jerks of my own hand stroking my cock.
"I will... I fucking will… and you’ll love it… you’ll beg for it," Dominic growled.
I squeezed my thighs together, giving him a tighter grip around his thick cock. That sent him over the edge—he went at it full throttle, moaning and grunting into my ear.
My cheek was against the cold tile, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"No... no..." I kept saying, trying to hold on to something—control, denial, I don’t know. But my no’s melted into broken moans as the orgasm took over.
I reached back blindly with my free hand and grabbed Dominic’s butt cheek. I could feel the tension in his glutes with every thrust—something I’d known happened, sure, but never felt like that, never on another man.
I came hard, pinned against the tiled wall, just as Dominic finished too, coating my drawn-up balls with his release.
I stayed there, catching my breath, leaning on the wall as the water poured over us. Dominic quietly cleaned himself, not saying a word about what had just happened. He waited for me in silence.
Back in the bedroom, he pulled his pajama pants back on and slipped into bed. I stayed standing for a moment, towel in hand, drying my hair and realizing all my clothes were still in my room. I didn’t think too much about it—there wasn’t much choice. I’d have to sleep naked next to my boss.
Infamous Hacker
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Fuck! This is SO hot!!!! Please give it to him Connor!
I totally agree. Connor has certainly let down some inhibitions, but not ready to give up his cherry. I wonder if this relationship will grow past just being his assistant. I was happy that he wasn’t humiliated even more during this one, but suspect the TSA was a set up. I do think there is more humiliation in store for C and wonder if he will hit a breaking point and quit. That may be the catalyst to the boss expanding their relationship. Who knows but certainly loving this one.This is the BEST series ever... oh my God.
CHAPTER 12
It’s funny how the nights I sleep the most soundly are always after the most awkward situations. The night I stayed at the hotel when I met Dominic. The first night at the apartment. And then, the night when my boss fake-fucked me.
I didn’t open my eyes right away. I woke up wrapped in the softest linens, my face resting on a pillow that felt like a cloud. And the scent... I couldn’t quite place it. Something musky, but clean. Something that made me inhale deeply. I tilted my head to get more of it.
That’s when I felt the hairy nook brushing against my nose and lips.
“What the...!” I opened my eyes to find myself sniffing Dominic’s armpit.
I had fallen asleep on the other side of the huge bed, turning my back to Dominic—not sure if that was the best choice after what had happened the night before. But apparently, the man had a gravitational pull, because I’d somehow ended up on his side by morning.
I moved to sit at the edge of the bed and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my head.
“Oh god...” I groaned, regretting every sip of alcohol from the night before. Then the memories came flooding back in flashes—Dominic getting naked, stepping into the shower, me following... his hands on my body, his cock sliding down between my thighs.
Behind me, I heard Dominic stirring. He stretched, then leaned up on one elbow.
“Good morning,” he said.
I sat with my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands.
“Hungover, huh?” he asked, amused. I just grunted. “You know what’s best for that?”
I turned my head slightly, half-curious.
“Morning sex,” he smirked.
My eyes dropped automatically to the bulge in his pajama pants. I quickly looked away and realized I was instinctively reaching for my own dick—which was also rock hard. Calm down, I told myself. It’s just morning wood. Not because you woke up sniffing your boss’s armpit. Everyone wakes up like this.
I headed to the bathroom to wash my face. Every step made the headache worse. My mouth was dry, I bent down and drank straight from the faucet.
Then Dominic walked in. For a second, I wondered—was he expecting another shared shower? Was he serious about the whole morning sex thing? Because that was not going to happen.
But instead, he headed straight for the toilet to take a piss.
One night of simulated sex and we’re already a married couple? I stayed leaning on the counter with both hands, completely naked, my erection slowly fading.
“Want some coffee?” he asked.
I nodded eagerly.
There was a small kitchenette in the suite, but Dominic chose to order room service. Two espressos.
I was hoping it would help as I lay sprawled on the living room couch, my forearm draped over my eyes to block out the light. I knew I was supposed to be the assistant—the one fetching or ordering the coffee—but I wasn’t exactly in top shape that morning.
A knock came at the door. At least I could’ve gotten up for that. But Dominic moved without hesitation.
I heard a brief exchange between him and whoever was at the door, then the sound of it closing again. "Someone left a note," he said, walking into the living room with two tiny espresso cups, which he placed on the coffee table before settling onto the opposite couch.
"I'm gonna need more than that," I muttered, letting my arm slide off my face and squinting at the cup. "What did you say about a note?"
"Someone left a note at the door," Dominic said as he took a sip of his coffee. He lifted his finger, revealing a sticky note stuck to the tip. "Let me read it," he said, and proceeded:
Sorry about the mess. Had a great time, tho.
You were great at it, Mr. Bennett Jr.
Call me. – Katie.
"You made quite an impression, huh? Mr. Bennett Junior," he said, raising an eyebrow. "And she left her number," he added, placing the sticky note on the coffee table.
"Oh fuck," I groaned. I had completely forgotten about her. Thank God she’d left—I didn’t even want to imagine her catching me sneaking out of Dominic’s room naked.
"I thought you said you didn’t do it," Dominic said, watching me carefully.
"We didn’t," I replied.
"Then why’d she say you were good at it?"
I didn’t answer. Apparently, two people had had fake sex that night... and both of them had enjoyed it.
Who knows what she thought happened. Her name was Katie, and I called her Stacy while we were making out—we were both on the same wrong page.
The espresso helped a little. At least enough to let me get up and wander around. I was still naked, and honestly, I wasn’t even bothered by it anymore. Dominic was still in just his pajama pants, hanging a little too low and showing the start of his pubes.
I was considering staying in for the day. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for anything, and I also wanted to avoid the shame of being present when housekeeping saw the disaster in my room. But unfortunately, Dominic always had a plan.
He came out of his room fully dressed and clearly ready to go out. Casual, but expensive—of course. He tossed a pair of shorts and a tank top at me. I caught them and stared, already feeling the contrast in our outfits.
He looked like he was stepping out of a magazine spread. I looked like I was about to teach a spin class.
But that was how it was with him. He was the boss.
We arrived at a sleek, open-air restaurant perched right across the street from the beach. I could barely take it all in at first—my head was still pounding, and everything was too bright, too loud, too... cheerful. But even through the haze, I had to admit the view was something else. The beach stretched wide and open just beyond the road, the ocean glinting like someone had dumped glitter on it. People were already out there, running, biking, doing yoga, or whatever else made them feel superior at that hour.
We sat down, and I immediately slouched in the chair, losing any sense of composure. A waiter came by and handed us menus. Dominic took his and barely glanced at it before saying, “You know what’s good for a hangover?”
He wasn’t going to suggest morning sex again, was he?
I looked at him, deadpan. “I’m not having a bloody mary at this time…” I cut him off, just in case he was going to suggest more alcohol.
“Of course not, Connor,” he said, putting down the menu and locking eyes with me. “You should go for a run.”
“What?”
“There’s a jogging trail right across the street. You’ll sweat it out.”
I huffed, waving off the obviously terrible idea my boss had. But the way he kept staring, I knew it wasn’t a suggestion.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked.
He didn’t have to answer.
I stood up like a teenager who’d just been told to take the trash out—annoyed, dramatic, and absolutely resigned to his fate.
“Follow the trail for about twenty minutes, then turn around. I’ll have breakfast waiting when you’re back,” he said, calm as ever.
“Yes, coach,” I muttered, dripping sarcasm.
“I thought I was your dad, Bennett Jr.” He smirked.
I rolled my eyes and waved him off. “Fine.”
“Oh, and leave your shirt,” he added. “So you’ll have something clean to wear when you’re back.”
I pulled it off and dropped it on the chair, already regretting every decision that led to that moment.
I crossed the street reluctantly and started to jog at a slow pace—arms heavy, breath short. The sun wasn’t that high yet, and the breeze caressed my bare torso. The trail was already packed: joggers, couples walking dogs, some guy doing pushups on a bench.
My head still throbbed with every step, and my stomach gave a quiet protest with every bounce. But after a few minutes, my body started to loosen up. The tight knot in my head began to untangle. My breathing settled. I wasn’t sprinting by any means, but the rhythm of the run started to feel kind of… steady.
Sweat beaded on my forehead and slid down my back, and with it, the fog in my brain began to lift. Not completely, but enough. Enough to notice the salty air, the pounding of the waves, the thud of my feet syncing with someone else’s a few strides ahead.
Dominic was right—damn him. I hated that.
By the time I reached what must’ve been the twenty-minute mark, I felt strangely... okay. Not amazing, but better. I figured I could go a little further—just to push it.
I kept going, letting the rhythm carry me, zoning out to the ocean sounds. It was peaceful. Until I felt it.
A breeze, oddly cold, sneaking up behind me. I slowed down, confused, and reached back, only to find the shorts had ripped clean along the crack. The seams had given up entirely.
“Are you kidding me…” I muttered, already turning around.
I tried holding the fabric together so it wouldn’t show more than necessary, but that only seemed to anger the shorts more. The side seams gave out next, like they were just waiting their turn. And to make things worse, the sweat-soaked material had basically turned into paper—sticky in some places, falling apart in others, clinging to my legs like wet tissue.
Suddenly, every step shredded what was left. My shorts weren’t just torn—they were disintegrating.
And then it hit me. I was farther from the restaurant than I should’ve gone. The return jog was going to be longer.
Fantastic.
One minute I was just another local jogging under the palm trees, and the next I was cupping my junk with both hands, heading back toward a restaurant that definitely wasn’t going to let me in because I wasn’t dressed appropriately.
Damn you, Dominic.
And to make things worse, I started getting the looks. Judging, amused, confused—take your pick. What? Hadn’t they ever seen someone whose shorts just vanished mid-jog? Of course, Dominic hadn’t bothered to give me underwear. Why would he?
I couldn’t even glare back or defend myself. I had to keep my eyes forward, focused on the path, pretending I wasn’t completely exposed. I wasn’t sweating from the run anymore—now it was pure, concentrated embarrassment.
But hey—at least the hangover was gone. I had other problems.
I tried not to mind all the attention—but that was easier said than done. People started shouting things at me as I jogged past.
“Nice look!”
“Nice ass!”
“Where’s the party?!”
Great. Just great.
I picked up the pace, hoping I could outrun the comments—and the witnesses. But I didn’t count on all the rollerbladers and cyclists. They passed me effortlessly, each giving me a lingering look or a smirk, as if I was some kind of sideshow.
Two rollerbladers turned to skate backwards, easily matching my pace. One of them, a guy in neon shades and way too much energy, grinned at me and asked, “What’s the cause, man? Body positivity? Climate change? Awareness for gym shorts?”
The other one, a girl I would definitely hit on under different circumstances, added, “Fast fashion. It has to be fast fashion.”
“I… no… I… don’t…” but I couldn’t get a word in. I was almost out of breath, panting heavily while trying to outrun the whole damn situation.
Then a guy on a bike, fully dressed in lycra, started riding alongside us. “What’s the message?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s a silent protest, apparently,” the girl said.
“Cool,” the biker nodded. “Want some water?” He reached for his bottle and held it out toward me. “Open up.”
I definitely needed it, so I opened my mouth—and got blasted in the face and neck by a strong jet of water, with almost none of it actually going in my mouth.
“What’s the deal?!” someone shouted from the other side of the street.
“He’s saving the whales!” the guy in neon shades shouted back. “Come join the cause!”
The trail felt endless. I was on the verge of collapse, barely holding it together while this unexpected crowd kept following me, cheering me on for a cause that didn’t even exist. A few joggers had joined in behind me, some even taking their shirts off like we were part of some weird, sweaty movement.
But then the thing I feared most happened—phones started coming out. People began recording, livestreaming. I hadn’t just lost my shorts; I’d lost control. I wasn’t just naked in public—I was naked all over the internet.
A few minutes later, someone shouted, “A thousand viewers are watching!” and the crowd erupted in cheers. Okay, maybe not the whole internet, but a thousand was still a lot. Too many.
And then someone—some sadistic soul—yelled, “He needs to do something bold! Something risky!” No, I didn’t. I really didn’t. But the crowd had their own story, their own version of events, and it was way cooler than the truth—which was that my shorts had disintegrated from sweat and friction.
Somehow, the chant started. “Free the willy! Free the willy!”
Louder.
“Free the willy! Free the willy!”
I had no choice. Believe me, I had no choice.
The restaurant came into view, just a block away. I clenched whatever resolve I had left and took off in a final burst of speed—arms pumping, legs flying, and yes… everything else swinging freely with each stride.
The crowd exploded.
I skidded to a stop just outside the restaurant, bending over with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. “I'm done”, I managed to say. Applause. Cheers. Back pats. Someone even smacked my ass. And just like that, they started to drift away, like they’d all been summoned by some strange, spontaneous flash mob energy and were now content to disappear into their day.
And me? I was still naked. Still panting.
Still dying inside.
I crossed the street in short, awkward steps, my hands cupping my dick and balls like some half-assed fig leaf. Luckily, it was an open-air restaurant, and Dominic saw me standing at the entrance almost immediately.
The host—a guy maybe in his late twenties—walked up with raised eyebrows, clearly unsure what to do with the naked, sweaty mess standing in front of him. But Dominic got to him first.
He laid a hand on the guy’s shoulder, slid a bill smoothly into his shirt pocket, and gave it a light pat. “He’s with me,” he said calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Then he handed me the tank top.
It wasn’t as long as the tshirt I’d worn at the airport, so I didn’t even bother trying to put it on. I just held it in front of me like a sad little curtain and followed him inside.
Thank God the chairs had cushions.
Our table was tucked into a corner, a bit removed from the rest of the crowd, though not enough to avoid the stares. But no one said anything. Most of them were mature, older men who just watched quietly.
I hadn’t even caught my breath yet. My lungs were burning, and sweat was dripping from me like rain. I saw Dominic had a glass of water—didn’t ask, just grabbed it and downed it in one go.
“What happened?” Dominic asked, all calm and casual.
“Oh, cut the crap,” I snapped, slamming the empty glass on the table. “At least have the decency not to act surprised when we both know damn well you schemed this.”
I wiped my mouth with my forearm, but it didn’t help—sweat was everywhere. Dominic handed me a napkin, and I used it like a face towel, dabbing at my face, neck, even my chest. It didn’t help much either, but it felt like a small win.
He smiled—that smug, satisfied look he always wore after I’d just been humiliated.
“I could’ve been arrested, you know?”
He said nothing.
“I told you to fucking tell me when you were going to pull one of your stunts.”
“It wouldn’t be as fun,” he said, chuckling. “And just so you know, if that ever happens, I’ll bail you out.”
“Well, it won’t happen. I mean it,” I snapped, firm. “And what’s the fun in all that? Giving me shorts that rip apart if you’re not even going to watch the whole thing?”
“Who says I wasn’t watching? You didn’t see the drone?”
“What drone?” I asked, wide-eyed. There wasn’t a fucking drone. I would've seen it. Or heard it. Right? Right?!
He was playing mind games with me again—and loving it.
Dominic laughed harder. “What do you want me to say?” He looked right at me, both of us fully aware of the deal we’d made.
Before I could come up with a comeback, the waiter appeared with our breakfast—perfect timing, honestly. I was starving. We ate mostly in silence, the occasional smirk from Dominic reminding me he was still enjoying the aftermath.
Once we were done, he stood up and casually said, “Let’s head back. You need a proper shower—and some clothes that actually stay on.”
I didn’t argue. I followed him out, still using the tank top to cover myself, praying we’d make it to the hotel without any more surprises.
It’s funny how the nights I sleep the most soundly are always after the most awkward situations. The night I stayed at the hotel when I met Dominic. The first night at the apartment. And then, the night when my boss fake-fucked me.
I didn’t open my eyes right away. I woke up wrapped in the softest linens, my face resting on a pillow that felt like a cloud. And the scent... I couldn’t quite place it. Something musky, but clean. Something that made me inhale deeply. I tilted my head to get more of it.
That’s when I felt the hairy nook brushing against my nose and lips.
“What the...!” I opened my eyes to find myself sniffing Dominic’s armpit.
I had fallen asleep on the other side of the huge bed, turning my back to Dominic—not sure if that was the best choice after what had happened the night before. But apparently, the man had a gravitational pull, because I’d somehow ended up on his side by morning.
I moved to sit at the edge of the bed and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my head.
“Oh god...” I groaned, regretting every sip of alcohol from the night before. Then the memories came flooding back in flashes—Dominic getting naked, stepping into the shower, me following... his hands on my body, his cock sliding down between my thighs.
Behind me, I heard Dominic stirring. He stretched, then leaned up on one elbow.
“Good morning,” he said.
I sat with my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands.
“Hungover, huh?” he asked, amused. I just grunted. “You know what’s best for that?”
I turned my head slightly, half-curious.
“Morning sex,” he smirked.
My eyes dropped automatically to the bulge in his pajama pants. I quickly looked away and realized I was instinctively reaching for my own dick—which was also rock hard. Calm down, I told myself. It’s just morning wood. Not because you woke up sniffing your boss’s armpit. Everyone wakes up like this.
I headed to the bathroom to wash my face. Every step made the headache worse. My mouth was dry, I bent down and drank straight from the faucet.
Then Dominic walked in. For a second, I wondered—was he expecting another shared shower? Was he serious about the whole morning sex thing? Because that was not going to happen.
But instead, he headed straight for the toilet to take a piss.
One night of simulated sex and we’re already a married couple? I stayed leaning on the counter with both hands, completely naked, my erection slowly fading.
“Want some coffee?” he asked.
I nodded eagerly.
There was a small kitchenette in the suite, but Dominic chose to order room service. Two espressos.
I was hoping it would help as I lay sprawled on the living room couch, my forearm draped over my eyes to block out the light. I knew I was supposed to be the assistant—the one fetching or ordering the coffee—but I wasn’t exactly in top shape that morning.
A knock came at the door. At least I could’ve gotten up for that. But Dominic moved without hesitation.
I heard a brief exchange between him and whoever was at the door, then the sound of it closing again. "Someone left a note," he said, walking into the living room with two tiny espresso cups, which he placed on the coffee table before settling onto the opposite couch.
"I'm gonna need more than that," I muttered, letting my arm slide off my face and squinting at the cup. "What did you say about a note?"
"Someone left a note at the door," Dominic said as he took a sip of his coffee. He lifted his finger, revealing a sticky note stuck to the tip. "Let me read it," he said, and proceeded:
Sorry about the mess. Had a great time, tho.
You were great at it, Mr. Bennett Jr.
Call me. – Katie.
"You made quite an impression, huh? Mr. Bennett Junior," he said, raising an eyebrow. "And she left her number," he added, placing the sticky note on the coffee table.
"Oh fuck," I groaned. I had completely forgotten about her. Thank God she’d left—I didn’t even want to imagine her catching me sneaking out of Dominic’s room naked.
"I thought you said you didn’t do it," Dominic said, watching me carefully.
"We didn’t," I replied.
"Then why’d she say you were good at it?"
I didn’t answer. Apparently, two people had had fake sex that night... and both of them had enjoyed it.
Who knows what she thought happened. Her name was Katie, and I called her Stacy while we were making out—we were both on the same wrong page.
The espresso helped a little. At least enough to let me get up and wander around. I was still naked, and honestly, I wasn’t even bothered by it anymore. Dominic was still in just his pajama pants, hanging a little too low and showing the start of his pubes.
I was considering staying in for the day. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for anything, and I also wanted to avoid the shame of being present when housekeeping saw the disaster in my room. But unfortunately, Dominic always had a plan.
He came out of his room fully dressed and clearly ready to go out. Casual, but expensive—of course. He tossed a pair of shorts and a tank top at me. I caught them and stared, already feeling the contrast in our outfits.
He looked like he was stepping out of a magazine spread. I looked like I was about to teach a spin class.
But that was how it was with him. He was the boss.
We arrived at a sleek, open-air restaurant perched right across the street from the beach. I could barely take it all in at first—my head was still pounding, and everything was too bright, too loud, too... cheerful. But even through the haze, I had to admit the view was something else. The beach stretched wide and open just beyond the road, the ocean glinting like someone had dumped glitter on it. People were already out there, running, biking, doing yoga, or whatever else made them feel superior at that hour.
We sat down, and I immediately slouched in the chair, losing any sense of composure. A waiter came by and handed us menus. Dominic took his and barely glanced at it before saying, “You know what’s good for a hangover?”
He wasn’t going to suggest morning sex again, was he?
I looked at him, deadpan. “I’m not having a bloody mary at this time…” I cut him off, just in case he was going to suggest more alcohol.
“Of course not, Connor,” he said, putting down the menu and locking eyes with me. “You should go for a run.”
“What?”
“There’s a jogging trail right across the street. You’ll sweat it out.”
I huffed, waving off the obviously terrible idea my boss had. But the way he kept staring, I knew it wasn’t a suggestion.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked.
He didn’t have to answer.
I stood up like a teenager who’d just been told to take the trash out—annoyed, dramatic, and absolutely resigned to his fate.
“Follow the trail for about twenty minutes, then turn around. I’ll have breakfast waiting when you’re back,” he said, calm as ever.
“Yes, coach,” I muttered, dripping sarcasm.
“I thought I was your dad, Bennett Jr.” He smirked.
I rolled my eyes and waved him off. “Fine.”
“Oh, and leave your shirt,” he added. “So you’ll have something clean to wear when you’re back.”
I pulled it off and dropped it on the chair, already regretting every decision that led to that moment.
I crossed the street reluctantly and started to jog at a slow pace—arms heavy, breath short. The sun wasn’t that high yet, and the breeze caressed my bare torso. The trail was already packed: joggers, couples walking dogs, some guy doing pushups on a bench.
My head still throbbed with every step, and my stomach gave a quiet protest with every bounce. But after a few minutes, my body started to loosen up. The tight knot in my head began to untangle. My breathing settled. I wasn’t sprinting by any means, but the rhythm of the run started to feel kind of… steady.
Sweat beaded on my forehead and slid down my back, and with it, the fog in my brain began to lift. Not completely, but enough. Enough to notice the salty air, the pounding of the waves, the thud of my feet syncing with someone else’s a few strides ahead.
Dominic was right—damn him. I hated that.
By the time I reached what must’ve been the twenty-minute mark, I felt strangely... okay. Not amazing, but better. I figured I could go a little further—just to push it.
I kept going, letting the rhythm carry me, zoning out to the ocean sounds. It was peaceful. Until I felt it.
A breeze, oddly cold, sneaking up behind me. I slowed down, confused, and reached back, only to find the shorts had ripped clean along the crack. The seams had given up entirely.
“Are you kidding me…” I muttered, already turning around.
I tried holding the fabric together so it wouldn’t show more than necessary, but that only seemed to anger the shorts more. The side seams gave out next, like they were just waiting their turn. And to make things worse, the sweat-soaked material had basically turned into paper—sticky in some places, falling apart in others, clinging to my legs like wet tissue.
Suddenly, every step shredded what was left. My shorts weren’t just torn—they were disintegrating.
And then it hit me. I was farther from the restaurant than I should’ve gone. The return jog was going to be longer.
Fantastic.
One minute I was just another local jogging under the palm trees, and the next I was cupping my junk with both hands, heading back toward a restaurant that definitely wasn’t going to let me in because I wasn’t dressed appropriately.
Damn you, Dominic.
And to make things worse, I started getting the looks. Judging, amused, confused—take your pick. What? Hadn’t they ever seen someone whose shorts just vanished mid-jog? Of course, Dominic hadn’t bothered to give me underwear. Why would he?
I couldn’t even glare back or defend myself. I had to keep my eyes forward, focused on the path, pretending I wasn’t completely exposed. I wasn’t sweating from the run anymore—now it was pure, concentrated embarrassment.
But hey—at least the hangover was gone. I had other problems.
I tried not to mind all the attention—but that was easier said than done. People started shouting things at me as I jogged past.
“Nice look!”
“Nice ass!”
“Where’s the party?!”
Great. Just great.
I picked up the pace, hoping I could outrun the comments—and the witnesses. But I didn’t count on all the rollerbladers and cyclists. They passed me effortlessly, each giving me a lingering look or a smirk, as if I was some kind of sideshow.
Two rollerbladers turned to skate backwards, easily matching my pace. One of them, a guy in neon shades and way too much energy, grinned at me and asked, “What’s the cause, man? Body positivity? Climate change? Awareness for gym shorts?”
The other one, a girl I would definitely hit on under different circumstances, added, “Fast fashion. It has to be fast fashion.”
“I… no… I… don’t…” but I couldn’t get a word in. I was almost out of breath, panting heavily while trying to outrun the whole damn situation.
Then a guy on a bike, fully dressed in lycra, started riding alongside us. “What’s the message?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s a silent protest, apparently,” the girl said.
“Cool,” the biker nodded. “Want some water?” He reached for his bottle and held it out toward me. “Open up.”
I definitely needed it, so I opened my mouth—and got blasted in the face and neck by a strong jet of water, with almost none of it actually going in my mouth.
“What’s the deal?!” someone shouted from the other side of the street.
“He’s saving the whales!” the guy in neon shades shouted back. “Come join the cause!”
The trail felt endless. I was on the verge of collapse, barely holding it together while this unexpected crowd kept following me, cheering me on for a cause that didn’t even exist. A few joggers had joined in behind me, some even taking their shirts off like we were part of some weird, sweaty movement.
But then the thing I feared most happened—phones started coming out. People began recording, livestreaming. I hadn’t just lost my shorts; I’d lost control. I wasn’t just naked in public—I was naked all over the internet.
A few minutes later, someone shouted, “A thousand viewers are watching!” and the crowd erupted in cheers. Okay, maybe not the whole internet, but a thousand was still a lot. Too many.
And then someone—some sadistic soul—yelled, “He needs to do something bold! Something risky!” No, I didn’t. I really didn’t. But the crowd had their own story, their own version of events, and it was way cooler than the truth—which was that my shorts had disintegrated from sweat and friction.
Somehow, the chant started. “Free the willy! Free the willy!”
Louder.
“Free the willy! Free the willy!”
I had no choice. Believe me, I had no choice.
The restaurant came into view, just a block away. I clenched whatever resolve I had left and took off in a final burst of speed—arms pumping, legs flying, and yes… everything else swinging freely with each stride.
The crowd exploded.
I skidded to a stop just outside the restaurant, bending over with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. “I'm done”, I managed to say. Applause. Cheers. Back pats. Someone even smacked my ass. And just like that, they started to drift away, like they’d all been summoned by some strange, spontaneous flash mob energy and were now content to disappear into their day.
And me? I was still naked. Still panting.
Still dying inside.
I crossed the street in short, awkward steps, my hands cupping my dick and balls like some half-assed fig leaf. Luckily, it was an open-air restaurant, and Dominic saw me standing at the entrance almost immediately.
The host—a guy maybe in his late twenties—walked up with raised eyebrows, clearly unsure what to do with the naked, sweaty mess standing in front of him. But Dominic got to him first.
He laid a hand on the guy’s shoulder, slid a bill smoothly into his shirt pocket, and gave it a light pat. “He’s with me,” he said calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Then he handed me the tank top.
It wasn’t as long as the tshirt I’d worn at the airport, so I didn’t even bother trying to put it on. I just held it in front of me like a sad little curtain and followed him inside.
Thank God the chairs had cushions.
Our table was tucked into a corner, a bit removed from the rest of the crowd, though not enough to avoid the stares. But no one said anything. Most of them were mature, older men who just watched quietly.
I hadn’t even caught my breath yet. My lungs were burning, and sweat was dripping from me like rain. I saw Dominic had a glass of water—didn’t ask, just grabbed it and downed it in one go.
“What happened?” Dominic asked, all calm and casual.
“Oh, cut the crap,” I snapped, slamming the empty glass on the table. “At least have the decency not to act surprised when we both know damn well you schemed this.”
I wiped my mouth with my forearm, but it didn’t help—sweat was everywhere. Dominic handed me a napkin, and I used it like a face towel, dabbing at my face, neck, even my chest. It didn’t help much either, but it felt like a small win.
He smiled—that smug, satisfied look he always wore after I’d just been humiliated.
“I could’ve been arrested, you know?”
He said nothing.
“I told you to fucking tell me when you were going to pull one of your stunts.”
“It wouldn’t be as fun,” he said, chuckling. “And just so you know, if that ever happens, I’ll bail you out.”
“Well, it won’t happen. I mean it,” I snapped, firm. “And what’s the fun in all that? Giving me shorts that rip apart if you’re not even going to watch the whole thing?”
“Who says I wasn’t watching? You didn’t see the drone?”
“What drone?” I asked, wide-eyed. There wasn’t a fucking drone. I would've seen it. Or heard it. Right? Right?!
He was playing mind games with me again—and loving it.
Dominic laughed harder. “What do you want me to say?” He looked right at me, both of us fully aware of the deal we’d made.
Before I could come up with a comeback, the waiter appeared with our breakfast—perfect timing, honestly. I was starving. We ate mostly in silence, the occasional smirk from Dominic reminding me he was still enjoying the aftermath.
Once we were done, he stood up and casually said, “Let’s head back. You need a proper shower—and some clothes that actually stay on.”
I didn’t argue. I followed him out, still using the tank top to cover myself, praying we’d make it to the hotel without any more surprises.
As soon as I stepped into the suite, my eyes went straight to the glass windows and the door that opened out to the pool. I walked outside—just as naked as I’d arrived—and slipped into the water. It wasn’t as big as the main resort pool, but it was cool, refreshing, and most importantly, private.
I let myself float for a while, dipping under the surface, holding my breath, relaxing every muscle. Just me and the water.
Meanwhile, Dominic was lounging nearby, sunglasses on, watching my every move like I was some kind of calming visual display.
I climbed out, water dripping off me, and grabbed a towel to dry off. I was about to stretch out on the lounger next to him when he spoke.
“Put on some sunscreen.”
I looked around and spotted the bottle on a little table beside us. I squeezed some into my hand and started spreading it across my arms, chest, and legs—everywhere I could reach.
“Come here,” Dominic said.
He shifted in his lounger and spread his legs slightly. “I’ll help you with your back.”
Whatever.
I sat down in front of him. He took the bottle, poured some into his hand, and began rubbing it over my back. The same hands that had groped and claimed my body the night before moved slowly, deliberately. He worked the sunscreen in circles, sliding up my spine, across my shoulders, and then down again. He didn’t stop there. His hands glided along my arms, from my neck to my fingertips. Then he reached around, slipping between my arms and my sides to spread the lotion over my chest.
He pulled me gently back until we were both reclining on the lounger. His fingertips brushed over my chest, grazing my nipples—already hard from the pool, and now even stiffer from his touch. He grabbed more sunscreen and continued smoothing it over my chest, his hands going wherever the cream would allow.
“You should apply some on your dick,” he said casually. “You don’t want it to get sunburned.”
“I was going to cover with the towel,” I replied.
“Better to be prepared...” he said, handing me the tube.
I squeezed some cream just below my navel and spread it slowly. My head was resting on Dominic’s chest, and I was looking down—he had the same view I did. Without hesitation, I grabbed my dick and softly coated it with sunscreen. I tugged it a few times, spurred on by Dominic’s low, humming affirmation right in my ear.
“Don’t forget the balls,” he said.
I obeyed, cupping them gently and handling them like delicate fruit.
“Good,” he murmured, still circling my chest with his fingertips. “Keep going…”
And I did. The teasing of my nipples sent jolts straight to my cock—they felt hardwired together. My dick began to grow in my hand, but that wasn’t the only thing. I felt a hardness pressing against my lower back.
I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot against Dominic’s chest, but his erection was pressing insistently. The only sensible thing I could think of was adjusting it myself, since he didn’t seem bothered. I arched my back, reached behind me with my free hand, and grabbed the long bulge in his pants. He flinched—clearly not expecting it—but let me adjust his hard-on to the side.
By then, I was fully hard, and Dominic’s chest massage was doing things to me. I relaxed into him again, feeling more at ease with his cock repositioned—comfortable enough that I forgot to let go of it.
The sun was pouring over us. My sweat mixed with the sunscreen, creating the perfect slickness for our hands to glide over my smooth, wet body. I kept jerking off slowly, gripping firmly with both hands—one on my cock, the other on Dominic’s thick shaft.
“I’m close…” I muttered, eyes closed, staring up into the sun-drenched sky. His arms held me tight.
“Keep going…” he said, voice low and hungry. “I’m close too…”
That’s when I realized what I’d been doing—unconsciously. But it was too late to stop. Dominic began pinching my nipples, sending me past the point of no return. I stroked myself harder, and kept working his bulge with the same intensity.
We both moaned as our orgasms crested. Dominic held me tightly while I gripped his cock, feeling it throb through his pants—and I came, shooting all over my abdomen in long, messy spurts.
Our chests were heaving after the intense release. Our breaths slowly settled as the post-nut clarity cleared the fog in my head.
What have I done?
Fuck.
I straightened up, feeling Dominic’s hands slide off me. I turned to look at him—he was still in a blissful haze. My gaze dropped to his bulge, still prominent, now stained with a dark, wet patch across his pants. I swallowed hard, regret rising in my throat.
I stood up and, for some reason, grabbed the towel and wrapped it around myself. Dominic stood up too and approached me. He could have said a million things—anything to make me feel less exposed, less ashamed. But instead, he just said:
“Good job.”
Then he walked into his room—presumably to clean up—leaving me behind. No order to follow, no invitation to join. Just a dismissive pat on the head for a job well done.
I was an employee. Doing a job.
So why did it bother me so much, this lack of attention—after everything?
I went to my room and shut the door behind me. I stood under the shower, trying to wash away the shame and regret that clung to me like sweat. The water was cold, but not colder than the realization that I’d just jerked off my boss—and felt more than I should have.
Afterward, I got dressed and sent a message to Logan:
Hey
Can you pick me up at the airport?
I’m going back home.
Because I knew—deep down—that no matter how strong my convictions seemed, if I stayed, Dominic was going to get what he wanted.
I let myself float for a while, dipping under the surface, holding my breath, relaxing every muscle. Just me and the water.
Meanwhile, Dominic was lounging nearby, sunglasses on, watching my every move like I was some kind of calming visual display.
I climbed out, water dripping off me, and grabbed a towel to dry off. I was about to stretch out on the lounger next to him when he spoke.
“Put on some sunscreen.”
I looked around and spotted the bottle on a little table beside us. I squeezed some into my hand and started spreading it across my arms, chest, and legs—everywhere I could reach.
“Come here,” Dominic said.
He shifted in his lounger and spread his legs slightly. “I’ll help you with your back.”
Whatever.
I sat down in front of him. He took the bottle, poured some into his hand, and began rubbing it over my back. The same hands that had groped and claimed my body the night before moved slowly, deliberately. He worked the sunscreen in circles, sliding up my spine, across my shoulders, and then down again. He didn’t stop there. His hands glided along my arms, from my neck to my fingertips. Then he reached around, slipping between my arms and my sides to spread the lotion over my chest.
He pulled me gently back until we were both reclining on the lounger. His fingertips brushed over my chest, grazing my nipples—already hard from the pool, and now even stiffer from his touch. He grabbed more sunscreen and continued smoothing it over my chest, his hands going wherever the cream would allow.
“You should apply some on your dick,” he said casually. “You don’t want it to get sunburned.”
“I was going to cover with the towel,” I replied.
“Better to be prepared...” he said, handing me the tube.
I squeezed some cream just below my navel and spread it slowly. My head was resting on Dominic’s chest, and I was looking down—he had the same view I did. Without hesitation, I grabbed my dick and softly coated it with sunscreen. I tugged it a few times, spurred on by Dominic’s low, humming affirmation right in my ear.
“Don’t forget the balls,” he said.
I obeyed, cupping them gently and handling them like delicate fruit.
“Good,” he murmured, still circling my chest with his fingertips. “Keep going…”
And I did. The teasing of my nipples sent jolts straight to my cock—they felt hardwired together. My dick began to grow in my hand, but that wasn’t the only thing. I felt a hardness pressing against my lower back.
I shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot against Dominic’s chest, but his erection was pressing insistently. The only sensible thing I could think of was adjusting it myself, since he didn’t seem bothered. I arched my back, reached behind me with my free hand, and grabbed the long bulge in his pants. He flinched—clearly not expecting it—but let me adjust his hard-on to the side.
By then, I was fully hard, and Dominic’s chest massage was doing things to me. I relaxed into him again, feeling more at ease with his cock repositioned—comfortable enough that I forgot to let go of it.
The sun was pouring over us. My sweat mixed with the sunscreen, creating the perfect slickness for our hands to glide over my smooth, wet body. I kept jerking off slowly, gripping firmly with both hands—one on my cock, the other on Dominic’s thick shaft.
“I’m close…” I muttered, eyes closed, staring up into the sun-drenched sky. His arms held me tight.
“Keep going…” he said, voice low and hungry. “I’m close too…”
That’s when I realized what I’d been doing—unconsciously. But it was too late to stop. Dominic began pinching my nipples, sending me past the point of no return. I stroked myself harder, and kept working his bulge with the same intensity.
We both moaned as our orgasms crested. Dominic held me tightly while I gripped his cock, feeling it throb through his pants—and I came, shooting all over my abdomen in long, messy spurts.
Our chests were heaving after the intense release. Our breaths slowly settled as the post-nut clarity cleared the fog in my head.
What have I done?
Fuck.
I straightened up, feeling Dominic’s hands slide off me. I turned to look at him—he was still in a blissful haze. My gaze dropped to his bulge, still prominent, now stained with a dark, wet patch across his pants. I swallowed hard, regret rising in my throat.
I stood up and, for some reason, grabbed the towel and wrapped it around myself. Dominic stood up too and approached me. He could have said a million things—anything to make me feel less exposed, less ashamed. But instead, he just said:
“Good job.”
Then he walked into his room—presumably to clean up—leaving me behind. No order to follow, no invitation to join. Just a dismissive pat on the head for a job well done.
I was an employee. Doing a job.
So why did it bother me so much, this lack of attention—after everything?
I went to my room and shut the door behind me. I stood under the shower, trying to wash away the shame and regret that clung to me like sweat. The water was cold, but not colder than the realization that I’d just jerked off my boss—and felt more than I should have.
Afterward, I got dressed and sent a message to Logan:
Hey
Can you pick me up at the airport?
I’m going back home.
Because I knew—deep down—that no matter how strong my convictions seemed, if I stayed, Dominic was going to get what he wanted.
Can’t wait to see if he actually quits and what will D to in response.
lowrisejoe
LPSG Legend
I don't want him to quit. I want him to eventually surrender his hole to Dominic and realise he loves it.
