Bro-ey Coworkers Like to Use My Mouth When We Work Late (Patreon)

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Chapter 1: Big Boy Job

My first job out of college was at a finance firm in Manhattan, and I moved to the city feeling like the luckiest guy alive. I wore a tie every day and told people back home that I worked in "finance," which was true and my mom repeated it to everyone at her church. My first-year bonus alone was supposed to be more than my dad made in a year. Guys a few years in were clearing mid six figures, and the lifers, or "those who survived", were clearing a million or more, and I tried not to think about what the taxes looked like at that level. But I would have swept the floors just to keep my foot in that door.

So we worked late. A lot. We didn’t see daylight. We had catering and food delivered whenever we wanted, but the work never stopped, calls with every continent, every day, screaming curse words at people whose English was a second language. It was a rush. And the dudes in my department did nothing but work, work out, and chase pussy. They took me under their wing. It was pretty clear from the start that I had a submissive relation to them. I didn't have the fratty nature to keep up with their "bro talk", and I ended up feeling rather sheepish when they got rowdy, if that makes sense. 

I kept in shape too, but my butt was naturally bouncy, and the frattier guys in my orbit had always turned that into a running joke early on, and it stuck. If I bent over a filing cabinet, somebody whistled. If I walked to the printer, somebody bounced a balled-up memo off me. Ethan started calling me “the office dumpy” in my second week and it never died.

Ethan was the alpha of the group whenever his boss wasn’t around. Blonde, ripped, big shoulders, and at six-five he was a head taller than most others on the floor. Always jocular but rough with me, grabbing the back of my neck in a dominant but friendly grip, sort of the implication that he was a bully without ever actually pushing the boundary. He had taken me out for drinks with colleagues and clients a few times since I started. I saw him do coke once at a club, one quick key bump in the booth in front of everyone, as casual as ever.

One night we were working late on a pitch deck due to Hong Kong before their open, and the cleaning lady came around to clear out all our takeout boxes. She waved goodnight and the elevator closed on her cart, and after that it was just me, Ethan, and Curtis on the whole floor. Curtis had curly brown hair, cut short, and he was jacked and tall too, but quieter than Ethan. He came from a preppy Upper East Side family and almost seemed like he didn't care about the money, as weird as that was. His forearms strained the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. He mostly laughed at Ethan’s jokes instead of making his own.

And that night, the jokes were getting dirtier than ever. It started normal, who in the department was hooking up with who, which analyst probably had herpes, and at some point the dialogue bent toward me. First it was what I'd do for my bonus. Ethan asked it straight out, spinning his chair toward me across the aisle.

"Serious question. Number goes up ten grand. What do you do for it?"

"Whatever HR allows," I said.

"HR isn't here, buddy." He got up, crossed over to my desk, and planted a heavy hand on my shoulder while he read my screen over my head. "What would you do for my bonus? That's the real question. My bonus feeds your bonus. That's like, the food chain."

"I'm aware of the food chain."

"Are you?" His hand slid off my shoulder onto the back of my neck and he squeezed slowly, that grip he always did, except he usually let go after a second and this time he didn't. Curtis had turned his chair around to face us, his elbows on his knees so his forearms bulged against his rolled sleeves, and he was smiling at the carpet.

"Dumpy would do it," Curtis said. "Whatever it is. Look at him."

"Do what?" I said.

"That's the fun part," Ethan said. His thumb rubbed up into my hairline and back down under my collar. "We haven't decided yet."

The jokes kept bending that direction. Whether I'd kiss a guy for a closed deal. Whether I'd ever lick a guy's butt on a dare, hypothetically, bro to bro. Ethan stayed behind me the whole time with his hand working my neck, and at some point Curtis rolled his chair closer, so the three of us made a loose triangle with me in the middle of it, and the questions got gayer and gayer until they were essentially asking me if I would ever suck a dick.

"You might like it," Ethan said, down at the top of my head.

"You've thought about this," I said, meaning it as a joke, and neither of them denied it. They had an answer ready for every deflection I threw, too fast, and Curtis kept glancing up at Ethan after each one to see where it went next.

I admitted I had a brief thing like that in college, with a lab partner. He was gay, and one night over a problem set he told me he had a crush on me, staring at his notes instead of my face. He used my mouth for a week after that, quick sessions in his dorm, until he started dating a guy exclusively. I never pursued men after him, barely thought about it again, but it was genuinely meaningful at the time. Ethan and Curtis nodded like they had already expected that kind of answer from me, which surprised me.

For the rest of the night, while we worked through more and more contracts and paperwork, they debated whether the "office dumpy" counted as a company resource or a personal one, right in front of me, like I was a line item on a spreadsheet. I laughed along, since laughing along was my role in the group, but I kept catching their eyes meeting over my head.

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Over the next couple days, the looks and the jokes from Ethan and Curtis got more intense. Nothing I could have repeated to HR with a straight face, just Ethan's grip staying on my neck a little longer when he passed my desk, Curtis smiling at his monitor whenever I walked by with a stack from the printer. At lunch one day Ethan dragged me to a squash game at his gym, beat me soundly, and talked trash the whole time, his serve smacking the wall next to my ear whenever I stopped moving. 

Afterward at the lockers he dropped his towel and turned toward me to dig through his bag, his big cock hanging heavily between his thighs, and he stood like that long enough that I had to either look right at it or make a show of not looking. He grinned and said nothing as I looked from his cock to his face, and back to his cock. I thought about that grin for the rest of the day. 

And whatever the implication was, I liked the attention.

Another late night rolled around, and close to eleven Ethan leaned back in his chair and spread his knees, his tie pulled loose, his blonde hair shoved back from running his hand through it all night.

“You know what would help me finish this deck,” he said.

“I don’t want to know,” I said. He told me anyway.

“A nut,” he said. “I think better after I bust. That’s basically science.”

“So jerk it. The bathroom’s right there.”

“Not the same, bro.” He stayed sprawled exactly like that, knees wide, watching me. “Come here.”

“Come here for what?”

“You know for what.”

I laughed, and nobody laughed with me. Curtis kept typing at his own desk, but slower, listening.

“I’m not gay,” I said.

“Neither am I,” Ethan said. “A mouth is a mouth. You think the client cares who sucked whose dick the night before, as long as the numbers tie?”

“You’re insane.”

His smile dropped slightly. “You haven’t said no.”

I paused, looking down at his crotch. Honestly, the second he said it, I knew I was going to do it. Some part of me had always figured I'd be fine with this kind of thing, in a no homo way I assured myself, as long as nobody ever found out. And nobody was here to find out.

“Nobody else is here,” Ethan said. “Nobody will know.”

"Mmhmm," Curtis agreed.

“If you tell anyone, I’m dead at this place.”

“If I tell anyone, I’m dead too. Mutually assured destruction.”

I rolled my chair across the aisle to his desk. He didn’t grab me or pull me, he just watched me come. I slid off the chair onto the carpet between his knees, and he opened his belt and lifted his hips, and shoved his slacks and boxers halfway down his thighs.

It was huge. Blood filling it out, thicker than in the locker room. Heavier than I expected a dick to look, pale with a flushed head, a vein running up it, already most of the way hard.

Looking at it up close, smelling his end-of-day aroma, I hesitated. "I don't really know what I'm..."

“Just like, start,” Ethan said.

I wrapped my hand around the base, and I put the head in my mouth. Warm, a little salty, skin softer than I expected over something that hard. I did what I would want done, which turned out to be a decent strategy. He exhaled and sank lower in the chair, and his palm came to rest on the back of my head, not pushing, just heavy. I hummed around him once and he liked that, I could feel it twitch as it stretched my lips.

“There it is,” he said quietly, to Curtis, not to me.

I went deeper on him until I gagged, and my whole body seized. He pulled my head back an inch and waited, and I went down again. Every pass got easier. My jaw ached in a brand-new spot and I didn’t care, because the sounds he was making were going straight to my own dick, which was fully hard against my slacks, trapped sideways and aching. I heard Curtis tapping away again at the computer behind me, saying nothing.

After a minute he stood up out of the chair with his dick still in my mouth, and I had to chase him up onto my knees.

“Get on the desk,” he said as he swept his keyboard aside with his forearm.

And Curtis was suddenly there too, on the other side of Ethan's desk, standing over me. I hadn't heard him get up. He stared down with hungry eyes, his thick forearms crossed over his chest, and my stomach sank, because whatever the two of them had planned for tonight, it was bigger than a blowjob.

I lay back across his desk, and Ethan guided me by the shoulders until my head hung off the edge by his chair, so that he stood directly over my face. Curtis stayed planted at the other end, down between my knees, holding my gaze upside down while Ethan lined himself up above me.

With my head tipped back off the edge, the angle changed everything. Ethan fed himself back into my mouth and kept going past where I’d managed before, and my throat opened for him in a slow, burning stretch. I gagged, my back arching off the desk, my fingers scrabbling against the wood, and he pulled back and waited and pushed in again, patiently, like we had all night to do this. We kind of did.

I felt Curtis’s fingers hook into my waistband and stop there. I lifted my hips off the desk, and he pulled my slacks and boxers down to my knees in one tug. He got one shoe off and worked my left leg all the way free, so my legs could actually open. My dick slapped up hard against my shirt, and Curtis huffed out a short laugh.

“He’s into it,” Curtis said, over me, to Ethan.

“I know,” Ethan said.

Curtis opened his belt one-handed and pushed his pants down, and his dick sprang up, thick, curved, flushed dark at the head. He crouched to his gym bag and came up with an actual bottle of sex lube, because of course he did. I should have hesitated. But my dick jumped against my shirt, and I let the thrill of it run the show.

He greased himself up and dragged two wet fingers down behind my balls and rubbed lube over my hole in small circles, taking his time, pressing the tip of one finger in until I squeezed around his knuckle. Ethan held still in my mouth while that happened, deep, letting me suck in air through my nose. My whole world was his dick above me and Curtis’s finger at my other end.

Curtis pushed my knees up and back and hooked my bare leg over his shoulder. His dickhead settled against my hole, blunt and warm and desperate-feeling, nudging between my cheeks, searching. Having a jacked man between my legs, pressing himself at me like he needed in, was already pure ecstasy, and nothing had even happened yet.

He leaned in. Pressure first, impossible pressure, like my body couldn’t do this. The head of him squeezed me open from below, a stretch in a muscle I never knew I had, and warmth spread with it like bath water over cold skin. He kept leaning, steadily, and all I could do was relax and let it happen, which made it hotter, because in that second I was submitting completely, on my back on a desk with one coworker’s dick in my throat while another one opened me up.

He popped through. I yelled around Ethan’s dick, which came out as a muffled vibrating moan, and the burn flared bright and real, and my hands grabbed for Curtis’s wrists on my thighs. He froze exactly there, just the head in, holding my legs, waiting. Ethan pulled out of my mouth so I could breathe.

“You good?” Curtis said, the first real sentence he’d aimed at me all night.

“Give me a second,” I said, and my voice came out ragged, my throat already sore.

The burn faded the longer he held still, melted into this involuntary squeezing, my hole clutching him over and over like it was trying to strangle him. He slid in another inch and my body took it. Another. The sensation of him gliding deeper was like nothing I had a comparison for, a massive stretch and a fullness that lit up spots I didn’t know were wired to anything. When his hips finally met my cheeks, balls deep, we both exhaled together.

“Okay,” I said.

Ethan guided my chin back and slid into my mouth again, deeper this time, until my nose pressed up against his balls and I couldn't breathe unless he pulled out of my throat. Curtis started moving at my other end, short careful strokes that barely pulled out before he pushed back in, my bare leg still hooked over his shoulder. They eased me into it like that, one filling my throat while the other stretched my hole, my body laid out across the desk between them. 

Curtis found a rhythm, long and slow, and on the deep strokes the head of his dick pressed hard on something that I liked. It made my whole dick jump untouched every time. Ethan matched his pace at my mouth. At some point they dapped each other up over my stomach, which I felt more than saw, and which should have been the dumbest moment of my life and instead made me moan around a mouthful of dick.

They got rougher when they were ready to finish. I could read it in the cues, Curtis’s grip tightening on my hips, his thrusts accelerating, Ethan’s breathing turning ragged above me, his hand cradling the back of my head off the edge of the desk. 

Curtis put a hand flat over my dick and balls and pressed down as he leaned forward into me. It squished my junk against my stomach, and it hurt my balls in a good way, like he was just leaning on me and it was getting me off. When he slammed that angle I liked a few times in a row, I finished, pulsing against his palm in long squirts that soaked into my shirt, my legs shaking on his shoulders, my hole clamping down on him, and he didn't address what my body was doing under his hand.

They must have made some eye contact to communicate, because they finished almost simultaneously after that. Ethan shoved deep and held there, grunting quietly, and I felt his dick pulse against my tongue as his load went straight down my throat. Curtis buried himself to the hilt a second later and stopped moving, and I felt him throb inside me, once, twice, unloading with a long exhale like he’d set something heavy down. Nobody said anything. When Curtis pulled out, my hole closed on nothing, and it felt strange, empty. I couldn't have taken any more, but I missed being full of dick.

I got my leg back into my pants, pulled everything up, and tucked my ruined shirt in over the wet spot. Ethan was already back in his chair pulling the keyboard toward him, slacks fastened, scrolling to the half-built chart like the last half hour had been a little coffee break.

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and sat back down at my desk. 

“I still have to send the QFII forms to Shanghai,” I said.

Ethan just sighed, and Curtis was back at his monitor. “Bro, me too.”