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There are six of them. Six men gathered around the mahogany boardroom table in their stuffy monochrome suits, strangled by the grey ties around their necks. Vellioth is the youngest of them, some thirty-eight years old, his long white hair tied sharply back into a neat ponytail.
Usually, there are seven, but today, the CEO, Donnela Szarr and incidentally the only woman on the board – one too many, Vellioth thinks – isn’t with them.
So it falls upon Vellioth, the Chief Operating Officer and second in command, to take the helm.
Abandoning his professional decorum, he leans back into the CEO’s chair at the head of the table, a smirk playing on his lips as he regards the silver-haired predators – men who had climbed to the top less through brilliance than through volume, carving out bottomless bank accounts by speaking first, loudest, and longest. Not that he cares.
“Gentlemen,” Vellioth begins, kicking off his vintage brogues and propping his feet up on the desk. “Your CEO is on leave. A spa retreat, I believe. Next thing you know she’ll probably be knocked up and asking to be paid for nothing for twelve months.”
Snickers rip around the table.
The Chief Product Officer, a rotund, greying fellow tightens his tie around his round neck. “Probably scared her off talking about the ISO 27001 audit,” he sneers “The bitch never has a clue what we’re talking about. Must be exhausting pretending.”
“Mm.” The CISO smirks into his coffee. “Still. She always makes an effort with appearances. I appreciate that.” He shrugs. “Brightens up the boardroom.”
Vellioth holds up a hand. "Now, now. Let's not be completely unprofessional. We have business to attend to." He pauses, letting his gaze travel around the room. "But I've noticed these meetings can be rather... dry. And since our CFO”– he eyes the thin, greasy old man at the far end –“refuses to approve entertainment expenses–"
"Rightfully so," he interrupts dryly. He’s frustrating, but the CFO does have a reputation for following the male apprentices into the bathroom, which Vellioth finds amusing.
"–I've taken the liberty of procuring some myself," Vellioth continues, all but ignoring the comment. "A special treat for this week's meeting."
He claps his hands twice. The boardroom doors swing open, and the Data Engineering Manager, Astarion Ancunín, pushes a young, black-haired man before him. He stumbles into the room, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself.
Vellioth has never met the boy before, but he’s delighted – of course he is – this tiny slip of a boy cannot be older than twenty, his cheap suit slightly too large – not to worry, he’ll be out of that soon enough – his wide eyes like a deer in the headlights. His face flushes as he becomes the centre of unwanted attention, greedy eyes raking over his vulnerable little body.
"Gentlemen, may I present Cazador Szarr," Vellioth announces. "Our newest data entry clerk, fresh out of college, and – coincidentally – our illustrious CEO's beloved nephew."
The CFO leans forward, eyes glinting. “The nephew? Excellent.”
"Lovely fresh meat," mutters another board member under his breath.
Cazador swallows nervously, eyes darting around the room. "I – um – I was told I needed to provide some data reports?" he stammers.
Adorable. Vellioth laughs. “Oh, you’ll be providing something, anyway.”
Vellioth marches across the room and kisses Astarion deeply on the lips, and the dumb fuckboy responds, grinding up into him as Vellioth squeezes his arse.
“Boy’s a whore,” clarifies Vellioth as some eyes narrow in surprise at his casual relationship with the blond honeypot. “Found him on Grindr. Didn’t you wonder why I hired the idiot?”
Cazador watches, seemingly horrified. Wondering what on earth he has got himself into, no doubt, not that it matters, and Astarion, utterly smooth-brained as he is, doesn’t blink an eye at the open insult.
Vellioth lets Astarion go, calls him baby and pats his arse in the direction of the executives around the table, and Astarion saunters over to the old grey CFO and sits on his lap. “We’re not paying for you, are we?” Asks the CFO, half to Astarion and half to him. Vellioth tuts him in response. “Don’t be stupid, Dave. He’s free,” and with that, the CFO grins and starts to palm between Astarion’s legs.
“Cazador,” Vellioth says, turning his attention to the boy as he sits himself back down in his chair and pats his knee. The boy hesitates. “What are you waiting for, boy? Come and sit down.”
He watches Cazador look around the room for a free chair, realising that there are none, and that Vellioth is serious. Oh yes. He’s serious. As Cazador approaches gingerly, Vellioth grabs his arm and pulls him down onto his lap. “Good,” he begins. “Now, tell us about yourself. Your aunt doesn’t share much about her personal life with us.”
“I’m… I do data entry–”
“Yeah I know, we don’t care about that. Are you gay?”
Cazador stops, bemused by the question, and stammers “I d-don’t know…”
“You don’t know? Haven’t you fucked anyone?”
“N– No…”
Raucous laughter fills the room as the men guffaw openly.
Vellioth shushes them theatrically. “Alright, alright. That’s okay. We’ll fix that up. You’re gay, I can tell, don’t worry about that. Does your auntie spank you when you’re a bad boy?”
“What? Not anymore, no…” answers Cazador, his hands trembling in his lap.
“Not anymore? Do you miss it?”
“Miss it? Being spanked? Of course n–”
“Yeah, you do,” interrupts Vellioth, clapping a hand over Cazador’s mouth, feeling his feeble attempt at a shout vibrate into his hand.
“Astarion,” he barks across the room to where the blond slut is rolling his hips against the CFO’s crotch, sucking on his wrinkly ear.
“Yes, Mr. Martinet?”
Vellioth laughs. “Mr. Martinet?” that isn’t what you call me normally, is it, baby?
“No, Daddy.”
“The room erupts once more. Someone smacks his thighs and he shakes his bum in response, preening and revelling in the attention. Vellioth snaps his fingers, pointing to the boy on his lap, indicating his clothes.
“Off. And you, too.”
Astarion seems to understand immediately. Swaggers over, bends down to lift the hem of Cazador’s jacket, revealing the way his belt folds over the trousers that are too wide for his tiny waist and starts to tug at the buckle. Cazador strains against the palm over his lips, managing to spit out some words – “Mr. Ancunín, no! What are you doing? Please”– before Vellioth smacks his hand back over his wagging jaw, and Astarion wraps his fingers over the hems of his trousers and pants, wriggling them from his body.
Cazador whimpers as Astarion removes his own clothes. Doesn’t even hesitate, just drops his pants to the floor and takes off his jacket, then his shirt, revealing his tiny flat chest and the bars slid through his nipples, the sideways bend of his polite erection poking crudely into the air.
Vellioth holds out his hand expectantly. Astarion drops his silks into his outstretched hand, and Vellioth latches his thumb and forefinger onto Cazador’s nose, and like clockwork, his mouth falls open, allowing him to stuff the slut’s silks into his mouth. He doesn’t even need to ask. Astarion is already there, peeling off a stretch of thick tape, breaking it off with his teeth and pressing it over Cazador’s gagged mouth as his eyes go wide, trying to shake his head from Vellioth’s steel grip. After all, Vellioth has done just that to Astarion – what, how many times now – it must be a dozen at least.
The C-Suite of Szarr Holdings Ltd are on their feet, crowding the chair where Cazador writhes in Vellioth’s lap, hands groping and stroking at the CEO’s nephew’s legs, peeling off his jacket and tossing it to the side, undoing the line of buttons hiding the tiny pink buds of his nipples.
Vellioth grips them between his thumbs and forefingers, letting his nails catch his flesh as he pinches down, and he smiles as the pathetic little scrap of a creature begins to cry.
“Why the fuss, little boy?” Asks the COO. “You don’t have anything to cry about.”
“Yet,” Vellioth smiles.
He doesn’t really think about what happens next. Just moves on instinct, grabbing Cazador by the throat and hurling him onto the boardroom table. His body skids a little across the surface, and scrabbles as Vellioth leaps on after him, and Jesus, the boy does like a struggle, doesn’t he? It’s like he knows exactly how to get him off. As he tries to move away, the COO and CFO grab an arm each, pinning him down as tears stream down the boy’s face, screaming into his gag. Vellioth he presses his legs open, knees back and wide, revealing the treasure between his legs.
“Look at that,” growls the CFO. “Tight little virgin arse.”
There are so many hands, it’s hard to tell whose are whose, pinching his nipples probing his navel, stroking his legs–
“A virgin, yes?” Vellioth demands, looking him dead in the eye, and Cazaor nods frantically, whatever remains visible of his face screwed up in terror.
“Good.”
Vellioth spits and presses four fingers, two from each hand, into his tight pucker, all eyes between his thighs as he’s forced open, and he pulls at the tight ring of muscle, scissoring his fingers so he can peer deep inside that virgin arse.
The boy is still squealing into his gag like a pig. The CFO grabs his hair and smacks him across the face, twice, three times. “Quiet. Take it.”
Vellioth whistles, motioning with his eyes from Astarion who is leaning lazily against the desk, to the sea of hungry executives. Arrogant little shit, standing there idly while the C-Suite tend to their own needs. Astarion sidles over, understanding his duty, crawling onto the desk propped up onto one arm and takes the CFO’s cock into his mouth while massaging the front of the COO’s trousers with his free hand.
Pleased, Vellioth reaches down between his own legs, slinging off his belt and teasing the heavy head of his cock out from where it is tucked tightly into his pants, straining against the material until it bobs free.
Spits again, then does it.
Fights the throttle of the boy’s sphincter – “Fffuuuuuuck”, he murmurs – watching the muscle strain around his head, but the fight doesn’t last long, letting the sheer weight of his muscular body smash the weak-willed walls of his anus out of his path as he buries himself in his guts.
The muffled, screeching wails of the boy… Are so fucking hot. Spurs him on, withdrawing himself until his thick head tugs against his hole and the hammers back inside, bruising the insides of his colon, gritting his teeth as he rapes the freshly-deflowered virgin. Former virgin, now. Yelps as he smacks his palm hard on his skinny arse.
The CFO, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to like the noises. Smacks him again, on the face, on the tits, spitting at him to “shut the fuck up,” but the dumb kid doesn’t, keeps bawling.
His patience runs thin. The CFO rips off the tape, tugging Astarion’s silks from his mouth and swipes his cock over his saliva- and tear-streaked face, rubbing the head into his eyes, and then slides his cock deep into his mouth as the other men jeer, absorbing themselves in Astarion’s attention or rubbing themselves in their hands.
Vellioth does not wish to be greedy. After all, he will have plenty of time with the boy, given Astarion’s efficient procurement.
“Who wants a turn?”
There’s a clamour as the men switch around, the hulking Chief Technology Officer lying back on the table and pulling Cazador’s tender little frame over his, face up, impaling him on his cock and pinning him down with his hulking biceps as Astarion rotates between the other executives, pressing his face into the fat of their stomachs, their erections massaging his tonsils while he jerks them off with their hands. They call him a good slut, sweet baby and a stupid fuckboy and his pathetic little cock twitches so god-damn pathetically in time with their praise.
As Vellioth surveys the room, he realises the boy has gone quiet. Limp, even, his tiny body quivering but no longer fighting, eyes seeming vacant and glassy even as he chokes on the cock driven into his neck.
The CFO grips Cazador’s upturned legs and slides in beside his colleague, the boy’s hole pink and swollen and tortured by the obscene stretch of two cocks as they drain the innocence from his tiny body.
Vellioth smiles.
Soaks it all in.
The greasy brows and sweaty suits, the corrupted little twig spasming on his aunt’s flashy mahogany desk, the way Astarion ruts the air as he gives big round slut-eyes to the slimy old men, trying to stuff two of them into his greedy mouth at once, and the panting, moaning, the hissed insults calling the Szarr kid a cumdump and a whore–
Jesus. It’s so good.
Vellioth strokes himself thoughtfully, palming the tip of his cock before pulling all the way down to the base, stretching his skin taut in his sweat-slicked hand.
Maybe, just maybe… Donnela Szarr doesn’t ever need to return.
Cogs turn behind his eyes. Bad ones. Evil ones.
And the sight of the sleazy old men slathering the stupid boys’ bodies in thick white cum, one after another, only makes the thought more tempting.
Eventually, as the men unload into dangling jaws, over taut pale skin and inside the red, angry gape between the Szarr boy’s legs, they pull up their pants, reclining into their chairs once more to enjoy the remains of the show.
Vellioth chokes the boy out as he wanks onto his face, shooting thick white ropes of his own semen into the boy’s red eyes, stringing over his nostrils before emptying the last few bursts into his mouth, pressing his open palm into his neck to feel himself through the cartilage as he finishes.
Lovely.
In truth, the loveliest boy he can remember burying himself inside. He’d do this every day, if he could.
Maybe, with a little tweak to the organisation chart, he… can. Right here.
As he struts back over to his chair, he nudges Astarion. “You can finish in there, if you want, precious,” he says, slapping his naked arse and pointing to the place where Cazador lies limp on the desk.
He leans back, plops his feet back onto the desk and clicks on the projector with the remote.
“Right, gentlemen. The Q3 projections show a 7% downturn in sales-qualified leads,” he begins, “do we need to bring the Sales Manager in here next week? What’s his name, Dave…”
“–Sebastian.”
“Yeah. Sebastian. Very good, can we have him up here next week, Astarion?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Astarion pants as he smacks his balls into the black-haired boy’s flesh.
“Good boy. Right. Onto the ISO 27001 audit...”