Boss’s Claim (II)

Ethan’s knees pressed into the thick, expensive carpet of Marcus’s corner office, the fabric soft against his slacks but doing nothing to ease the thunderous pounding of his heart. The city lights glittered far below the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to the scene unfolding inside. At 23, he had never felt smaller or more trapped. Marcus Vale loomed above him like a god of corporate power — 6’3” of tailored authority, salt-and-pepper hair perfectly styled, piercing blue eyes locked onto him with predatory focus.

“Open,” Marcus repeated, his voice low and commanding. He gripped the base of his thick cock, tapping the heavy, veined shaft against Ethan’s flushed cheek again. The scent was overwhelming — clean musk, faint cologne, and raw masculine arousal.

Ethan’s lips parted shakily. He told himself this was survival. Refusing the boss could mean being blacklisted, fired quietly, or worse — rumors that would destroy his budding career. But a darker part of him, one he had buried since college, stirred at the sheer dominance radiating from the older man.

Marcus didn’t wait for full willingness. He pushed forward, sliding the fat head past Ethan’s lips and into the wet heat of his mouth. “That’s it… good boy.”

The girth was immediate and challenging. Ethan’s jaw stretched wide around the impressive thickness, his tongue pressed flat as the first several inches invaded. Marcus groaned deeply, one large hand settling on the back of Ethan’s head, fingers threading through his dark hair.

“Fuck… warmer than I imagined.” Marcus rocked his hips slowly, feeding more of his length deeper. Saliva quickly coated the shaft, dripping from the corners of Ethan’s stretched mouth as he struggled to breathe through his nose. The taste was salty, masculine, intoxicating in its forbidden intensity.

Ethan’s hands came up instinctively to brace against Marcus’s thick thighs, feeling the powerful muscles flex beneath the fine wool of his trousers. He gagged softly when the head nudged the back of his throat, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Marcus held him there for a long moment, savoring the tight squeeze, before pulling back just enough for Ethan to gasp a breath.

“Look at me while you suck,” Marcus ordered, voice rough with lust. “I want to see those pretty hazel eyes watering for my cock.”

Ethan obeyed, gazing upward as Marcus began fucking his face with controlled, dominant strokes. The older man’s free hand loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt, revealing a dusting of dark chest hair over sculpted pecs. His hips snapped forward with more force, balls slapping rhythmically against Ethan’s chin.

“Been thinking about this mouth during all those long meetings,” Marcus confessed darkly, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. “Watching you take notes, so eager to please. Now you’re pleasing me properly.”

The power imbalance was suffocating and arousing in equal measure. Ethan’s own cock strained hard against his slacks, betraying him completely. Shame burned through his chest, but he sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks, swirling his tongue around the thick shaft as best he could. Wet, obscene sounds filled the quiet office — gagging, slurping, Marcus’s low grunts of approval.

Marcus’s grip tightened in his hair, guiding him deeper until Ethan’s nose pressed into the neatly trimmed pubes at the base. He held him there, throat bulging visibly around the intrusion, cutting off his air for several long seconds before releasing him. Ethan pulled back coughing and gasping, strings of thick saliva connecting his swollen lips to the glistening cock.

“Not bad for a first time,” Marcus praised, stroking his slick shaft. “But we’re just getting started. Strip. Everything off. I want to see what my new toy looks like.”

Ethan hesitated only a second. The implicit threat hung heavy — please me or lose everything. He rose shakily to his feet and began undressing under Marcus’s watchful gaze. Jacket, tie, shirt, shoes, slacks, and finally his boxer briefs. His slim, toned runner’s body was revealed: smooth chest, defined abs, and a hard, leaking cock that bobbed desperately against his stomach — smaller than Marcus’s but flushed dark with need.

Marcus’s smirk widened. “Nice. Lean and tight. Exactly what I expected.” He shrugged off his own shirt, revealing a powerful, mature physique — broad shoulders, thick chest, and a trail of hair leading down to his massive erection. He stepped forward, pressing Ethan back against the large oak desk.

“Turn around. Bend over.”

Ethan complied, chest pressed to the cool wood, ass presented. Marcus kicked his legs wider apart and ran a big hand down his spine, squeezing one firm cheek before spreading him open. A thick finger, spit-slicked, circled his virgin hole before pushing inside without warning.

“Ah—fuck!” Ethan gasped, clenching around the intrusion.

“Relax,” Marcus growled, working the finger deeper, then adding a second. “You’re going to take every inch tonight. This ass is mine now. After hours, whenever I want it.”

The stretching burned, but Marcus’s skilled fingers quickly found his prostate, rubbing it mercilessly. Ethan’s moans grew louder, hips pushing back despite himself. His cock leaked steadily onto the desk’s edge.

Marcus scissored and stretched him roughly for several minutes, then withdrew his fingers. He slicked his massive cock with more spit and pressed the fat head against the twitching entrance.

“Beg for it,” Marcus demanded, teasing the rim.

“Please… sir…” Ethan whispered, voice breaking with humiliation and need.

“Louder.”

“Please fuck me, sir!”

Marcus thrust forward in one powerful motion, burying half his length inside. Ethan cried out sharply at the intense burn and stretch, fingers scrabbling against the desk. The older man didn’t pause — he pushed deeper, inch after thick inch, until his heavy balls rested against Ethan’s ass.

“Goddamn… so fucking tight,” Marcus groaned, savoring the heat. He stayed buried deep for a moment, grinding, letting Ethan adjust to being so completely filled. Then he began to move — long, deep strokes that built in intensity.

The desk creaked under the force as Marcus fucked him harder. One hand gripped Ethan’s hip with bruising strength while the other reached around to stroke his leaking cock in time with the thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the office alongside Ethan’s broken moans and Marcus’s filthy praise.

“Taking my cock so well. This is what you were made for — bent over my desk after everyone else goes home.”

He pounded relentlessly, angling to hammer Ethan’s prostate with every stroke. Pleasure-pain blurred into overwhelming ecstasy. Ethan came first with a shattered cry, shooting thick ropes across the desk and floor without his cock being touched much. His hole clenched hard around Marcus.

“Fuck yes,” Marcus roared, slamming deep and unloading. Hot, heavy spurts of cum flooded Ethan’s channel, filling him until excess leaked out around the thick shaft.

Marcus stayed buried, grinding lazily as he caught his breath. “Not done yet. Couch. Now.”

He pulled out with a wet sound, cum already dripping down Ethan’s thighs, and marched the younger man to the leather couch. The night was far from over — multiple rounds of rough, possessive fucking followed: Ethan riding him, face-down on the cushions, and finally pressed against the window overlooking the city while Marcus bred him again.

By the time Marcus was satisfied, Ethan was a wrecked, cum-filled mess — marked, claimed, and terrifyingly aware that this was only the beginning of his “dedication.”