Big Ben(d) Ch 03

Big Ben(d) Ch 03

Sam and Brock begin new jobs

All characters described in this story are over 18. © 2025, Brunosden, All rights reserved.

After a week of self-discovery and v-card yielding sex during a corporate retreat at Big Bend National Park, Sam Crocket and Brock Adamson returned to their jobs in El Paso, Texas. Brock had invited Sam to dinner and.... at his apartment in Mission Hills. That weekend proved that the seductive bromance of Big Bend had staying power--and the two twenty something hunks were going to continue to enjoy one of life's greatest wonders--young, male athletic sex between equal and vers guys. The work week has begun. It's Monday night.

In Sam's voice.....

Brock and I were lying comfortably, side by side, momentarily, at least, spent from our first vigorous and wild anal sex of the evening. We were nude of course, still warm from the encounter, and floating on the musky aroma of our respective loads of spunk. God, it felt so good to be lying nude and unselfconsciously beside another hot human being who gave and took such pleasure from rough sex. A large ceiling fan was whirring over the queen-sized bed. And each of us had one hand fiddling with the shaft and balls of the other--maintaining a connection, and prepping for the next round. Fuck, even semi-soft, his dick filled my fist. He was not a slouch in the size department. But, we were pretty equal.

But, it was time to talk.

We had been together for about ten days now, very intense, sex-filled days while on retreat at Big Bend and for the last few days in El Paso. Today, Monday, had been "reveal" day--the long-anticipated day when Elon Oil would tell us what our first permanent slots were on the corporate ladder--after a long and tedious ten week "initiation" and retreat. We both knew that the corporate decisions, which were pretty much out of our control, would determine our immediate future at Elon--and how easy it would be (or not) to continue the development of our new-found relationship. Already, I at least wanted it to go on and on and on....

There was no question that we were physically compatible. In fact we were still very much at the stage where it seemed almost impossible not to be holding, touching, penetrating, or massaging each other. We had it bad. Total lust. Total need to seed. Displacing virtually anything else--work, food, sleep, exercise--everything! Every encounter was a first quick trick, then a longer fuck; often a flip. Every shower was an erotic romp. And certainly there was no remaining question that we were gay--at least with respect to each other. Maybe we weren't perfect male specimens--although I think we might be pretty close!--but in my eyes Brock was the most incredible hunk in the world. I think maybe he felt the same way about me. I think really good sex does that to you. It adds a rosy tint to the palest of flesh. And inch or two to your partner's dick. The most erotic ass. And the tastiest cum.

I had let Brock choose first this evening, and he had decided to ride me. It was like the fuckin' rodeo. He's a real bronco-buster, but I think I had given him one of the rides of his life. He stayed in the saddle, grabbing at my tits occasionally or gripping my sides with his thighs to maintain his equilibrium. I had never before had the chance to push up so violently into such a tight cunt. Fuck! Raw, really physical male sex was part sex and part dirty fight. I've never felt so utterly drained of my man-seed in my life. I might be doing the fucking, but he was taking my manhood with every bounce. Until I emptied deep inside his gut. And he covered my chest, neck and chin with spurt after spurt of creamy spunk. We weren't just doing sex. We invented it. We were sex.

Brock was being trained at Elon as a "landman"--someone with the personality and looks capable of convincing landowners--typically older women or men--that they should allow their land to be joined with neighbors and explored for fossil fuels--in return for a royalty payment if minerals were discovered. Brock was perfect for the job. Young, handsome, dark, muscled, polite, with a mature sincere face--a potential grandson to some, a son to others, a boyfriend to a few. He would be selling himself as well as Elon. And frankly, if I were buying, I'd much rather be putting Brock Adamson in my Bed, Bath and Beyond shopping bag--than a giant energy company headquartered hundreds of miles away. Brock knew his stuff. I was born with a drilling rig in my mouth (now there's an image!)--with a family that relied on energy royalties for life. But, his urbane spiel had me convinced that, between the two of us, he was the real cowboy and oilman.

"Well, it seems that I got my wish. I'm joining the team that does mineral lease work. I'm assigned to El Paso for about six months, traveling around West Texas and New Mexico, signing up properties. I'll be an assistant to Jack Thorpe, a seasoned veteran landman. After six months, assuming I prove myself, they'll move me to an independent position at one of the other offices. I got a nice bump in salary. I'm getting a car, a four-wheel drive SUV. And I start immediately. It's exactly what I wanted. I'm pumped. Really pumped."

"I can tell. You just showed me. So, we've got six months to see if we are in this for the long haul."

"Did you think otherwise? I'd already decided that I'd do whatever to be with you, Sam. But, I'm pleased it has worked out. So what about you? You're staying here too?"

"You could have pushed me over with a feather. I got more than I ever could have imagined." Then I proceeded to describe the note, my lunch with Roger (leaving out the sexual suspicions), and my assignment. "I've just come back from the Mall. Tomorrow I move into an office on the executive floor next to his. And tomorrow night I'll be the proud owner of two new tailored suits." I decided to leave out my plans for a haircut at tomorrow's lunch hour. It would be my surprise.

"I'm headed to New York on the company plane on Wednesday. I'm going to get my first real taste of corporate finance. I'm going with Roger. I'm really pumped."

He released my dick and rolled onto his side staring at me. He was silent for about a minute. "I'm just inspecting to be sure that I'm in bed with the same Sam Crockett that I met last week. Fuck. You're gonna outgrow me in a month or so. I'd better make sure that I've imprinted myself on you before then. I've gotta make sure that I can continue to pump you even more and better than Roger Bannister might."

He rolled on top and our lips touched. His tongue invaded, rough and ready, scouring my mouth, taking me prisoner. His hands went to the back of my neck as he held me tight to his face, breathing together. I felt the hard dick in my gut and knew he was ready for another session. So was I. In addition to being the most pleasurable use of my time, sex with Brock blotted out everything else. Soon he rose and allowed me to catch my breath. Assuming I could actually do so with a nude hunk like him hovering over me. His dark eyes continued to drill into mine, ferreting out all my secrets.

He forced my thighs apart and knelt between them. His sturdy arms lifted and pushed them back over my shoulders. I grabbed behind the knees and rolled up into him, opening up to whatever he had in mind. Fingers spread my cheeks and his tongue invaded my other hole. He licked, sucked and pushed inside until I screamed for release and pushed him away. He could do this for minutes--but after a few seconds, he had me at the edge. Fuck, I think he could make me cum with his tongue! Lubed fingers entered and began to stroke, opening me to him. He rose up and, staring into my eyes, aimed the head of his cock. Pressure. More pressure. I released my breath. And he slid smoothly inside. He paused only briefly, continuing to stare without a blink into my face while a broad smile adorned his face. I was ready. So he pushed deeper and began to pound my sensitive love nut. I think I must have been moaning in pleasure--because he reached down again and took my lips with his to quiet me. There were times when he was wild; then there were times when he played the silent cowboy. And when he was the taciturn guy on the range, he cherished the silence. Usually, that meant his rigid dick was deep inside stretching my chute to accommodate his girth.

I felt the sharp quick pain as he bottomed. And soon he was taking long slow glides down my chute, clipping the prostate with each downstroke and crowding it with each exit. This time, he had stamina. As did I. Our sex continued for what seemed forever--maybe ten or fifteen minutes--until we were both soaking with mansweat and musk. We were completely intoxicated--without even one beer! Our dicks were rigid enough to drill through steel. Our faces had darkened with passion. Every sense, sight, smell, taste, touch melded us into a total mind-warp of sensuous expectation.

He called out his climax. But there was no need. I had felt the stiffening, the stressed pressure and the expansion of his dick. All of this within my sensitive chute, stretched by his size. This was going to be epic. I released my legs, and they surrounded his waist as I pulled his face to mine. Deep down inside I felt the first spasmic expansion of the head, then the hot spurt, and simultaneously, my own mind-blowing orgasm started in my gut, spreading up my spine, reaching down to my toes which curled in passion and to my finger tips which clasped him close to me, scraping his delts. A tidal wave of pleasure. A great shudder. Another. Then an explosion so violent that I thought I had burst the bulb at the tip of my dick. Our chests were covered with my fragrant, sticky cum. And I was full of his. As he pressed me down into the mattress and took possession of my body, straining to hold his erection hard and deep, plugging his seed inside. If only we could hold on to such pleasure indefinitely. Maybe it would drive us insane--but it would be worth it.

"Fuck. That was sooo good. I think maybe I'll keep you, Brock."

"You'll keep me! May I remind you that I've got you right where I want you. You are mine, boy. Barefoot, bare-assed and flat on your back with my dick plugging my offspring deeply inside. I own this ass. You've just signed the papers to deed it over to me for all the exploration and drilling that I might want to do." He smiled at his own wit. He flexed his thighs and I felt his cock inside. Fuck, he was still hard. His head slipped down and he took one of my enlarged tits in his mouth. The lips clamped around it, and he started to suck. Then he bit. It was too much. I was too sensitive. So I pushed him off. But, not too far.

"Save some of that for later, pardner. I'm hoping for one more round before we turn in."

"I'm going to go put that pizza in. We need a little more nourishment if you're staying the night."

"You mean I'm invited? I would have thought that by now you'd be considering trading me in. Slumming with a landman, a trainee landman. And you a suit!"

I finished getting up, but not before rolling him on his side and taking a few good hard swats at his cute little butt, leaving my pink handprint on his supple skin, noticing the red scrapes on his delts which I had left. I almost didn't leave the bed. He was still so ripe for the taking. It would be so easy to roll over him, push his thigh forward and slam inside.

The next morning was the last we'd have together for a few days. Unfortunately, we woke late and had to rush to dress. It wouldn't do to be late on our first days in new jobs. We made a date for the evening--his place. But, I warned that I would not spend the night. I needed to pack to prepare for the trip with Roger to New York.

*******

I spent Wednesday moving into my office and reading the reports and analyses dropped on my desk by Matt--to prepare for the upcoming meetings. Near the end of the day, Matt came by to ask if I had any questions and to wish me luck. Previously I hadn't really noticed him. But Matt could have been my twin--six foot, lightly muscled, clean cut, blonde and blue. "Roger is a really nice guy. He's really good at what he does. Very demanding. Expects you to sit second chair. Never upstage him--or offer something in a group meeting that you haven't discussed with him before. He demands loyalty and expects you'll put him first--always. Give him what he wants and he'll treat you like a prince. I guess I can already tell why he picked you out of the class of trainees. You've got the look, Sam. The kind of boy he wants as a sidekick. And I presume you've got the brains to go with it. Call me if you ever want to talk--but I will never take your side over his, nor will I discuss anything we did together. I'm guessing you'll feel the same way after a year. He's some kind of magician, I mean boss! Good luck, Sam."

I appreciated the advice and the sincerity with which Matt had helped me to read in to the job quickly. But the last speech left me with questions. I guess I'll have to see as time goes on.

I used my lunch hour to visit the Juarezian barber a block from our building. It was a small shop with only one chair. No appointments, but he was finishing up a guy when I arrived and there wasn't anyone in front of me. Losing six inches or more of my hair was not going to be easy. I had never done it for Mom. But, I was doing it for Roger--or maybe for me. I explained what I wanted. Short, but not too short. But, I wasn't sure he understood me. I'd just have to hope for the best. Then I sat in the chair and watched my long blonde hair hit the floor--all the while thinking of the biblical story of my namesake, Samson and Delilah--she insisted he cut his hair to please her--and it cost him his strength, his manhood and ultimately his life. It took only fifteen minutes. Then he swung me around and I got to look into the mirror. I did not recognize me. My shorter hair was a light gold color and it glistened in the fluorescent lights of the shop. Clean above my ears, even more contrast because the untanned skin under was so unlike the rest of my face. A sharp line at the back of my neck. And a part. I had lost ten years and looked like a teen.

He smiled that particular wide grin of a Mexican who knew his stuff and was pleased with the results. He walked to the door and loosed the lock. Then he pointed to my crotch and held the straight razor aloft. He was obviously full service. "Maybe next time, Jaime." I had already left so much of my manhood on the floor of his shop. I paid and left--subconsciously feeling the chill of the autumn breeze on my neck as I walked back to HQ. I was pretty sure everyone was staring. I felt like I was walking naked down the street. A kid pretending to be a man. Or a man who had been emasculated by his boss.

The afternoon went by quickly and quietly. After work, I dropped by to pick up my suits--and to buy a small suitcase, but arrived at Brock's apartment just after he did.

I knocked and he opened, "Sorry, not today. I'm not buying." He shut the door. Then quickly re-opened. "Fuck, what didja do with your hair?"

"It was Roger's idea. Actually, his demand. This and the suits. He likes his boys to be clean cut, well-dressed and mannered."

"Are you working for him or marrying him? But, fuck, you look like a kid. Do I have to card you before we fuck? Texas has some pretty stiff child sex laws."

I laughed and pushed by him into the apartment. "You'll understand some day. Junior executives need to conform and do what they're told. At least for awhile until I prove myself."

"Did he also ask you to groom your pubes? Or shave your body hair off? Or wear a plug? Or a cage?"

"C'mon, Brock. Don't go there. I need to establish myself. Then I can bend some of the rules." I wondered if he knew the barber that I had visisted.

"Are you going to be bending over his sofa before then? So did he ask you to shave?"

"No. He didn't. He's all business. But, he's old school. Believes in the pyramid of corporate authority, in looking the part of an executive. Etc."

"Well, I'm gonna let it go for now. But don't say I didn't warn you. He's setting you up. You're going to be under him by the end of this week and his sub by next week."

"Are we going to have sex? Are you gonna keep complaining? Or should I leave now? You of all people should understand. I need sex, Brock. And I need it now."

"Well, I've got another idea. I think maybe I'm going to help you adjust to your new job as boy gofer." He put on a pseudo-angry face and shouted, "Fuck! Move your ass, boy. Strip. Lube yourself. Assume the position. I think I'm going to enjoy having a toi-boi for a boyfriend. Even if it turns out to be sloppy-seconds. And 'Sir' will do for the rest of the night."

Needless to say, Brock really enjoyed taking on the dom role. He was in complete control, edging me almost to insanity before he deposited a load that would have moved me up a weight class on the wrestling mat. He was using every trick he knew to overpower me. To make me feel his sub or slave. Throughout, he smiled, but remained silent. It was all in his eyes. He knew he now had competition--from someone not even in his league. And he was making sure that whatever I did in the next few days, I'd be remembering the violent fuck that he was creating.

The trip to New York on the corporate jet was uneventful, but very exciting--everything was a first. As instructed, I drove right into the unmarked, but numbered hangar at IAH, boarded the unmarked Gulfstream and took one of the leather seats. (All the unmarked stuff was for security, I was told--but later I suspected it was because energy execs didn't want to advertise the shareholder profits they lavished on their own lives.) Roger boarded a few minutes later. He looked over at me, "Mornin, Sam," smiled, but didn't say anything more. We taxied and took off, landing in Teterboro three hours later.

Roger did not talk much on the plane. Mostly small talk. He was engrossed in the notes on his desk. We had sandwiches for lunch and landed at three. An hour plus in a limo brought us to the Mandarin Oriental on Columbus Circle. A high floor suite, of course. Three rooms: two bedrooms on either side of a large parlor. Views of Central Park. Really top of the top. Periodically, I had to push my jaw up to close my gaping mouth at the luxury, like nothing I had ever experienced in my life. If he was setting me up for sex with luxury, it was working. I was ready to give him anything he wanted, anyway he wanted it. I was going to be easy.

As we entered, Roger announced he was headed to the hotel gym. We had cocktails and dinner with Goldman starting at six-thirty. "You should join me. It might be a long night. And we want to be pumped." I grabbed my workout gear and followed him out the door.

The gym was, as expected, incredible. Beautiful wooden doors with oversized brass handles on the full length lockers. Hardwood benches. Soft lighting. Roger pointed me to a locker, and took the one next to it--although there were twenty or more in the space--and it was deserted at four in the afternoon.

We both quickly stripped and changed into gear. Both of us were seasoned gym users. So eyes were averted--and no staring. But, as he moved to the shining, new machines, I noted that Roger was no stranger to a gym. He was built--wide shoulders, slim waist, bubble, nice pecs, bis and tris. (Later I would note that he also had a deeply cut six-pac.) We both mostly used the machines--so there was little interaction, until the very end. "Spot me, Sam. I like to pump a little at the end to exaggerate my upper body development--it makes me feel like the alpha with these weakly bankers, pretending that they are macho because they have something we want--money."

He set up a bar with reasonably heavy plates and moved to the bench. I assumed the spot position and mostly just watched--noting his perfect form--and the bulging semi in his nylon shorts. I moved in for the last few reps to be closer if needed. When I did, I realized he was staring right up my pant leg. Fortunately, I had worn a jock and was fully contained, although typically a little chubbed. A workout does that to you; it gets the testosterone flowing. But it unnerved me a bit. And it didn't seem to bother him at all.