Clue Ch 04

Clue 04

Cam and Dec begin work in California

All characters described in this story, whether game "pieces" or players, are over 18. Parts of the story attempt to duplicate the stream-of-consciousness, freedom from the rigors of sentence and punctuation grammatical rules-- popularized by the Irish novelists of the post-war period, like James Joyce. Cam and Dec met in Clue 01, and vacationed in Ireland in Clue 02 and 03, but this story is more or less standalone. Copyright ©2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

The invitation (it really wasn't so much an invitation as an instruction) to meet the infamous Rupert Gaylord was unusual and produced quite a bit of anxiety in the two new "associates" of GAI Enterprises. Gaylord, the founder and presumably the majority owner, was known to be an eccentric character. He was a recluse, rarely appearing in public--even in the sprawling complex that he had built for his company, located in Los Gatos, one of the quieter suburbs of San Jose. His own gated and walled mansion in the foothills, not far away, was rarely seen (except by drones). He did not sponsor parties or invite employees to visit. But Forbes nevertheless rated him among the 100 wealthiest men in the world--at the age of 34.

Cam (for Cameron) Clay- and Dec (for Declan) Harley are recent graduates of Gailord College of Science in rural Virginia--a school that Rupert had "built" a few years ago to provide the educational background for entry into the AI-enlightened computer industry in general (and the AI-enhanced field of game in particular). Cam and Dec, both of whom transferred in to Gailord and with a little industry coding experience, had done very well at the college. In their last semester, they had entered a contest with a prospectus for a new game. They had won--securing the financing and resources to develop a Beta version at GAI Enterprises. But Rupert Gaylord was known to be an impatient entrepreneur--he wanted progress and completion in short time periods--or he bailed on lagging projects.

His management style was remote. Typically, he acted through a series of project managers, sponsored way more preliminary research than ever could be developed and marketed, and cut the losers on a regular basis--without ever appearing or explaining to the sponsors and employees. But, he didn't typically terminate the employees--they were given spots on other projects (and a second and last chance to prove their stuff). So many projects were started, but few made it to the finish line. He was fair, generous--but secretive and ruthless.

Both guys, particularly Cam, exhibited the unbridled confidence and self-assurance of most 22 year old graduates. They could do anything, anytime, anywhere. Their grades and the contest win had hardened this self-confidence. But, both knew that the next few weeks would make or break their careers--they could emerge as young millionaires--or be looking for job, depending on the vagaries of the associates assigned to their project and the fickleness of game players (and game buyers). The unusual invitation from the boss had hit a raw nerve however. And the nerve would remain raw for some time--which was exactly what Rupert had in mind with the invitation.

So an introduction to GAI by the emperor himself was indeed highly unusual. Fortunately, the invitation had been communicated a day early. So Cam and Dec had a chance to prepare. They were completely familiar with the outline of the game they had proposed. The concept had been well-developed, some of the characters had been given life, and the basic game-play had be outlined. So they had spent a day acting out the plot, which had evolved after a two week visit to Ireland (the situs of the game) and two nights in a Galway Castle where a giant Viking descendant, named Peter Blake, had demonstrated to Cam what it meant to be "taken" by a big-dicked raider--and where Dec had had a chance to act out a "top" scene from a similarly plotted game with the co-proprietor of the castle.

The game (if it reached market stage) would have three iterations: a PG version involving Viking raids on coastal communities for plunder--where raiders and villagers "learned" from past raids--so each encounter was different and more challenging for both. The second and third versions were R/X versions for the adult-hetero and gay communities--where rape and sexual slavery accompanied the plunder of food and treasure. Cam and Dec assumed that the first would be marketed by GAI; the other would need to go through presumably-unrelated, shadowy distribution channels.

Cam and Dec have been together, more or less, for a year and a half. Cam thought he had seduced the innocent Dec--with his charm, his attractive presence and his technique, but later learned that Dec had had at least some experience at Trinity College, Dublin--and was considered by his classmates there as a prize partner--top or bottom. Cam was convinced that he had found the nicest, most receptive ass in the history of gaydom while Dec was thrilled with Cam's handsome good lucks, long thick dick--and willingness to bottom once in a while. So, by the end of the trip, it was unclear who had seduced whom.

The story now continues in Cam's voice...

I opened the email on our last day of freedom before we began to sell our imaginations and talents and maybe our souls to corporate mammon. "Fuck, did you see this Dec? God himself plans to handle our first hours at GAI. How unusual is that? We don't really know anything about him." Then I read it aloud, "Rupert Gaylord has decided to initiate all the new grant winners personally this year. You are expected to report at HQ (Door B) at 9:00 a.m. PDT August 1. Joel Rogers, Asst. VP, Human Resources."

"I got the email too and just opened it. What the fuck?"

Dec and I began to exchange tidbits of info--and to speculate about what might be in the works. We realized we didn't know much about him--except of course for his wealth and success. We had never seen a good picture. Knew he was about 34--maybe. Irish or maybe Scot. Not known to be married. In fact nothing was known about his lifestyle, hobbies, sex life or preferences. A total mystery man. There were a few internet photos--but they were old and he was obscured, typically in the background. And the business articles were all vague since he refused to be interviewed for any of them. Even the ownership of GAI was ultimately secret--it wasn't a public company.

He, on the other hand, had obvious access to our student records--pictures, memberships (including the LGTBQ+ Club), where we had bunked (including, most likely a note from the RA that we were sleeping in the same room). As Chair of Gaylord College of Science, he presumably had seen almost everything known about us. He knew our grades, ratings, had seen our work and the reviews of our supervisors. He also had the prospectus for our game.

As we talked, our anxiety level began to rise. And, we knew how every young guy likes to take care of that. Both of us were seated at our desktops. (Our desks were both in the living room--it was a small apartment after all--and we didn't want to mix work and pleasure--so no desks in the bedroom; rents were really high). We were dressed in only tees and lightly knit skimpy sweat shorts. I stood and pulled him up and in for an embrace. I was only slightly taller and slightly more muscular. In fact, we were quite well matched--although we were "finished" quite differently--he a pale, slimly-muscled, freckled ginger; me an athletic, towheaded and deeply tanned "boyish" man from South Carolina. Our lips met; our tongues began the inevitable duel; and, our dicks began to harden in our shorts. It never took long for him to turn me on--and I think the reverse was also true. Both of us were tented within seconds, and our shrouded dicks were already dueling. A very different kind of tension was taking hold.

My hands reached down and squeezed his supple ass cheeks, spreading and using them to pull him tight into me. Holding a pair of ripe hot melons was one of the greatest pleasures of life. Two opposing index fingers rimmed his hole. Then I pushed him into the sofa and spread out above him. I pulled back and slid my hands up under his tee, reaching his pecs as my fingers started playing with his ripe and ready nipples. He lost the tee and my lips replaced my fingers as I sucked. Dec loved it when I nursed on his tits. He began the familiar moan-keen of pleasure, followed by a series of Gaelic and English mono-syllables. "Feck. Yes. More. Please. Chag. Suck those tits, boy. Feck, feck, feck." Repeated over and over, as he squirmed beneath me. He was totally into this. His legs came up and circled my waist, pulling me tighter so our cocks were straining against each other even inside the knit shorts.

He pulled my tee off. Then we stopped briefly, already breathless and completely aroused, to remove our shorts. I stared down at the beauty below me. Fuck. He's so beautiful and that cock is truly worth a portrait: tall, straight, nicely bulbed and hooded, about 7 or 8 and medium thick. I planted a wet, sloppy kiss on the purple tip, tasting his first precum. Then, I straddled and stroked our cocks together, slipping down the hoods as I did so, as we both began to leak. Then, I reached up to the table and grabbed the lube. I coated his dick as the hood rolled back with his passion. Then, I reached around and shot a gob into my ass. I shimmied up along his chest, my cock bouncing on his abs, as I reached back and aimed him and began to descend slowly over his rigid pole. I pulled off a bit, paused and descended again, pulling him further in. Then again. Seconds later I felt his soft fiery pubes on my ass. He had filled me and my chute was clasping tightly to his heat.

So I stopped, enjoying the feeling of fullness and the regular throb of his anxious cock, particularly the swollen tube which would soon carry his seed to my gut. I smiled down at him, silently thanking him for his gift.

Dec placed his hands on my hips and gripped me tightly as he flattened the soles of his feet on the sofa pillow, prepping for an athletic ride. He started to buck, turning darker with each upward push. Over and over. Higher and higher. Deeper and deeper. Managing to punch my love nut with every stroke, pushing me up the mountain of pleasure.

"Jesus, DJ loves being inside you Cam. He loves you. So hot. So fucking hot. So tight. So fucking tight. Looking up into your baby blues, I can see your soul. It's on fire. You're burning for me. You are mine, Cam. Mine."

Then, when he suddenly released his grip on my hip dimples, I landed on his gut, harder than I had intended. Dec's eyes flew open as he strained for depth. DJ snapped through my inner defense. There was a little pain, an explosion of lubing fluid inside and my rampant cock started to leak like a faucet. He had stuck me totally. His shillelagh was planted deep, as deep as anyone had ever been. He didn't do it often. But, when he did, I was helpless. I'd do anything he wanted to hold on to that feeling to total throbbing fullness--and surrender to the invader. Dec began to move this thighs in a circular motion, stirring my "pot." Then, he continued to pound and to throb. My prostate was doing deep breathing exercises as he poked it hard and my anal muscles were clenching around the onslaught.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I know it's August, but it feels like the night before Christmas. I knew I was going to find room in the inn tonight. You let me in after all. So now I'm going to plant. Squeeze, Cam. I'm cummin. Make it really good."

I did my best to tighten down on his violently pounding cock. But it was hard--and so was DJ. It was so hard, so long, so hot. He was deep in my gut. And the head was the size and the hardness of a poolball. I felt the strain. Then the expansion. His gut muscles tightened. His legs and thighs tensed.

"Feck. It's on its way, Cam. I can feel my little guys moving. Here it cums. Here they cum."

I was so full. So complete. I loved this boy. And what he can do to me. I felt the hot spunk moving up the tube. When he exploded deep inside, he spasmed hard and forced out my own spunk--to fly over his chest. He grabbed the head, caught the last of my stuff and brought it to his lips--as I fell onto his chest--totally aroused, totally spent--and not at all anxious about tomorrow. He remained deep inside, plugging his seed in me. Absolutely no more apprehension. From either of us. We'd make it.

We'd always have each other. We were so good together. And not only in bed. We were great at game-creation. We were going to knock it out of the park. If we can fuck like this, we can do anything.

A few minutes later, he slipped out. I got up and used a moist towel to clean us both up. We moved to the bed and spooned. Later that night, we tried again. This time with me sliding in to his moist, hot cunt from the side. He moaned in pleasure as he roused from light sleep. "Oh, fuck, Cam. I love it when you slip him in like that. I think it's unique to you smooth, drawl-talking Southern boys. You can fuck someone before they even know you're inside--but once you're there, there can be no mistake. You know how to do it. It's one of my favs--a stealth fuck."

I continued the slow hip-driven strokes, deep and hot, with lots of love nut contact, as my hands held his gut tight into me. I felt him spasm. He was already ahead of me. So I reached down, cupped his balls and massaged them gently as the heel of my hand pressed on the taint.

"Oh, fuck, Cam. You are so good to me." Then the contractions started and my hand moved to the glans to catch his spunk. I straightened my legs and strained to deepen as I too blasted inside. I held there for a few minutes, then rolled back and brought my cum-filled palm to my tongue. He flipped and pressed his chest into mine as we stared into each other's eyes. "We've got this, Dec. Don't worry."

******

We knew that GAI, like most of the Valley, was very casual. But, nevertheless we dressed carefully: Bonobos chinos with a touch of stretch (really can't hurt to show off two very cute bubble butts), tight polos (yes, with a collar, but tight enough to show that we worked out--he wore emerald green, of course, and mine was periwinkle blue) and sock-less leather loafers. We wanted an adult impression, but not too stuffy. We were meeting the boss after all. We arrived early--to find a large parking lot filled with expensive cars. I guess folks start early here, and they make enough to afford these impressive wheels.

The lobby was tasteful, but small. Visitors rarely came to GAI--and this entrance was apparently not used by "associates." We were ushered into the HR wing by an attractive "Valley Girl" with ironed, bleached hair and left in a small conference room. It had windows looking toward the nearby hills to the East, and so it was bright with the early morning sun, even through the smog. It was eerily quiet: there was no music.

A minute or two later, a cart was rolled in with coffee, waters and pastries. And no sooner had the waiter left, than a hidden door built into the opposite wall opened, and Rupert entered. Dec and I stood of course and turned toward the famous man. But no, it was Peter Blake--our host and dom at Galway Castle! We were stunned. His hand went out, "Good morning guys, I'm Rupert Gaylord." He stood back just a foot or so and his eyes swept over us. "I see you're a little surprised. Yes, I do look a little like him. Peter is my older brother--by about a year. I know we look quite a bit alike. And yes, he's told me about your recent visit to his newest toy. Perhaps in more graphic detail than I really needed. But he didn't exaggerate how attractive you both are."

"I guess you already know Peter. Actually, he's the co-owner of GAI and really quite involved, although silently, with the Science school and some of our less famous activities. He warned me that I'd want to meet with you personally. Welcome to GAI, my not-so-little baby."

As he spoke, I noted that while the two brothers were actually incredibly alike in appearance--same height, same enormous build, same "Black Irish" hair and pale complexion, they were actually quite different--in dress and speech. Rupert was an impressive man, dressed entirely in an expensive tailored silk and wool suit--in black, with a black alligator belt and a white French-cuffed shirt. His only concession to local custom was that he had a pocket-stuffer in emerald green, but the neck of the shirt was wide and open, showing quite a bit of dark chest hair. I stared. Quite impolitely, I'm afraid. He and Peter were really almost twins--and of course, I had seen Peter at his best--naked and rampant.

Then he broke the tension with a deep series of guffaws. "I've filmed these minutes." He pointed to a camera lens in the corner of the room. "Peter will enjoy seeing them, I'm sure. He told me all about the Aer Lingus flight. But, let me add a bit of caution here. We have private rooms on campus for such experimentation. I'd rather you keep your needs private--at least from the other associates. No trysts on the coding floor, please."

"Peter's full name, incidentally is Peter Blake Gaylord. He doesn't use the last name much. In a few weeks you'll understand. And since I am rarely seen in public, few know of our relationship. We like it that way. Sometimes I think he's a little indiscreet in satisfying his needs. We are really pretty different in that sense. I'm as private as he is public. It'll be our little secret."

"I've reviewed your prospectus. I'm optimistic that you've got a winner. Peter does too. And so the R/X versions will be commercialized by the sister company that he controls in Ireland. Now, I've had my fun. Sorry to shock you. Good luck, boys. I'd like you to come by for dinner at my place next Saturday. You are everything that Peter raved about--and maybe a little more. But, I'll wait to see the rest."

Then he pushed a button on the tabletop. "Ms. Steele will handle all the details now. I'm sorry it might take a few hours. But, I'm sure you'll make it up. After she completes the legal stuff, she'll take you to your workspace, introduce you to your coding team and show you where you can have meals--breakfast, lunch and dinner if you choose--and where you can crash after you've put in 20 or so hours. Welcome again to GAI."

His hand shot out again and he gripped each of ours in a vise as the other went behind and pulled us in, before smiling, turning and leaving from the hidden door--before Ms. Steele arrived--entering through a different door, of course.

In the ensuing few minutes, Dec and I stared at each other in silence. We were stunned. We spoke not a word, but I'm sure our minds were pondering the same questions. What had we got ourselves into? There were two Gaylord brothers? Both Viking giants. And probably equally gifted by the Celtic gods. I wonder why they use different last names? And are they both gay and rough tops? Were the meeting on the flight and the castle invitation entirely coincidental? Were we really upgraded to business--or did Peter use his influence? Is Peter a pimp for Rupert? Or vice versa--after all, we had told GAI that we were headed to Ireland for a few weeks "research" before starting.

I guess we'd soon find out.

We completed the formalities and were led into one of the large open rooms on the second floor of one of the arms of the star-shaped building. It was filled with cubicles, separated by shoulder-height soft walls, each fitted with multiple desktops, several sitting areas for "conferences," and a mini-stocked kitchen. "This will be your space--exclusively. In a few minutes, a platoon of our floating coders and graphic artists will arrive for your introduction and assignments. They typically work independently, here about half-time--although so long as they are productive, they only need to be here one day a week--the day when you can schedule all-hands-on-deck discussions. They typically share the cubicles--so actually although there are only 8 work stations here, you'll be assigned 12 associates."