Conquered 2

Seducing a straight man is the Holy Grail for a lot of gay men out there. For me, it's always been easy. I see the alpha hunk that I want to be fucked by, I flirt and let him know I'm available, and I sit back until he comes to me. Some dudes who are total bottoms like I am make the mistake of being too clingy or too desperate when they decide to pursue a straight man. That gives them the scent of desperation, and it's why they fail where I succeed. Hetero hunks and delicious daddies like to feel like they're the ones making the decision, like they're the ones conquering. But when I give a man who swore that he was 100% straight the best orgasm of his life, there's no doubt in my mind that I'm actually the one in control. That I'm the one who conquered a straight alpha jock stud.

"Nathaniel," the new office intern, Craig, said to me, "It must be so easy for you to get laid. You're kind of a catch, dude. If I were gay, I'd hook up with you in a second." Craig was a little bit tipsy; he was just some dumb college jock. I've only been working on reeling him in for a few weeks now, and already he was putty in my hands. Ripe for the picking.

And yet...

I already had my eye on a bigger prize.

One that wasn't here at Happy Hour because he didn't drink.

One that was so squeaky clean that all of my usual tactics were having absolutely no effect on him.

The man I was craving, the man I was needing to have a taste of, the handsome daddy who was absolutely rocking my world, was named Grayson Nash, and he was the new CEO at the tech startup I worked at. I knew the minute I saw his name in the press release announcing his hiring that the dude was gonna be fucking hot. And then he showed up on his first day of work. He was tall and muscular, with chiseled, handsome, all-American looks. This man was truly a blonde god. His daddy energy was off-the-charts, and he had the dictionary definition of "big dick face." In a tribal society, he would have clearly been the leader of the pack, respected for his stature, power, virtue, and righteousness.

When he met me and shook my hand, his deep blue eyes twinkled at me and his grip immediately conveyed benevolent dominance over me. I could clearly make out the manly physique underneath his perfectly tailored suit. I had to have this man.

But there was a slight problem. He was a family man. He was a man of God. He was some lucky woman's husband and they were parents to a bunch of kids. He was a pillar in his local religious community. My usual tactics were not going to work on him.

In addition to being incredibly sexy, successful, and charming, Grayson had something else. He took a genuine interest in me. He wasn't the type of boss who just saw me as somebody to make him money, or as an office drone. He saw me as a human being. He actually made the effort to get to know me and mentor me. He was such a genuinely good person.

So, you see, for the first time in my life there was a straight man that I wanted, and I couldn't figure out any tactics that were going to help me get him. Some stupid jock like Craig just wasn't going to cut it anymore.

I kept pounding shots, ignoring Craig as he kept rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt to try to entice me. My mind was completely focused on Grayson, and yet no good ideas came to me.

It shouldn't be this hard. Men are an easy combination to unlock. I've got a cute face, a toned twink body, and a bubble butt that most girls would kill for. I make six figures as a 24-year-old, as I was one of the first employees at a tech startup that became extremely popular. I've got a sexy car and an awesome apartment. I'm not used to having doors closed to me.

But a principled man of God? In 2022 America! Such an absurd, anachronistic obstacle for me to have to deal with in my quest for quality cock.

"Man, I'm so fucking horny tonight," Craig said as we shared a cigarette outside.

He was really laying it on thick. But I wasn't in the mood tonight, so I booked him an Uber to get home, as he was in no condition to drive. My apartment was only a few blocks away. I would walk home.

It was a Friday night, and I was without a cock to suck, without a muscular alpha to stick his big fat daddy dick up my butthole. For a young, rich, cute guy like me, it was a fucking crime.

As I was walking toward my building, I noticed a stranger. Oh, great, some bum... drinking a forty out of a paper bag right in front of the lobby door. Hopefully, he wouldn't accost me or beg for change. As I got closer, I realized I was either really drunk or really desperate, as I noticed the bum was actually kinda cute. He didn't look crazy or homeless or anything. Just a lower-class drunk white straight dude who didn't get any pussy tonight. We were in the same boat, in a way. Maybe...

"Don't even think about it, Nathaniel," I scolded myself. "Just hope he doesn't pull a gun on you or rape you or something."

Pull a gun. Or rape.

Wait a second.

Eureka. It was like a lightbulb lit up over my head.

"Hey man," I said to him. "I'm Nathaniel. I'm about to order a pizza. How would you like to come up and split it with me?"

He seemed a bit unsure, eyeing me cautiously, so I engaged in a bit of conversation with him.

He called himself "Buddy." I didn't know if that was a pet name or his actual name or what, but it also didn't matter. I found out that he was out of work because the factory he worked in had closed and shipped his job to China. He had two kids to feed and a wife at home who was on his back constantly because he couldn't bring any money home.

"Well, Buddy," I said. "Today is your lucky day. I have a business opportunity if you want to come up and share that pizza. My treat." By now, I'd softened him up enough, or he was hungry after drinking so much, and he agreed.

I was going to walk Buddy through what I wanted him to do: Break into the office when Grayson and I were there alone, force us to strip, and then force us to fuck.

As we took the elevator up to my apartment, I began to have second thoughts. What if we went through with this, and then Buddy got caught and ratted me out to save himself? What if somebody got hurt? What if there was an accident and Grayson got shot? And his 5 kids would have to grow up without a father. All because I had so selfishly concocted these machinations to get a throat and butthole full of their dad's sperm.

I let Buddy into my apartment and ordered the pizza. Buddy helped himself to one of my beers and spread himself out on my sofa. He lied back and put his hands behind his head, exposing his armpit hair. Buddy wasn't completely unappealing himself; he had a certain blue-collar sex appeal, and he looked good in his wifebeater. Maybe I should just blow him and call it a night?

But why have a cheeseburger if you can afford to dine out on expensive filet mignon? There was never going to be another chance to be with a supreme gentleman like Grayson. I deserved to experience being fucked by the very best of the best, and that's what Grayson was. Whatever the risk was, if I didn't do this, I would spend the rest of my life wondering, "What if?"

After Buddy and I finished our meal, I told him the amount of money I could pay him if he helped me out with something, and his eyes immediately lit up. My apartment was so chic that there was no doubt that I had that kind of dough.

"But, Buddy, I'm afraid that what I'm going to ask you to do is... well, some people might consider it to be slightly unethical. If that's a problem for you, I wouldn't blame you for walking away now. But I promise you that nobody will get hurt, and there's no way you could possibly be punished for it. Are you willing to hear me out?"

He nodded his assent, so I explained to him that I wanted to suck Grayson's luscious dick, and I wanted Grayson to fuck my cute ass, and I needed Buddy's help to facilitate that. As I explained it, I felt a strange jolt of excitement. I had never had an idea quite this depraved before. The look of bewildered shock on Buddy's gruff, manly face was kind of a turn on. I emphasized to Buddy, in case he was worried, that nothing in any of this would physically hurt Grayson at all. It was going to be pleasurable for him, and, hey, he just might learn something about himself along the way.

Buddy looked absolutely disgusted, and, at times, angry. I thought that he was going to kill me for daring to suggest he take part in this sick and disturbing act. I didn't fully gauge his reaction, though, because I was starting to believe my own bullshit. The more I talked about it, the more fascinated I became, the more convinced I was, and the more arrogant I got about it. When he finally objected and expressed doubts, I repeated the amount I was willing to pay him. It was an offer that he just couldn't refuse, and I had the ability to pay in cash. I could feel him equivocating and beginning to come around to the idea.

Like I said, I know how to exploit men's weaknesses. Once I saw Buddy equivocate and think about how much this money was going to help him, I went all out praising Buddy and saying how easy this was going to be and how he was just the perfect man for the job. I built up his ego, so any doubts he had would then be injuries to his own ego. Once I framed the argument that way, I knew I had him. He shook my hand, and it was all set. Next Friday, Grayson would be in the office alone while the rest of the staff went to Happy Hour, and I'd stay behind with him. And Buddy would enact the plan. Buddy said he knew where he could get an untraceable gun off the streets, which was good because I sure as hell didn't.

It couldn't fail, right?

Knowing how close I was, but having to wait until Friday, made the next week drag on torturously. Soon, every inch of Grayson's body would be mine to explore and savor... and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. This man had probably been successful and popular his entire life. He was smart, athletic, gregarious, generous... Everybody liked him. And none of that was going to save him from being the plaything for one very lucky and enterprising gay twink who needed a new daddy.

When he interacted with me in the office, and put his hand on my shoulder to encourage me, or when he flashed me his pearly whites to tell me what a great job I was doing, I couldn't help but to throb in my pants. On Wednesday, I listened to his deep, manly voice for an hour as he did a presentation on our expansion plans, and it turned me on so much that I seriously thought I was going to cream my work pants.

I thought about jerking off in the bathroom to relieve the stress... but something told me to save up my load for Friday.

After the longest week of my life, the day I'd been waiting for arrived at last.

"Hey Nathaniel," said Craig, who was wearing a pair of pants that had to be about two sizes too tight for him. Poor guy. His package looked great in the pants, don't get me wrong, but he was just a day late and a dollar short. He wasn't gonna get anything from me (at least, not tonight, anyway.) "Are you coming to Happy Hour tonight?"

"Can't, sorry," I said. "I'm gonna be burning the midnight oil getting the Anderson account online. Maybe next week." He looked defeated. I had to suppress a laugh.

People started to filter out of the office around 3:30 PM, and I began to get seriously nervous and have doubts about all this. Maybe Buddy wouldn't show. Maybe I should call him off.

"Wait," I realized. "I can't call him off because I forgot to ask for his number." My heart began to beat faster, and I had butterflies in my stomach.

By 4:30, Grayson and I were the only ones left in the office. Buddy was supposed to show up at 5:00 sharp. I'd told Buddy about a side door that the smokers always left unlocked so they could go outside to smoke without having to pass back and forth through security. I was such a nervous wreck, I thought I was going to throw up. My plan was to engage Grayson in conversation around 4:50, so he would be away from his phone and couldn't call the cops, and also so Buddy could point his gun at both of us simultaneously. But at 4:45, Grayson disappeared into the men's room. Fuck.

Being drunk last Friday night and talking some hobo bum into helping me had been one thing. But now that it was almost here, the realization of what I was about to do and all of the risks I was taking was really gnawing at me. I was going to be a felon. I could end up spending the next 20 years in prison. I'd definitely have access to some Grade A cagemeat in there, thugs who would absolutely love to take out all their aggression by fucking some young twink... but my family would be so disappointed in me, and I'd have my face plastered all over the news as some kind of sex pervert. Just think of the memes they'd make of me on Twitter.

It was 4:58 and Grayson still wasn't back from the men's room. I guess the Thai food we had for our office lunch party must not have agreed with him. Maybe I should just leave now. I'd go to the Happy Hour with everyone else, and I'd have an alibi. I couldn't be held accountable for whatever Buddy did then. Just as I was about to bolt, Grayson emerged from the men's room and walked over to my desk.

"Nathaniel," he said. "You're working awfully late for a Friday. You sure you don't want to call it a night? I'll bet they're still at Happy Hour if you want to join them."

"Thank you, but I have to get the Anderson account done. Sir, how come you never come to Happy Hour?" I asked, knowing the answer, but needing to stall him for a bit.

"Well, I don't drink. Never have. But I think it's great that the staff here are so close. It's definitely not like that at every tech startup."

And as Grayson was speaking, I noticed Buddy running in like a bat out of hell behind him. It was like a disaster unfolding in that it seemed to occur simultaneously in slow-motion, and so suddenly that there was nothing I could say or do to warn Grayson or stop Buddy.

"Freeze!" he yelled, pointing the gun at us. Grayson defiantly moved toward him and Buddy bellowed out, "I said 'FREEZE', motherfucker, and I fucking meant FREEZE. You both stay put and keep your fucking mouths shut! If you move or try something again, I'll put a bullet in your little friend's head!" he yelled, motioning toward me with his gun.

Buddy was slurring his words and had a maniacal look in his eyes. He was either drunk or high on something. I've never had a gun pointed at me before. In all that I planned when imagining how this would play out, I hadn't counted on actually feeling legitimately frightened. Buddy was either unstable or an excellent actor, and I believed when he pointed that gun that he was not afraid to use it. I couldn't read him to figure whether he was in the state of mind to remember that this was all just pretend. The dude didn't seem this unhinged before... Maybe I was drunker than I thought I was when I shared the pizza with him and told him the plan.

"Wait a second," said Grayson. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Oh, fuck.

"Yeah, I met you. When I spoke at your church," Grayson said softly and reassuringly, trying to calm the situation down. These guys knowing each other outside was not good for me. It meant an increased chance of getting caught, and an increased chance that Buddy would have other motives beyond sticking to my plan.

"Well, well, well, so Mr. Hot Shot here remembers. You came to talk to us about how we had to send money to help with hurricane relief in some foreign country. And my wife wrote you a check for $100. But where the hell were you when 5 of us in the congregation lost our jobs? Where were you, Mr. Hot Shot? Golfing at your country club? Driving your fancy Escalade? Buying your wife fake tits? Answer me, you rich motherfucker!" Buddy was screaming at the top of his lungs and had a vein practically about to pop in his forehead. He had the gun right to Grayson's temple, and Grayson closed his eyes and seemed to be saying a silent prayer. "I can't even afford new sneakers for my children and here you are walking around in a fucking $3,000 suit!"

"Hey, mister," I whispered softly. "Why don't you just let us give you some money and get out of here? And we'll never tell anybody that you were ever here." Frankly, I was almost ready to cut my losses. I was having second thoughts and wondering if I was in over my head.

I let out an involuntary, high-pitched, girlish yelp as he grabbed me and wrapped one arm around my neck, and with the other arm, pointed the gun at my temple. The cold metal dug into my head. It was most likely loaded, this dude suddenly seemed far too insane, and I was afraid it could even accidentally go off. I realized I was actually close to death, and I was terrified. What a horrible idea this had all been.

"Please, there's no need to hurt him. I know you're a good man, and you want to set a good example for your kids." Grayson said. "Just let us go, and it'll be like you were never here. I swear to you, as a fellow Christian."

"I'm tired of looking at that fucking suit. Did you know that suit was probably more expensive than what a whole month's rent costs me? Take off that suit, motherfucker, or your little friend here gets it," Buddy ordered.

"OK," Grayson said, making a calming gesture with his hands. He looked no less dignified as he untied and slipped off his fancy Armani shoes to reveal classy argyle socks beneath, and carefully removed his tie, leaving his smooth, clean-shaven neck bare. I hoped I would get a chance to kiss that gorgeous Adam's Apple at some point tonight... then I snapped myself back into the moment and remembered the goal at this point was just not to die.

He still looked manly and confident as he worked to undo the buttons on his shirt, ultimately revealing a v-neck white undershirt beneath. I could make out the very top of the concavity between his pecs, the part of him where I really wished I could rest my head, so he could make me feel safe from psychotic Buddy. His biceps looked spectacular; they were popping out of his sleeves. He was very jacked for a forty-something father of five. Finally, I heard him pull the zipper of his flat front pants down. God, I loved the sound of a man's zipper being pulled down. Grayson stepped out of his pants and neatly folded them up on a chair. He stood before us in his white undershirt, flannel boxer shorts, and argyle socks. I couldn't believe that I had a front row seat to this strip show, and all that was left between me and everything I'd been dreaming about was a small piece of fabric.

"Come on, Mr. Hot Shot," Buddy said impatiently. "Undershirt and underwear too."

"Now wait a minute," Grayson said, argumentatively. Shit, I'd worried about this. Grayson was not the kind of man to take orders. That's what attracted me to him in the first place. But it posed a problem in that it disrupted my plans, and also because I didn't need him doing anything that would make Buddy even angrier.

I had no warning when, in a violent move, Buddy pistol whipped me. I was on the ground, seeing stars, and all I could hear was commotion and yelling. I thought I made out the words "strip or he dies," but I had ringing in my ears, my vision was blurry, and my nose was bleeding. It took me a minute or two to regain my senses. But when I rose from the ground, I saw the most glorious sight of my life.

Grayson stood before me, wearing nothing but his argyle socks.

Amazingly, the look on Grayson's face remained dignified, betraying only concern for me and no fear for himself. This was exactly what made him such a pinnacle of masculinity.

His body was amazing, as I expected it would be. I really hoped I would get the chance to grab onto those incredible pecs to support myself while I bounced up and down on his dick.