Chapter 17

The boss’s text arrived Thursday afternoon while I was wrapping up the San Francisco merger summary: Saturday night. My estate. 8 p.m. Private celebration. Dress sharp. No plus-one.

No explanation. No mention of Molly. Just the command.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. The last celebration had been chaotic—bodies everywhere, no boundaries, the kind of night that left you sore and floating for days. Molly had been there then, grounding the excess. This time I’d be walking in alone.

I texted her anyway: Boss invited me to the estate Saturday. Solo.

Her reply was quick: The celebration thing?

Me: Yeah. No +1.

A pause. Then: …Interesting. Those nights get intense. Be careful. Don’t let him turn you into just another hole.

Me: I won’t.

Her: Text me when you’re home. I want every filthy detail.

Me: Promise.

The rest of the week crawled. Friday dragged through meetings and emails; I caught myself zoning out during a call, mind replaying the last party—the stretch, the heat, the way everyone’s eyes had turned hungry when clothes started coming off. Saturday morning I hit the gym hard, trying to burn off the nervous energy. Afternoon: long shower, careful shave (everywhere, per standing orders), then the tux—navy, tailored sharp, purple briefs underneath. The fabric hugged me tight, the color vivid against my skin. I checked the mirror one last time: bow tie straight, hair neat, cock already half-hard just from anticipation.

The car service arrived at 7:30. I slid into the back seat, heart thumping. The estate loomed—sprawling modern mansion, lights glowing from every window. Valet took the car; security at the door checked IDs discreetly. Inside: low music, champagne flutes circulating on trays, about two dozen people mingling in designer clothes. Men mostly—powerful types in suits—but a few women too, all sharp and stunning. Races mixed: white execs like the boss, a couple of Black investors laughing by the bar, an Asian guy in glasses nursing a drink, Latino clients chatting in a corner.

The boss spotted us immediately, waved us over. He was with three men: Victor (my Chicago hookup, smirking knowingly), a tall Black guy in a charcoal suit—broad shoulders, easy confidence—and the Asian man from earlier, slim and polished, looking a little out of his depth.

“Glad you made it,” the boss said, clapping my shoulder. “You know Victor. This is Darius—runs our East Coast ops.” He nodded to the Black guy. “And Kenji—my counterpart’s assistant from Tokyo. Similar… arrangement to yours.”

Darius grinned, shaking my hand firm. “Heard about you. Boss says you’re the closer.”

Kenji bowed slightly, eyes flicking down my body. “Pleasure.”

The boss looked at me, "Tonight’s about rewarding loyalty. And closing loose ends.”

I took a sip. “Loose ends?”

He smiled thinly. “Clients who’ve been asking about you. Victor’s here. Darius flew in from New York. A couple others. They want the full experience.”

My cock twitched. “And me?”

“You’re the main event.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “No safe word unless emergency. They know your limits. But if it gets too much, say ‘merlot’ and it stops. Otherwise… enjoy.”

Drinks flowed. Small talk turned flirty. Darius cornered me by the bar: “So, what’s your specialty? Boss brags about that throat of yours.”

I sipped my scotch. “Deep. And eager.”

His eyes darkened. “Show me later?”

“Depends on the offer.”

He leaned in. “Ten inches. Thick. You’ll feel it for days.”

My mouth watered. “Sold.”

An hour in, the boss clinked a glass. “Gentlemen—and ladies—time to move downstairs. The real party starts now.”He clapped my shoulder once and melted back into the crowd, leaving me standing in the middle of the room next to Kenji in a room full of predators who already knew my name.

They circled us both—Kenji and me—standing side by side.

“Two little assistants tonight,” Darius rumbled, eyes flicking between us. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

“Strip them,” Reid ordered.

Hands everywhere—Victor undoing my bow tie, Mateo yanking my jacket off, Reid unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate slowness. Kenji’s clothes came off just as fast—shirt, pants, revealing slim, smooth body and tiny briefs barely containing his small cock.

When they reached our pants, Kenji knelt and pulled mine down, revealing the purple briefs. Victor whistled. “Pretty little package.”

Reid laughed, tugging Kenji’s briefs aside. “And this one’s even smaller. Look at that tiny thing.”

Kenji flushed deep red, cock twitching—barely four inches hard.

Heat flooded my face—real shame mixing with arousal. They pushed us both to our knees in the center, side by side.

Darius unzipped first. His cock sprang out—eleven inches of thick, veiny black meat, already leaking. “Open wide, both of you.”

We did. He fed it to me first—stretching my lips, sliding over my tongue, hitting the back of my throat on the third push. I gagged; he held my head.

“That’s it. **** on a real man’s cock. Look at your little white dick—could never do this.”

He pulled out, slick with spit, and turned to Kenji. “Your turn, tiny.”

Kenji’s eyes widened. He opened wide; Darius pushed in—gentler at first, but Kenji still gagged hard, tears pricking his eyes.

“Pathetic,” Darius growled. “Two tiny-dick sluts fighting over one real cock.”

Victor knelt beside us, stroking himself—thick, seven inches, uncut. “Suck mine next. Show me you’re worth the hype.”

They took turns—Victor deep but gentle in my mouth, Mateo rougher with Kenji, making him gag and drool. Reid taunted: “Look at them struggle. Pathetic. Bet neither can make themselves come without a real cock in their ass.”

Kenji moaned around Mateo’s dick, tiny cock leaking pre-cum. I reached over, wrapped my hand around his small shaft—stroking gently. He whimpered against the cock in his mouth.

Darius laughed. “Look at that—tiny Asian boy getting jerked off by the tiny white boy. Adorable.”

After minutes of throat-fucking, they pulled us up, bent us over the wide leather ottoman side by side—asses exposed, briefs yanked to our ankles.

Victor went first in me—lubed up, pushed in slow. “Tight little hole. Perfect for a small-dick slut.”

Mateo took Kenji—thicker, shorter, relentless. “Take it, puta. This is what you’re for.”

They fucked us steady—deep, controlled—while Darius fed us his monster again, alternating between our mouths. Spit-roasted side by side, moaning, drooling, cocks leaking onto the leather.

Reid knelt in front of us, slapping our faces lightly with his cock. “Beg for it, tinies.”

“Please,” I gasped between thrusts. “Please fuck my mouth… your cock’s so much better than mine…”

Kenji echoed, voice muffled: “Please… so small… need real cock…”

Reid did—hard, fast, making us gag and tear up.

Darius stayed close, stroking his massive length. “Come for us. Show how useless your little cocks are.”

I shattered first—cum spurting across the ottoman. Kenji followed seconds later—tiny spurts, whimpering as Mateo pounded him.

Victor came next—deep in my ass. “Take it, slut.”

Mateo filled Kenji—hot pulses leaking out as he pulled free.

Darius took his place in me—massive head pressing in. “Now you really feel it.”

The stretch was brutal—burning, exquisite. I cried out; he didn’t stop. Inch by thick inch until he bottomed out, balls against mine.

“Fuck—tight,” he growled. “This ass was made for big black cock.”

He fucked me hard—long, punishing strokes that rocked my whole body. Victor and Reid took turns in my mouth; Mateo jerked off over Kenji’s back, painting stripes across his skin.

Kenji stayed beside me, sucking my spent cock clean, whispering, “So small… so pretty when it’s soft…”

Darius’s rhythm faltered. “Gonna fill you up, slut. Take every drop.”

He slammed deep and came—flooding me, so much it leaked out around his shaft, running down my thighs. When he pulled out, cum poured from my hole.

Reid laughed. “Look at that gape. Ruined by a real man.”

They weren’t done.

Victor flipped me onto my back—legs spread wide. He slid back in, easy now, fucked me slow while jerking my oversensitive cock.

“Come again,” he ordered. “Show them how pathetic you look when you squirt with a real dick inside you.”

I did—weak, trembling spurts—while he laughed and filled me again.

Mateo took Kenji’s turn—hard, fast, calling him every filthy name in Spanish while he unloaded deep.

When they finally stepped back, we were wrecks—covered in cum, asses leaking, cocks soft and spent, purple briefs ruined around our ankles.

The boss watched from the edge the whole time—never joining, just stroking himself slowly through his slacks. When the others drifted away, he approached.

He knelt, wiped our faces gently with warm cloths.

“Good boys,” he murmured. “You took it all.”

Kenji looked up—dazed, floating. I managed a weak smile.

The boss helped us up, wrapped us in robes, led us to a quiet side room with blankets. “Rest. Car will take you home when you’re ready.”

I collapsed beside Kenji—still leaking, still trembling.

Hours later—cleaned up, dressed—I texted Molly from the backseat:

Home soon. Alive. Sore. Full story tomorrow.

Her reply: Can’t wait. Proud of you. And… maybe a little jealous. But mostly turned on. Come straight to my place. I want to taste them on you.

I smiled into the dark.

Some lines were gone.

Others were just getting started.