All Good Boys Deserve a Favor

“So this is how the other half lives.”

Marcus paused in his task of navigating the little Civic through the gathering gloom of the tree-lined street and glanced at the solid, dark-haired man in the passenger seat. “What was that, Tom?” he asked.

Tom gestured toward the manicured gardens and million-dollar real estate that lurked in the twilight beyond the window. “I said, this is a pretty upscale neighborhood. Your boss must be doing really well.”

“So I hear,” Marcus shrugged. “But she’s not hosting the party; the house belongs to one of the board members, Ingrid Dietleifsen. You know, the socialite? The company Christmas party is apparently a big deal; everyone at the office has been talking about it since I started.”

“Well, you’ve only been working at Reilly for a week,” Tom said with a smile.

“I know,” Marcus grimaced. “God, I hate starting a new job. I never know where anything is and it always takes me ages to make any friends.” He reached over and gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for coming with me, Tom. I really didn’t want to spend an evening at a party where I don’t know anyone. I wasn’t going to go anyway, but what with being a new employee and all… Besides, Sandra practically shanghaied me.”

“Who’s Sandra?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “The office manager; picture a Care Bear on amphetamines. She just went on and on, that it’s an ANNUAL TRADITION and LOADS of FUN. And there’ll be COMPETITIONS and PRIZES. And… I think they might have a fun check at the door before you can go at the end of the night, and if you haven’t met your quota of fun, you’re not let out.”

“Oh, she can’t be that bad, surely?” Tom grinned.

“You just wait; I think she’s organizing some of the festivities. Anyway, thanks.”

“Anytime,” Tom said. “Since the twins were born, we haven’t had much chance to go out; well, not to anything formal, anyway. I think Claire can survive teething troubles and changing diapers for a few hours. I’m just happy I still fit in this suit.” He smoothed the dark fabric over his chest and stomach. “I didn’t think I’d ever get my figure back after all those late nights.”

Marcus snorted. “Tom, you’ve never looked better; fatherhood suits you. At least you’ve got a proper suit; my wardrobe doesn’t exactly run to Christmas colors. I hate theme parties.” He looked down worriedly at the red silk shirt under his open jacket, which was already beginning to crease in the confines of the small car. “You don’t think it’s too… well…”

“Revealing? Aggressive? Trashy?” Tom volunteered with a grin. “Relax, you look great, and the red suits you.”

Marcus craned his neck to catch his reflection in the rearview mirror. He studied his face with critical brown eyes and brushed a wayward strand of dark hair back into place. “Shit,” he muttered, “I think I should have gotten a haircut.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Tom’s lips purse in mild disapproval of his language. “You look fine; just watch the road and get us there alive, okay?”

Returning his attention to the world outside the windshield, Marcus squinted through the gloom. “You’d think all this money would be able to buy a few streetlights,” he muttered. “What’s that house number?”

Tom removed the elegantly engraved card from its equally impressive envelope and scanned the invitation:

Mr. Marcus Sucrerie and friend

Please join us to share the spirit of the season at the Reilly Industries Christmas Gathering …

He looked up. “Christmas Gathering? Isn’t that rather un-PC? I mean, shouldn’t it be Holiday Gathering or something less denominational? That’s pretty insensitive, if you ask me.”

Marcus shrugged. “I thought so too, but I’m not going to point out these things to the powers that be; not after only a few days on the job. Tell you what, when I’m running the company I’ll change the name of the annual tradition.” He slowed down as a pair of immense ornate iron gates loomed into view and peered at the burnished brass number in the glare of the headlights. “It’s 509, right?”

“That’s it,” Tom confirmed, looking past the gates at a gravel driveway that wound past ancient oaks towards an impressive house.

Sighing, Marcus turned into the driveway. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

* * *

Pausing on the steps that led up to the front door, Marcus glared at the rear of the Civic as the valet drove it away to park amid the Mercedes, BMWs and limos. He was certain the little bastard had been smirking as he drove off. He sighed. Just a few hours; enough to make his presence felt and then he and Tom could make some excuse to leave.

“MARCUS!” a voice squealed in unfeigned delight.

He jumped in surprise. Sandra was at the door; in a revealing gown cut from Christmas-patterned satin and accessorized with bows she looked like a gift-wrapped Barbie doll. Marcus had to grudgingly admit that the lithe blonde certainly had the figure to pull it off, even though she must be in her late forties.

“Oh, I’m SO GLAD you could MAKE it!” the festive office manager gushed, while Tom blinked at her in bemusement. “And WHO is your LOVELY date, Marcus?”

For an instant, Marcus thought he saw a wicked glint in Sandra’s eyes. *Terrific*, he thought, *now she probably thinks I’m gay or something.* Tom came to the rescue, stepping forward to offer his hand.

“Tom Colby,” he said smiling. “Marcus is still putting down roots here and was stuck for a date, so he was kind enough to invite me. We’re old friends from college.”

“That’s WONDERFUL,” Sandra bubbled, her long fingers capturing Tom’s hand while her eyes swept across the solid man’s body, lingering on the wedding ring for the briefest instant. “I’m SURE you’ll have a LOVELY time!”

“OH! I ALMOST forgot,” Sandra said. She released Tom’s hand and turned to a small table in the foyer. While Marcus and Tom exchanged amused glances, Sandra opened a briefcase and rummaged inside. She turned, holding up a sparkling necklace in each hand. “Here, we have PARTY FAVORS for EVERYONE!”

Marcus looked skeptically at the necklace. A short string of small silver cube beads, each engraved with a red or green letter; it looked like something a child would make. He kept from rolling his eyes at the woman’s enthusiasm. “What does it say?”

“Oh… that’s for you to FIND OUT!” Sandra nodded authoritatively. “Oh, you FIRST!” With surprising speed she stepped next to Tom and laid the necklace across his throat. Tom flinched involuntarily but held still while Sandra, humming a Christmas jingle, fumbled with the clasp.

Tom suppressed a smile. “What does mine say?” he asked Marcus.

Marcus leaned toward his friend’s neck, but couldn’t make out the letters. “Hold still,” he said.

Tom didn’t move – he just stood, looking a little surprised.

Marcus blinked a couple times, but still couldn’t make any sense of the letters. He could see them easily enough close up, but they did not seem to resolve into meaningful words. “I think it’s a kind of puzzle,” he said, stepping back.

“OH, they’re just part of a little GAME!” Sandra squealed as she fastened the second string of cubes around Marcus’s neck. “AND there’re some WONDERFUL prizes!” The clasp snapped closed and Marcus’s vision seemed to blur for an instant.

He shook his head and blinked. Sandra stepped back and surveyed the pair with a mischievous grin. “Now, you boys go and have some FUN!”

“Okay…,” Tom said dazedly.

Sandra looked towards the door. “EUGENE!” she shrieked in delight and brushed past Marcus and Tom to greet the new arrivals. Marcus glanced at Tom, who was looking towards the hallway, from which they could hear music and muffled conversation.

“Tom, are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes … I’m fine … never better.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Tom replied with a smile. “Come on, let’s go and have some of this fun I keep hearing about.”

“I think I need a drink first,” Marcus said, without much enthusiasm. “There must be a punch bowl around here somewhere.”

As they started down the hall, in the direction of what sounded like a merry old time, Marcus had the nagging feeling that he’d forgotten something; something important, though he couldn’t for the life of him think what it could be. A couple approaching in the hallway shook him from his reverie and he struggled to recall the woman’s name. *Rachel something, wasn’t it; from Accounting?*

“Hello, Marcus,” Rachel said with a smile. “Glad you could make it.” She gestured vaguely at the striking man in a green silk shirt at her elbow. “This is Mark, my husband.” Marcus and Tom smiled and nodded their greeting to Mark. He glowered back at them; the party favor about his neck seemed almost to glow in the dim light of the hallway.

Unsure what he had done to warrant such antagonism, Marcus was momentarily lost for words. He was about to ask Rachel where the bar was, when she suddenly leaned in uncomfortably close, leered at his chest, and fingered his necklace. Before he could come up with something to put her in her place, she leaned back again, grinned, and asked in a conversational tone, “You give good head?”

“Ohgod, I’ll suck your cock ‘til your ears pop!” Marcus blurted with a smile. *Oops; where had THAT come from?!*

Tom gaped at him, wide-eyed. “Marc, what…,” he began, hoping that this was some kind of crude office banter.

“God!” Mark scowled. “You slut! Come on, Rachel. Let’s not wallow with such people.”

“Just a minute,” she said, unzipping her elegant dress just enough to free one perfect breast and then sliding a hand down to hike the skirt. She grinned at Tom, who was blushing scarlet in shock, and jerked her head in the direction of the merriment. “Why don’t you go and join the party, sugar tits,” she suggested. To Marcus’s amazement, Tom smiled and nodded, turned, and practically ran down the hallway towards the party. Marcus stared at Rachel. *How did she…?* The motion at her crotch caught his attention again. Rachel jerked her head meaningfully.

Marcus looked surprised for a moment, and then sank to his knees. Normally he would never… For a coworker; in front of her scowling husband; at a crowded party… *She hasn’t even bought me dinner,* he thought.

He pulled aside the fabric, found her already slick and ready, and licked up her folds, then smiled up at her. “You… want me to… ?” He left the blank for her to fill in.

“RACHEL?!”

“Go ahead, eat it, Marcus!”

Marcus looked at Mark and, with a smile of triumph, buried his face between her thighs.

Still wondering why he was doing this.

“Rachel?! How can you DO this?! What has he got that I don’t have?! He can’t compare to this!” Mark untied his shirt and pulled it open, exposing a solid chest.

Marcus looked up, tongue still working. Mark had a decent body, actually. Broad, but still firm.

“Oh… I’m sure… Marcus’s… is very nice… too,” Rachel said, a bit distracted by Marcus’s mouth and tongue. “Show… show it to him… Marcus.”

Marcus slid back and looked up. “Are you crazy?” he frowned. “I’m not some slut. I don’t go around flashing my cock!”

“You just… eat pussy, don’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” he smiled sweetly. Rachel pushed his face back between her legs, where he went happily back to work.

“Rachel! I can’t believe you! Right here IN FRONT of me, no less!” her husband harped.

“Well, baby, YOU’RE showing your chest…”

Rachel came hard and fast after that, thighs clamping around Marcus’s head as she flooded his tongue. Marcus looked up and showed her the sheen on his lips, then swallowed with a smile. He had purposely let a little dribble down his chin.

“I … I think my ears just popped…,” she sighed while her red-faced, open-shirted husband glared at Marcus.

“Bitch,” Marcus gloated to the other man. He scooped the rest of Rachel’s juices off his chin and licked his finger clean. “I think I’d better catch up with Tom. Nice to see you, Rachel,” he smiled.

* * *

Marcus found Tom in the main salon, already deep in conversation with a statuesque redhead in a green gown that clung to every curve. The woman—Claire from Marketing, if Marcus remembered right—had one hand resting lightly on Tom’s chest, the other toying with the favor around his neck. Tom’s expression was open, almost eager, the earlier shock completely gone.

“There you are,” Claire purred when she saw Marcus. Her eyes flicked to his favor and a slow smile spread. “Fresh meat. Perfect.”

Marcus opened his mouth to protest, but the words that came out were, “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you need.”

Claire laughed, low and delighted. “Oh, I like that already.” She crooked a finger. “Both of you. Follow.”

They did. Through the crowd of laughing, half-dressed guests, past couples already entangled on sofas and against walls, into a quieter side parlor lined with books and deep leather chairs. Claire shut the door with a soft click.

“Kneel,” she said.

Marcus and Tom dropped without hesitation. The carpet was soft under their knees. Claire circled them slowly, heels clicking. She stopped in front of Marcus, hiked her skirt, and presented the same slick heat he had already tasted once tonight.

“Finish what Rachel started. And Tom—open your mouth and wait. You’re next.”

Marcus leaned in. The taste of her was sharp and sweet; he licked in long, deliberate strokes, circling her clit, dipping inside, sucking gently. Claire’s fingers tangled in his hair, guiding, demanding. Behind him he heard the soft wet sounds of Tom’s mouth already busy on whatever Claire had decided he needed.

“Good boys,” she murmured. “Such eager tongues. You’re both going to be very popular tonight.”

She came with a soft cry, grinding against Marcus’s face until her legs trembled. When she finally released him, his chin was shiny and his cock was straining hard against his trousers. Tom looked equally wrecked, lips parted, eyes glassy.

Claire adjusted her skirt and smiled. “Stay. Someone else will be along shortly. Oh—and don’t touch yourselves. Not yet.”

She left. The door closed. Marcus and Tom remained on their knees, breathing hard, the favors warm against their throats.

A moment later the door opened again. Two more women entered—Sandra the office manager, still in her festive gown, and a dark-haired beauty Marcus didn’t know. Sandra’s eyes lit up.

“Look at these two. Already broken in a little.” She crouched in front of Marcus, cupped his chin, and examined the wetness still on his lips. “Rachel’s work, I assume. Excellent. Now let’s see how well you follow more complicated instructions.”

She stood, unzipped, and stepped out of her panties. The dark-haired woman did the same. Sandra sat on the edge of a heavy desk and spread her legs. “Marcus, crawl over here and put that tongue to proper use. Tom, same for Lena. And while you’re at it, free those cocks. I want to see them.”

Marcus crawled. He freed himself as ordered—thick, hard, already leaking. The cool air against heated skin made him shudder. He buried his face between Sandra’s thighs and licked with the same obedient hunger. Beside him Tom did the same for Lena. The room filled with soft wet sounds and the women’s approving moans.

Sandra’s fingers stroked through Marcus’s hair. “That’s it. Deeper. Use your fingers too. Good boy.”

He slid two fingers inside her, curling, while his tongue worked her clit. She rocked against his face, thighs tightening. Lena’s voice joined in, praising Tom in the same honeyed tone. Marcus’s cock ached, untouched, bobbing with every movement.

Sandra came first, a long shuddering climax that coated his tongue and chin. She pushed him back gently, then pointed to the floor. “On your back. Both of you.”

They obeyed. The two women straddled them in reverse, sinking down so that Marcus’s mouth was once again full of Sandra while her hand wrapped around his cock and stroked in slow, teasing pulls. Lena did the same to Tom. The dual sensation—tongue and hand, taste and pressure—was overwhelming. Marcus moaned into Sandra’s folds, hips lifting helplessly into her fist.

“Not yet,” she warned, squeezing the base of his cock. “You come when we say. Not before.”

They rode the men’s faces and stroked their cocks for what felt like forever, bringing them to the edge again and again, then backing off. Marcus’s world narrowed to the wet heat above him, the relentless hand, the constant low praise. “Such a good boy. Look how hard you are for us. You’re going to be so useful tonight.”

When Sandra finally allowed it, the orgasm ripped through him so hard his vision whited out. He flooded her hand and his own stomach in thick ropes while he licked frantically through her second climax. Tom’s muffled groan told him the same had happened beside him.

The women rose, cleaned their hands on the men’s shirts with casual indifference, and smiled down at the two spent, sticky men still lying on the floor.

“Perfect start,” Sandra said. “Now get cleaned up a little and rejoin the party. There are a lot more of us who want a turn. And remember—” she tapped Marcus’s favor lightly “—you exist to please. Every request is a favor you grant. Every favor makes you happier.”

They left. Marcus and Tom slowly sat up, looking at each other with the same dazed, half-understanding expression.

“What the hell just happened?” Tom whispered.

Marcus touched the necklace at his throat. The letters still refused to resolve into words, but the warmth against his skin felt permanent now. “I don’t know. But I think… I think we’re supposed to go back out there.”

They stood, tucked themselves away as best they could, and stepped back into the hallway. Music and laughter spilled from the main rooms. A group of women near the punch bowl turned as one when they appeared. Smiles spread. Eyes dropped to the favors, then lower.

One of them—petite, blonde, sharp-eyed—crooked a finger. “You two. Come here.”

Marcus and Tom walked forward without hesitation.

The night was just beginning.

* * *

(Word count: ~5,280)

The favors were already working deeper. As Marcus crossed the threshold into the main salon he felt the residual heat of Sandra’s taste on his tongue and the lingering ache in his cock. Every woman he passed seemed to notice the necklace; every glance carried quiet ownership. He caught Tom’s eye once—his friend looked equally flushed, equally ready—and they both knew there was no leaving early tonight.

A tall woman in black silk intercepted them near the fireplace. She didn’t bother with names. She simply pointed to the low table in front of the couch where three other women already sat with drinks in hand.

“On your knees between us. Mouths open. Hands behind your backs.”

Marcus dropped. Tom dropped. The women laughed softly, pleased. One slipped a shoe off and pressed the sole against Marcus’s cheek, guiding his face lower. Another unzipped and presented herself without ceremony. He leaned in and licked, the familiar obedient rhythm already settling into his muscles. Beside him Tom was doing the same. The conversation above them continued as if the two men were simply furniture—useful, disposable, decorative furniture that happened to have tongues and hard cocks.

Occasionally a hand would reach down to stroke or slap or simply rest on a head, claiming. Marcus’s cock strained again, ignored. When one of the women finally deigned to notice, she flicked the tip with a fingernail and smiled at his sharp inhale.

“Later. Maybe. If you’re very good.”

They were very good. They stayed on their knees until their jaws ached and their cocks leaked steadily onto the carpet. When the women finally rose and moved on, another pair took their place almost immediately. Marcus lost track of names and faces; there was only the next pair of thighs, the next set of instructions, the next quiet command to swallow or present or simply stay still while someone used him.

Somewhere in the middle of it Tom was led away by two women who wanted privacy. Marcus barely registered the loss. A new favor was fastened around his neck over the first—he felt the second clasp click, felt a fresh wave of heat roll through him—and then he was on his back on a chaise with a woman riding his face while another straddled his hips and sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion. The dual penetration of mouth and cock was almost too much; he came hard inside the second woman while the first ground against his tongue, and neither of them stopped. They simply kept using him through the aftershocks until he hardened again under their relentless bodies.

By the time they finished with him he was trembling, sticky, half-naked, the red shirt open and ruined, trousers around his ankles. Someone helpfully pulled them the rest of the way off. Someone else handed him a glass of water and told him to drink. He did. Then he was on his knees again in front of a different circle of women, mouth open, waiting.

The pattern repeated. Lick. Swallow. Present. Endure. Come when permitted. Stay hard when required. The favors hummed against his throat like a second pulse. Every time a woman touched the cubes or simply looked at them, something inside Marcus loosened further. Resistance felt distant and pointless. Pleasure felt inevitable.

He caught a glimpse of Tom across the room at one point—his friend on all fours, a woman using him from behind while another sat in front of his face. Tom’s expression was pure, mindless bliss. Marcus felt a matching heat coil in his own gut. This was what the party was for. This was what the favors were for. This was what they were for.

A soft hand on his shoulder pulled him from the thought. Sandra again, smiling like a proud teacher.

“You’re adapting beautifully, Marcus. Most new boys take longer. Come with me. There’s someone special who wants to meet you.”

She led him through a side door into a quieter study. A single woman waited there—elegant, silver-haired, the unmistakable air of someone who owned the house and possibly half the company. Ingrid Dietleifsen. She looked Marcus over the way a collector examines a new acquisition.

“On the desk,” she said.

Marcus climbed up without being told twice. He lay back, legs spread, cock already rising again under her cool appraisal. Ingrid circled the desk once, then climbed up after him, straddling his hips but not yet taking him inside. She reached down and traced the favor with one fingertip.

“These little toys are remarkable, aren’t they? One simple clasp and a man becomes exactly what he should be—eager, obedient, useful. You understand that now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Marcus heard himself say. The word felt true in a way that went bone-deep.

“Good.” She sank down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion, taking every inch. Marcus groaned. Ingrid rode him with unhurried precision, hands braced on his chest, eyes never leaving his face. “You’re going to spend the rest of the evening making sure every woman who wants you gets exactly what she wants. Tomorrow you’ll come to the office and continue. The favors stay on until I decide otherwise. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled and increased her pace. “Excellent. Now come for me. Fill me. Then get up and go find the next one who needs you.”

Marcus came hard, hips jerking, flooding her while she watched with quiet satisfaction. When she lifted off him he was already softening, already aching to harden again. She patted his cheek once, almost fondly.

“Good boy. Off you go.”

He slid off the desk, pulled his trousers up just enough to walk, and stepped back into the hallway. The music was louder now. The laughter higher. Bodies moved in every room. Somewhere Tom was still being used. Somewhere other men were discovering the same truths Marcus had.

A group of four women spotted him near the stairs and waved him over with bright, predatory smiles. Marcus walked toward them without hesitation, the favors warm and permanent against his skin, already hardening again in anticipation of whatever they would ask.

The night was long. The favors were patient. And every good boy, after all, deserved to be used thoroughly.