Work Text:
Misha Marovitch was a great employee. He was not a good coworker, but he was a good employee. People didn’t start conversations with him in the breakroom, but they did listen to his criticism and advice. They didn’t compliment his work, but they did come to him for help. Misha liked being respected by and useful to his coworkers. It almost made up for his inability to connect with them as people.
So when a handful of his coworkers approached him as he was leaving work to ask for his help with a software project they were working on, Misha said yes. And to leave the flash drive on his desk because he wasn’t going to do it outside work hours, they should know his time is too valuable for that.
The next morning, after easily burning through his morning tasks, Misha plugged the flash drive into his computer and scanned it. He wouldn’t put it past most of his coworkers to give him a virus. He didn’t trust any of them as far as he could throw them, and he was a small man. Luckily for them, the scan came back clean. He clicked the text file his coworkers had left for him to read and read it carefully. Apparently the project was a sort of training video software designed to be more secure than the common web-hosted ones, he should wear headphones while using it, and to make sure to do it in sessions of at least an hour at a time. The last one was certainly annoying, but the parenthetical note next to it specified that it was because of a programming issue that they were working on, so Misha supposed he could put up with it for now.
He opened the executable file.
Then Misha found himself blinking, as if waking himself up from a brief nap. He was staring at a screen that said Congratulations! with a few lines of test code beneath it, but he could not remember watching a single video or answering a single question. But the clock still said it was an hour later…maybe he’d misread it. He closed the window and re-opened the executable.
Again he found himself blinking back into awareness to a Congratulations! screen. An hour had certainly passed this time. Strange…but Misha couldn’t bring himself to be too concerned. His mind sort of…slipped over the idea…
He was about to automatically open the program again when Henry, lead of the little team working on the software project, poked his head around the corner.
“Marovitch?” he asked with a smile.
“Knock first,” Misha snapped, taking off his headphones. “I have that sign for a reason.” Misha didn’t have an office, necessarily, but his cubicle was different from the rest, mostly closed off and just missing a door. He enjoyed the privacy. Everyone else enjoyed that he couldn’t peek over at their computers and critique their work unprompted as easily anymore.
“Sorry,” Henry chuckled. “Just excited. I have a gift card for that deli down the street. Can I treat you to a sandwich?”
Misha narrowed his eyes. He liked Henry, Henry was affable and competent and his beard, smile, and plush body did him no disservice. He was about twice Misha’s age, and time had only done him favors. He was often the most patient with Misha, but Misha was not under the impression that Henry liked him. So why was he offering?
Maybe he wanted to fuck Misha.
Where had that come from? Sure, Misha had always found Henry attractive. In private, desperate moments, he’d thought about it. But just as he had no reason to think Henry liked him, he had no reason to think Henry found him attractive. But why else would he offer? And it would be great if Henry wanted to fuck him…if he wanted to get a handful of Misha’s hair and tug as he —
Henry cleared his throat. “So? I know you’re busy, but…”
Misha realized with horror that he’d been staring at Henry’s crotch. He immediately tore his eyes away and hoped desperately that Henry hadn’t noticed that or the heavy flush of his face. Then he stood up and grabbed his coat.
“Fine. As long as you’re paying.”
Lunch was…nice. Surprisingly so. Henry was remarkably patient with Misha’s attitude and didn’t even seem offended when the cashier clearly thought Misha was his young little boytoy. Conversation wasn’t the smoothest thing in the world, it never was when Misha was involved, but it wasn’t painfully stilted. And the sandwich was really good. Henry even treated him to one of the deli’s fancy cookies. By the time they had finished their food and walked back to the office, Misha was in a rare and remarkable good mood.
“Any thoughts on the program yet?” Henry asked when they got to Misha’s desk. He had the good grace to keep work-related questions to the workplace, unlike some of their other coworkers.
Misha shrugged off his coat and sat down at his computer. “Hmm. No, nothing stands out to me so far.”
“Can I set you up for a longer session? Maybe that will help you gather your thoughts.”
Why not? He didn’t have much to do today. Misha shrugged and rolled his chair back so Henry could reach his computer. He tried and somewhat succeeded at not staring at Henry’s broad back as he fiddled around on Misha’s computer.
“There we go. I’m excited to hear your feedback. Have a good rest of your day, Marovitch.”
“You can call me Misha,” said Misha, face hot.
Henry smiled, warm and kind. “Alright. Have a good rest of your day, Misha.”
As soon as he was gone, Misha put his head in his hands. God, how embarrassing. He hoped no one else got the impression that they were allowed to call him by his first name. And he hoped no one had paid much attention to Henry and him leaving for and returning from lunch together.
Whatever. He put on his headphones and opened the program.
This time he lost an hour and a half. Then he did it again. Then again, and by then it was time to go home.
When Misha got back to his apartment, he tried to start on dinner, but he couldn’t focus on anything. He was, quite simply, debilitatingly horny. Not an unfamiliar feeling, to be sure, Misha dealt with it all the time, like he assumed many other people in their 20’s did. Still. It was annoying.
Misha sighed and pulled up a delivery app on his phone. He could afford it, and delivery would take long enough that he could probably get off at least once before it arrived.
And he did. He threw off his pants, sat down on the couch (perks of living alone), and shoved a hand in his briefs. He wasn’t one to take his time, and he didn’t need to. He was already so fucking wet, jesus. It didn’t take long for him to reach his first orgasm, a good one, intense and satisfying. It left him a little hazy, like most good orgasms did.
It was satisfying, but he was still restless. Another couldn’t hurt. He kept rubbing at his oversensitive dick, his cunt soaking through his briefs. He thought about Henry. He thought about Henry’s big hands and belly and warm smile. He thought about what kind of lover Henry might be. He seemed like he’d be gentle, tender, attentive. Misha didn’t usually have sex with those kinds of people. Maybe he should change that. Maybe it would be nice to be treated like he was valuable, like he was precious — fuck! He came again, sharper and harder, shivering on the couch. The pleasant haze in his mind thickened. He felt soft and stupid with sensation.
He barely resisted the urge to keep touching himself. His food was almost here. He scrolled absently on his phone until it arrived, then took it from the delivery person with a smile. He tipped cash. Usually he wasn’t so nice with delivery people, but he was feeling friendlier, somehow, after his orgasm. He scarfed down the food so he could start jerking off again as soon as possible.
Misha spent the rest of the evening masturbating, every orgasm leaving him feeling a little stupider, a little softer. It was amazing. He even squirted once or twice, which he almost never did. Those orgasms in particular left him feeling dumb, as if he’d squirted out parts of his brain.
He was usually an insomniac, but that night he fell asleep easily, sated and content.
~~~
A few weeks went by. Misha spent most of his workday every day losing time to the program, stuck in an endless loop. It was strange…but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Henry took him to lunch more and more often. Misha daydreamed about Henry fucking him more and more often. Sometimes it was a real effort not to giggle and twirl his hair like some airheaded bitch when Henry talked to him.
All of Misha’s coworkers began to make conversation with him, not just Henry. In the breakroom, of course, but also in the elevator, at their desks, in the copy room, in the hallways. Misha couldn’t help preening under all the new attention. Everyone liked to stand close to him, close enough he could feel their body heat, and some were bold enough to touch him, to brush his hair behind his ear, to rub his upper arm, to place their hand on his back or hip as they left or walked by. Every touch made him flush and shiver. Every flush and shiver made people’s gazes darken.
He felt everyone’s gazes on him often now. Glued to his ass as he walked, his lips when he smiled, his legs when he leaned back and let them fall open in meetings. He didn’t contribute much to meetings nowadays. Usually whoever was next to him would start rubbing his thigh a few minutes in and he would spend the rest of it dizzy with heat and desire, chewing on his pen to satisfy his newfound oral fixation. Often they’d let their hand travel further and further up his thigh as the meeting progressed, but no one went as far as to even graze his soaked cunt.
His cunt was always soaked now. Every day when he got home he immediately kicked off his shoes, threw himself on his couch, and humped the armrest until he brought himself to a shaking orgasm. It never took very long. Every orgasm was filled with thoughts of all his coworkers, not just Henry, the way they stared at him, the way they touched him. As the afterglow faded, Misha wiped off his couch with a vague sense that he should feel weird about the ways his life had changed in the last few weeks.
He didn’t, though. No, Misha felt incredible. The world was bright and beautiful and pleasurable. The incidental touches of strangers no longer felt like sandpaper against his skin. People started conversations with him willingly now. And he barely had to do any work, which was good, because Misha had been forgetting how to do things lately. The other day he had to ask his coworker how to extract a zip file. She rested her hand on the back of his neck the entire time and let her breasts press against his side when she leaned in to demonstrate. By the time she was done, Misha was nearly delirious with lust. He quickly excused himself and rushed to the bathroom to jerk off. His orgasm left him with that now-familiar dumb haze, and when he got back to his computer, he realized he’d already forgotten how to extract zip files.
It felt good to forget things, Misha thought. It felt good to rely on his coworkers to get things done, something he wouldn’t have dreamed of weeks ago. They were all so patient with him, so kind. He got the feeling that a lot of them liked how much he needed their help.
He had just gotten to work, dressed in a little pencil skirt and a button down that would have been modest if he hadn’t left everything down to the sternum unbuttoned. He usually wouldn’t wear a skirt to work, he didn’t want anyone getting any ideas about what they could call him, but it just made his ass and legs look so good…and he wanted people to stare.
And they had. Misha had walked past the majority of his coworkers to get to his office and all of their eyes on him had felt so hot, so incredible, that by the time he’d sat down out of their view he was desperate to get off. It didn’t help that he’d gotten way more sensitive recently too, enough that just the feeling of his thighs brushing against each other was a little distracting.
He squirmed in his chair, staring absently at his blank computer screen as he tried fruitlessly to get some friction. Nothing worked. He glanced around. No one could really see him when he was in here…surely there was no harm. He rucked up his skirt until he could easily reach his cunt and gave himself a few tentative rubs through his tights. He wasn’t wearing underwear. No one noticed. Nothing happened. So he kept rubbing, slow and careful, trying his best to keep most of his body still. He used his free hand to move his mouse around as if he was being productive. His computer wasn’t even on yet.
Heat rose through his body, setting all of him ablaze and making him pant. He thought about how good it had felt to have everyone stare at him. He thought about the other day when one of his coworkers had rested his hand so low on Misha’s back that he might as well have been grabbing his ass. He wished someone would just grab his ass. He wish someone would just push him up against a wall and grope him and God, he just fucking — he needed to cum, nothing else in the world mattered —
“Misha?” Henry poked his head in.
“Hiiii,” Misha smiled. He couldn’t get his hand to stop rubbing his dick, it felt waaaay too good to stop, but he did manage to slow down. Hopefully Henry wouldn’t notice…Henry was so nice…and handsome…
Henry entered Misha’s office and walked to his desk. Misha didn’t have any chairs for visitors, so he stayed standing, towering above Misha. Misha’s dick twitched against his fingers and he barely resisted the urge to speed up again.
“You look great today,” said Henry, his gaze drifting to Misha’s flat, exposed chest. “Why don’t you stand up and give me a spin?”
“What? I…” Misha shivered and nearly moaned out loud as he approached his orgasm. But, almost without his permission, his hand finally parted from his cunt and he stood up. His skirt was still bunched around his hips, the nylon of his tights obviously shiny and slick between his thighs. He didn’t notice until he stepped out from behind his desk and Henry pulled the hem back down for him.
“There we go, nice and proper,” said Henry. His voice was affectionate in an almost paternal way that made Misha hot. His hands lingered on Misha’s hips for a moment before he pulled back and motioned for Misha to spin.
Face ablaze, Misha spun in a slow circle. Every spot Henry stared at burned with searing heat. Most of it was his ass. He resisted the urge to just bend over his desk and let Henry stare at it forever.
“Very pretty,” Henry said when Misha was facing him again. “You’ve always been a very pretty man, haven’t you, Misha?” He cupped Misha’s cheek with his hand.
Misha’s eyes fluttered with pleasure and he leaned into the touch. “Ummm…” He shifted back and forth on his heels, tugged restlessly at the hem of his skirt. He was so fucking close, if he could only…
“Oh, I’m sorry, it must be so hard for you to think right now,” Henry cooed.
Misha looked away in embarrassment, but he nodded. It was hard to think…and Henry was so nice for thinking of that…
“When I talk to you, the right response is ‘yes, daddy’ or ‘no, daddy’. Understand?”
What? Why…why would Misha say that? That wasn’t…his cunt fluttered at the idea, he couldn’t deny that, but…and Henry was old enough to be his father…His impending orgasm loomed over him, crushing all hope of maintaining any train of thought. He absently nuzzled into Henry’s hand.
“I asked if you understand, sweetheart.” Henry repeated patiently. He ran his rough thumb over Misha’s lips.
The sensation of foreign touch against the raw nerves of Misha’s lips was all it took to make him cum, sudden and violent and untouched. He collapsed forward into Henry’s arms and shook with pleasure, too out of his mind to even think of touching himself through it. He didn’t really need to, anyway. Just the feeling of Henry’s soft belly against him and big hands on his back was enough to make him cum so hard he squirted a bit, drenching his tights and dripping down his thighs. It dragged on and on as he drooled onto Henry’s shirt and barely managed to bite back pathetic whimpers.
When it finally ended, Misha felt as if he’d cum half his remaining brains out. He gasped for breath and reveled in the pulsing aftershocks.
Henry gently took his shoulders and coaxed him upright. “Did that feel good, darling? That looked like it felt good.” He smiled kindly.
Misha swallowed the copious drool pooled in his mouth. “Yes, daddy.”
That day, during lunch, one of Misha’s coworkers grabbed his ass for a moment as she walked by. It took him almost a minute to compose himself enough to walk again. That afternoon, in the copy room, a different coworker rested his hand on Misha’s shoulder and rubbed his thumb against Misha’s collarbone until Misha came a little. That evening, Henry offered to drive him home. Misha, completely forgetting about his own car that he’d driven there in, agreed immediately.
Unsurprisingly, Henry spent most of the car ride talking at an increasingly indisposed Misha as he steered with one hand and rubbed gently at Misha’s cunt with the other. By the time he pulled up in front of Misha’s building, Misha had already cum once against his fingers and was desperate to do so again.
“I’m gonna make a few changes to the office floorplan soon,” said Henry.
“Uh-huh,” Misha slurred, barely listening.
“You’re not going to have a private space anymore.”
Misha nodded. That would be good. People could stare at him more. He kept humping Henry’s hand.
“I’m gonna start picking you up and driving you home everyday, alright sweetheart?”
“Yes, daddy.” That was good too. Driving was starting to get hard for him, both because he didn’t understand parts of it anymore and because uneven roads made his body move in distracting ways, and he didn’t want to crash.
“Good, good. You’re being a very good boy.” Henry smiled affectionately.
Misha convulsed and squirted against the car seat.
~~
A couple more weeks passed. Misha’s coworkers got bolder. One cornered him in the breakroom, spun him around, and groped his ass until he collapsed against the wall. Another called him over to her desk and fingered his mouth until he fell to the floor and squirted all over the carpet. Another held him on her lap for the entirety of a meeting, keeping his face pressed into her breasts.
Nobody but Henry touched his cunt. Every morning Henry would pick him up, and the drive to work was usually just filled with casual conversation, but every night when Henry drove him home, he steered with one hand and let Misha grind against the other. He kept a towel on the passenger seat now, just for Misha.
One night, Henry didn’t drive him home. The car stopped and Misha blinked himself out of his orgasmic haze to see that they were far from his downtown apartment, in a residential area he didn’t recognize. He looked questioningly at Henry.
“This is my house,” Henry explained patiently. “Do you want to come inside and have dinner?” He circled Misha’s dick with one finger.
“Yes, daddy,” Misha murmured, trembling. But Henry took his hand away before Misha could cum.
“C’mon, then.” He stepped out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door for Misha.
Misha, dizzy with pleasure, stepped out of the car and took Henry’s waiting arm. They only got halfway up the walkway before Misha stopped, certain that if he kept walking, the delicious friction of his nylons against his bare cunt would make him cum himself stupid right there, out in the open.
Henry, quite attuned to Misha’s needs, immediately picked up on the issue.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said kindly, “do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?”
Misha whimpered and nodded. What he really wanted was to cum, but he couldn’t do that in the front lawn.
Henry easily scooped Misha into his arms. One of Misha’s heels fell to the stone of the walkway.
“I’ll get that once you’re safe inside, okay?”
Misha buried his face in Henry’s chest. He’d worn a very short skirt today, and being held in a bridal carry like this left his cunt exposed. If anyone saw him, he’d look like some whore Henry had brought home to fuck. But Henry still hadn’t fucked him. Misha wished he would, but he didn’t beg for it. Henry was good to him. Henry always knew what to do. So Henry must have a reason.
When Henry began to walk, Misha moaned helplessly against him. It was no use. The shift and heat of Henry’s body against him, the casual demonstration of strength, it was too much. He panted desperately, trying to stave off his orgasm.
“It’s okay,” Henry soothed. “You can let it all out. I’ve got you.”
At least this way he wouldn’t fall over, Misha thought. And then he didn’t think anything at all, shaking and crying in Henry’s arms. He squirted so hard that the first burst hit the grass of Henry’s lawn. The rest splattered against the walkway, leaving a trail behind them. Henry kept saying soothing things, but Misha couldn’t understand them, too busy expelling his brains through his cunt.
He didn’t stop cumming until Henry set him down on a bench inside the entryway. There was a towel on the bench, as if Henry had expected something like this. Misha caught his breath as Henry, true to his word, went back outside and grabbed his lost heel.
“Let’s get you into something nice and dry, okay?” said Henry when he returned and shut the door behind him.
“Yes, daddy.”
As Henry guided Misha to his bedroom, Misha took the chance to glance around the house. It was nice, comfortable and warm and well-kept. Lots of books, a few guitars on the walls, more than a few landscape paintings. Cozy. Safe.
Henry’s bedroom was no different. His bed was big, probably a king, the bedding clean and messily made. Misha resisted the desire to sit on the edge as Henry pulled clothes from the closet. He didn’t want to leave a wet patch on it.
“Here you are. Come on out to the kitchen when you’ve changed, okay?”
Misha smiled and took the clothes from Henry. “Okay. Thanks, daddy.”
Henry kissed him on the forehead and left.
Misha stripped off his soaked tights, tiny skirt, and fitted button-up before unfolding the bundle. First was a sweater, definitely one of Henry’s, soft and warm and a very pretty worn blue. He slipped it on. Henry was almost a foot taller than him and about twice as wide, so the sleeves engulfed his hands and the hem fell to his mid-thigh. He felt tiny in it. It was amazing.
Next was a tiny pair of shorts. They were nice and loose so they didn’t cling to Misha’s oversensitive cunt, but the waistband fit perfectly. These were certainly not Henry’s. He must have bought them for Misha. Misha blushed and held up the hem of the sweater to check himself out in the mirror. The shorts were short enough that nearly half his ass was exposed, which wasn’t all that surprising. Henry loved his ass.
Last was a pair of cute fuzzy socks that went halfway up his calf. They were brand new, certainly also purchased for him. Misha looked again in the mirror. He looked adorable. He felt adorable too, dressed exactly how Henry wanted him.
Misha left his dirty clothes in a neat pile at the foot of the bed, making sure that the wet stuff didn’t touch the blankets. Then he left the bedroom and found the kitchen.
“Now, don’t you look cute,” Henry smiled when he turned away from the stove. “Go on, give daddy a spin.”
Misha twirled happily. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cooked for him. He hoped the hem of the sweater lifted high enough for Henry to see his ass.
“Good, good boy. Now go ahead and sit down, there’s something on my laptop for you.” Henry turned back to his cooking.
Misha obediently sat down. Sure enough, Henry’s laptop sat on the table, a pair of headphones next to it. Misha recognized the set of files open in the explorer — it was the program he spent every work day using. He automatically put on the headphones and opened the program.
He blinked back to awareness an hour later to a screen that said Congratulations, Misha! You’ve completed every training module! Oh. He’d finished it? He smiled proudly and took off his headphones. He looked around for Henry, who was doing something at the counter. The kitchen smelled incredible.
“Daddy?”
“Oh, are you done, sweetheart?” Henry turned around. He’d changed out of his work clothes too and was now dressed in a sweater similar to Misha’s and a pair of loose sweatpants.
Misha nodded proudly.
“Good, good. Just in time too, dinner’s ready. Can you go put my laptop in my office? It’s across from my bedroom.”
Misha nodded eagerly and did exactly that. It felt so good to be useful. When he returned to the kitchen, Henry had sat down on the table. Somehow Misha hadn’t noticed earlier that there was only one chair. Both plates, loaded generously with what looked like some fancy pasta dish, were in front of Henry.
Henry held out his arm invitingly. Misha obediently climbed onto his lap, settling side-saddle across his thighs. Henry held him there with one big, warm hand across his back.
Dinner was delicious. Henry fed it to him, forkfull by forkfull, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Misha moaned a little around each incredible bite. As Henry ate his portion, they chatted like normal. Misha was still quite capable of carrying conversations. In fact, he was much better at it now that he didn’t have the constant urge to correct people.
When dinner was gone, Henry sent Misha to the living room. When he joined Misha on the couch, he was carrying a serving of homemade tiramisu. This time when he coaxed Misha onto his lap, he made Misha sit straddling him, face to face. He fed Misha the tiramisu, which was just as delicious as the pasta had been, as Misha squirmed against him.
When it was gone, he reached around Misha to grab the remote and put on a movie. He guided Misha’s head down to rest against his chest, where Misha nuzzled happily. He’d never been happier. He was warm and comfortable and full of good food and the movie wasn’t distracting so he could just float thoughtlessly through the pleasure of it all.
Henry spent the movie running the fingers of one hand through Misha’s hair and using the other to gently knead Misha’s ass. Misha drooled against Henry’s chest, mindless with pleasure and contentment. His toes curled and his eyes fluttered as the slowly-building pleasure eventually coalesced into a molasses-like orgasm, slow and sweet and sticky. It was the best orgasm of his life. He wondered if he still remembered long division after it.
Then, safe in Henry’s arms, Misha fell asleep.
~~~
The next morning, the promised floor plan change came. Henry dressed Misha in a pair of tights, an inappropriately short skirt, and a sleeveless button down that he must have purchased for him. He bought Misha breakfast as they drove to work. He told Misha about the plot of the movie he’d been too busy drooling stupidly to pay attention to. He walked into work with Misha on his arm. And then he directed Misha to his new workstation: a brand-new leather couch situated innocuously in the center of the cubicles, as if it had always been there.
“Um…” Misha glanced around. Most of his coworkers were watching him and Henry and doing a very bad job of trying to make it look like they weren’t doing so. “What am I supposed to, like…do?”
Henry smiled patiently. “I’ll show you.” He guided Misha to the couch and bent him over the arm. His skirt slid up, his ass and cunt on display. The numerous gazes on him made his legs quiver and his cunt dribble slick. Everyone stopped pretending they weren’t watching. Many of them moved closer.
Henry slowly trailed his hand up Misha’s leg until he reached his cunt, where he hooked his fingers in the wet nylon and tugged. The tights ripped easily, giving under Henry’s touch until a sizable hole left Misha completely exposed. Misha whimpered against the couch cushions.
“Who wants him first?” Henry asked the gathered crowd.
Oh. Misha’s cunt drooled more slick. He’d be so useful like this…
Several people vied for the first go, but eventually one of the women won.
“You don’t even have a dick,” grumbled one of the other women.
“Yes, and everyone knows you have to have dick to have sex,” said the winning woman sarcastically. As she approached the couch, Henry sat down and let Misha rest his head on his lap. He rested a soothing hand on the back of Misha’s neck.
Misha panted in anticipation. Obviously as soon as the woman was behind him, he couldn’t see her and had no idea what she was gonna do.
She took Misha’s ass in her hands and spread his cheeks. Then Misha felt her mouth against his cunt, sucking and licking greedily at his folds. He gasped against Henry, already so close, already so sensitive. The woman rubbed roughly at his dick with one hand, still keeping him spread open with the other as she tongue-fucked his cunt.
It only took a minute or so before Misha was spasming, cumming hard against her tongue.
“Does that mean I have to be done?” the woman asked Henry breathlessly.
“No, no,” Henry chuckled. “That wouldn’t be very fair. You get to make him cum twice before you have to get back in line.”
Twice? Misha shivered. Would everyone in the office make him cum twice? Could he even cum that much? Was it a good idea for him to cum that much, with how stupid every orgasm made him?
Then Henry rubbed gently at the back of Misha’s neck and Misha forgot all about his worries. Henry was there. Henry would take care of him. Henry wouldn’t let him totally lose himself. Henry would make sure he was the right level of stupid.
The woman dove back in. She was messier this time, tugging gracelessly at Misha’s dick and making sure to give his asshole some attention too. Her tongue was hot and wet and strong, pressing insistently against him. It was incredible. Misha came again within minutes.
A line had formed, wrapping around the couch and disappearing into the cubicles. The next person stepped up, another woman. She wasted no time shoving her cock in Misha’s soaked cunt.
The world began to blur as the morning went on, as the line slowly but surely shortened. Misha faded into a pleasure-drunk haze rather quickly, reduced to whining and moaning and squirting prodigiously. People did all sorts of things to him. For almost every one of his body parts, from his feet to his neck, there was someone at least a little fixated on it. They touched every square inch of his skin. They manhandled his body into new positions that Misha didn't know he was capable of. Often Henry would move over and allow someone else to take Misha’s head, usually to force cock down his throat or pussy in his face, but he always returned. He was there the entire time, helping Misha adjust to his new role.
Everyone was so nice to Misha. Sometimes they were rough with him and his holes, but they only said good things about him. They told him he was good, that he felt good, that he was beautiful and this new look, ruined clothes and sweat and spit and tears and slick and cum, suited him well.
Misha had never had a better day at work.
When the line was finally almost gone, someone asked: “Are you gonna take a turn, Henry?”
Misha brightened with excitement. Was it finally time?
“Well…” Henry pet Misha’s hair. “I get him every night. Doesn’t seem fair to take up your guys’ time to play with him.”
“C’mon, everyone’s had their first turn already. He’s your toy. Go ahead.”
“Alright, alright,” Henry grumbled good-naturedly. He got off the couch, carefully moving Misha’s head from his lap to the cushion.
In the corner of Misha’s blurry vision, he could see the bulge in Henry’s pants. Fuck, he looked huge. Misha’s cunt drooled slick in anticipation.
He missed being able to see Henry, to reach out and grab his hand, but that disappointment was dwarfed by the excitement of feeling Henry’s cock slap against his ass. He really was huge, hot and incredible against Misha.
Misha angled his hips, presenting his holes to Henry, and wiggled in anticipation. He needed it, he needed Henry’s cock, his daddy’s cock —
“See? He’s desperate for it,” said the person smugly.
“Shut it,” said Henry, not unkindly. His cock slid slowly into Misha’s cunt, splitting him open, reforming his insides to fit him.
Misha’s mouth stuck open in a silent scream, his legs shaking uncontrollably. His orgasm loomed, promising to be an intense one.
And intense it was. All it took was for Henry to pull back a few inches and sink back in for Misha to start convulsing with mindless pleasure. Henry powered through the tightness of Misha’s clenching cunt to start thrusting. Every thrust made Misha squirt so hard it almost hurt. He’d never felt anything even close to this, this incredible brain-melting pleasure. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to add. He squirted harder at the thought. He didn’t know he was chanting “daddy, daddy, daddy,” until someone said:
“How’d you get him to call you that? I didn’t see anything like that in the code.”
“I asked him to,” Henry answered. He pulled out of Misha’s cunt and gave him a moment to recover before rubbing the slick tip of his cock against Misha’s asshole. People had licked Misha there, fingered him there, but no one had fucked him there today. He was happy Henry would be the first.
“Really? That’s all it took?”
“Mhm,” Henry grunted as he pushed forward. Misha’s hole opened eagerly for him. “All he’s ever really needed was a bit of patience and a strong hand. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Misha sobbed into the damp leather. Maybe that was all he’d ever needed. Someone strong and patient to endure his abrasiveness and get him lunch and brainwash him a little and cook him dinner and make him cum his brains out. Henry was the only one who’d put up with him even back when he was cagey and cruel. Henry was good to him. Henry helped Misha become not only useful, but well-liked and happy. He was so much happier as Henry’s toy.
“I love you,” Misha slurred. Henry felt improbably enormous in his ass, as if he reached all the way to Misha’s ribs.
“Fuck,” Henry groaned. He leaned down, hooked his arm around Misha’s shoulders, and pulled him upright.
Misha squealed. His feet were no longer on the ground. He was held up entirely by the arm around his shoulders and the cock in his guts. His legs kicked involuntarily and his cunt fluttered around nothing. He could barely breathe. It felt like Henry’s cock took up his entire torso. Every one of his breaths was accompanied by a tiny, desperate whine. He wasn’t sure anyone in the history of time and space had ever come close to feeling as much pleasure as he felt in that moment.
“Daddy loves you, too,” Henry whispered in Misha’s ear, as if despite their audience, the words were just for him.
Misha spasmed and squirted onto the floor beneath their feet. He would have said it back if he could talk. But he couldn’t do anything, too stupid with pleasure. He might not have been able to spell his own name.
“Daddy loves you so much,” Henry continued, quiet and intense, as he began thrusting up into Misha, “and Daddy loves seeing you happy, loves seeing you well-rested and well-fed and, fuck, I never want you to be angry and lonely ever again, I want you to come live with me, I want, I want to take care of you —”
Misha, now completely limp in Henry’s grip, realized distantly that he was crying. Tears streamed down his face just as squirt and slick streamed down his legs. Pleasure sawed through him, so continuous and overwhelming he wouldn’t have been able to take it if it wasn’t Henry. But it was Henry. So he could take it.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, stuck in a state of such intense pleasure that he may as well have been cumming nonstop for who knows how long. He snapped back to the best awareness he could manage when Henry suddenly stopped deep in him. Yes, Henry was cumming inside him, filling him up. Henry’s free hand rested on Misha’s stomach, as if he could feel the hot pulses of his cum through the flesh. Misha shook violently, so thoroughly drenching the carpet between Henry’s feet with squirt that it stopped soaking in and began to form a puddle.
Henry kept him there, suspended on his softening cock, for several minutes. More than a few people asked if Misha was okay. Each time Henry chuckled, a warm, kind sound that made Misha shiver, and assured them he was.
He was right. Misha had never felt more raw, more overwhelmed, smaller, stupider. He’d never felt better.
Finally Henry gently pulled Misha off his cock. Misha whined at the loss, but the feeling of Henry’s cum oozing from his hole felt really nice…Henry carefully laid him back on the couch, face down with a pillow to rest his head on and ass in the air.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered fondly.
Misha smiled proudly.
Then Henry took Misha’s ass in his hands and spread him open for the people still waiting around the couch for their second turn. He whimpered, aware of how sloppy he must look, but the murmur of appreciation among the small crowd made him feel much better about it.
“Aw, now he’s all loose,” someone complained.
“It was your idea for Henry to have his turn now!” shot back another.
“Don’t listen to them,” Henry sighed and gave Misha a hearty slap on the ass. “There. He’ll tighten right back up. Just don’t actually hurt him.” Then he turned back to Misha. “Daddy has to go get some work done, okay? These nice people are gonna take care of you. I’ll be back to check on you soon.” He ran his fingers through Misha’s sweaty hair.
Misha nodded best he could as someone pushed into his cunt. Then he let himself fade back into a sex-drunk haze.
The day wore on in an indistinct blur of pleasure. Everyone took more turns fucking Misha. They were more relaxed about it now, with the initial rush out of the way. Usually there were only one or two people at the couch at a time. Sometimes, during lulls, people would sit down next to Misha and just chat with him. Apparently they’d all come to genuinely like his company over the last few weeks, and not just because he was attractive and easy. It seemed Misha was right to trust Henry’s judgement, because no matter how many times he came, he was still able to bring himself back to a cognizant enough state to talk to people, even if he was gigglier now.
Henry, always true to his word, checked on Misha several times throughout the day. He brought him lunch, a snack in the afternoon, and plenty of water. He made sure Misha got the occasional break and didn’t get too filthy with sweat and cum.
At the end of the day, as one of Misha’s coworkers was getting a last-minute blowjob in, Henry returned with his stuff. He wore his jacket and held another over one arm for Misha. He waited patiently for them to be done and gave the man a polite nod as he tucked his dick back into his pants and left.
Misha lay on his back across the couch, his head hanging over one of the armrests for easy access to his mouth. His mind was completely empty of structure, filled only with clouds of pleasure. His body occasionally trembled with delayed aftershocks. Henry coaxed him upright, then standing, and helped him into his new coat. It was a fashionable trenchcoat, long enough to hide the state of Misha’s body and clothes.
“Do you like your new position as the office whore, sweetheart?” he asked kindly. He tenderly wiped a glob of cum from the corner of Misha’s mouth.
Misha smiled up at him, cum leaking down his legs. “Yes, daddy.”
Henry smiled back. “Good, good. I’m glad.” He kissed Misha’s cheek and scooped him into his arms. “Now let’s get you home.”