I hired Richard Gammon with the intension of fucking him. Sounds bad, doesn’t it?
Well, I said up front that my methods weren’t always noble - and there was nothing noble
at all going through my mind the first time I set eyes on that sexy young stud.
Let me explain. My name is Garth Evans. That’s right, I’m Welsh – a boy from the
Valleys and all that crap. I got the hell out when I was seventeen and have rarely gone
back. London was where I headed and I found it easy to get on in life once I’d moved to
the Big Smoke. I was smart, devious, had the gift of the gab, a real manipulative bastard
– so obviously I went into sales. By that I mean proper sales - big ticket stuff that paid
equally big money to those who brought in the deals. And I was good, so the cash rolled in
and I was able to acquire the things that went with this new found wealth – the flashy car
and a fabulous shag pad in a posh part of London, that sort of stuff. Then at the ripe old
age of thirty-two, I took a different direction when I was promoted to the board. As
Global Director for Sales and Marketing, I became a man with plenty of clout. I used that
clout to get some of the other things I wanted, like a sexy young PA called Barry who
could suck cock like a dream and loved to gobble down my cream. And after six months in
the job I got another thing I wanted – the straight virginal ass of Richard Gammon.
Richard had come to my notice a few months before my promotion. At that point I was
UK sales manager, so already a man with a degree of power. Richard worked for another
company, some minor competitor – he was a non-entity that hadn’t featured on my radar
until that fateful day. I saw him at a function that one of our mutual clients was
throwing – a Bastille Day celebration of all things, hosted by a French conglomerate and
set in some private gardens.
I knew I had to fuck him the moment I set eyes on him. I wanted him so bad I could
taste the need. One look at his ass and I was totally hooked - it drew me to the man like
a magnet.
Now don’t get me wrong. Richard wasn’t embarrassing himself by dropping his pants
and mooning the assembled guests. But he had surrendered to the heat of a balmy July day
in London and removed his suit jacket. This was arguably a mistake; some people can be
sticklers for etiquette, and the French are a funny lot who take easy offence. I’d
probably pull one of my own sales guys up on it, but with Richard I wasn’t complaining.
For without the inconvenience of a jacket in the way, it gave me a clear view of the most
incredible pair of buns I had ever set eyes on.
Fuck they were amazing!
The trousers he was wearing highlighted them so clearly – the light summer cloth of
his suit looked like it had been sprayed onto his skin which covered two bubbles of
beautiful taut muscle. I’m sure he realised the effect it created, which at first made me
suspect he might be gay, for a gay guy would naturally flaunt such a treasure. But his
demeanour suggested otherwise, as did his eyes, which were forever straying to a variety
of women as he furtively checked them out. I watched him as he chatted to a group of men.
He was paying attention, and no doubt doing a reasonable job of ingratiating himself to
prospective clients. But his focus wasn’t total; he was also playing a game, flirting with
the female eye candy that hovered around, deciding with one or ones he would be fucking
later on, sure in the knowledge that he could have his choice.
Little did he know that another game had commenced, for I had already decided that I
would be fucking him, sure in the knowledge that I would succeed and that fabulous ass
would be mine.
I circled for a while, sizing the man up. It wasn’t easy to take him all in. His ass
was hypnotic, it kept drawing me back; his buns were so incredibly delicious it was an
effort to tear my eyes away from them. But I forced the issue and was well rewarded.
Facially he wasn’t the most handsome guy I’d ever seen, but he had a definite raw
appeal which somehow was more attractive than classic good looks. In his mid-twenties,
Richard had light brown hair which was far from impeccably groomed – tousled was the
effect, like he had just had sex. It crossed my mind that he probably had. His features
were strong and fleshy – a straight nose, full lips and very sharp cheekbones which jutted
out under his greyish green eyes. He sported a five day goatee-style growth which added to
the rugged effect. Not the face of a big ticket salesman – but by God he would be joining
my team!
The face might be less than perfect - but the body was incredible. I guessed him to
be six feet one and around two hundred pounds, and all of it beautifully proportioned. I
could see under his regulation white shirt that he was bulging all over his arms and chest
- the man clearly kept in excellent shape with serious sessions in the gym. And he was
bulging elsewhere! It wasn’t just to the rear of his trousers that Richard was beautifully
blessed. At the front was another fabulous big bulge – the package of his cock and balls.
I almost choked on my drink when I caught an eyeful of what Richard had at the top of his
legs. It was screaming out “suck me!” just as loudly as his ass was screaming out “fuck
me!” and I knew I just had to do both.
I moved in for a chat.
It didn’t seem contrived when I walked up to the group and said hello. That sort of
thing is expected. At a reception like this you mingle. Social networking it’s called - or
sniffing around for a possible opportunity in whatever shape it may come up. I went
sniffing after Richard and his ever-so-fuckable ass!
I joined the small group that Richard was standing with and took all this hunky
manliness in. He was even finer to see at close quarters – a real beefcake and no mistake.
But more than his looks was the raw appeal that he exuded – the guy radiated sex, you
could smell it in the air around him. There was no question about the fact he was one hell
of a stud - the sort that women would drop their knickers for in a flash, and that passive
gay guys would fantasise about, dreaming of him pounding at their ass.
If Richard registered my interest he didn’t betray it; he just carried on chatting,
doing a reasonable job of buttering up some middle manager who he was obviously hoping to
sell to, whilst at the same time subtly flirting with a nearby brunette. But he certainly
took notice of me when I spoke up and introduced myself. Richard knew me by name if not by
face. And quite rightly so! There are not many young sales guys in our line of work that
haven’t heard of Gareth Evans.
We chatted for a bit then I made a point of moving off. There was no need to give
the game away at this early stage. I established all that I wanted to know during that
first encounter in the summer sun, and I laid the bait for the trap. Richard Gammon came
across as reasonable salesman and one who definitely wanted to work for our company. I
suggested this might be possible without being overly obvious about why we might be
interested in him. We exchanged business cards and left it at that. I got his attention. I
sensed his greed. He wanted money just as much as he wanted women.
And I wanted him! By God I did. And I knew I was going to have him. It would take me
months, perhaps even a year, but from that day onwards Richard’s ever-so-fine, straight
boy ass was branded with my name.
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