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Another last-minute meeting that dragged on forever. More poring over confidential data files, accounting reports displayed on clunky PowerPoints, and pointless interventions from shareholders. It was starting to seriously get on his nerves: being trapped around that solid oval oak table, forced to endure repetitive speeches, he was more than fed up with wasting his time.
The perpetual quest for profit, maximizing profits at any cost, to the detriment of everything else. And he was unwittingly contributing to the perpetuation of this deplorable system.
And to think that his presence among these highly influential individuals was the result of a lifetime of hard work and sacrifice. Even as a young man, he was consumed by a staggering ambition. In that society, that quality was required: to be ready to do anything to reach the top. He didn't even flinch when it came to crushing others to achieve his goals.
In just a few years, the whole world was eating out of his hand. As CEO of a large, highly listed multinational corporation, he made his competitors pale with envy.
And that's not all…
What exquisite revenge on his father, the very same one who had spewed vile things at him since his earliest childhood, things no son deserves to hear.
Which no one deserves anyway.
His words… they had become ingrained in his very being. Resentment had taken root, and despite his parents' numerous attempts, Douma had always brushed them aside. His parents had deluded themselves, and their naiveté had been almost amusing. A river of crocodile tears, begging for forgiveness, wasn't enough to erase all the harm they had caused him.
It was far too easy and presumptuous of them.
They can all go to hell. He wasn't the type to soften, much less back down from his positions.
The shell he had built up over the years had protected him from all that nonsense. He had sworn that no one would ever disrespect him again. When you danced with omnipotence, the common people could only bow before its grandeur.
An immense estate awaited him upon his return. An excessively luxurious residence – an aspect testifying to his megalomania – and above all, empty.
He sighed, lost in thought. The cacophony around him no longer affected him.
It had been a few weeks since he'd last set foot in this private club with its exotic flair. A little pick-me-up would be more than welcome. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, anticipating what he might find once he got there. The clientele was constantly changing. Regulars—like himself—were on the lookout for tempting prey. The last gem he'd unearthed had been two months ago. As he walked through the door, Douma had hoped to see that young man again. Most newcomers didn't repeat the experience: due to lack of funds, a less-than-stellar reputation, or fear of being discovered.
Only the very wealthy and influential had the privilege of entering this exclusive circle. Douma had easily secured his place there, and had done so for many years. The guards no longer even searched him or checked the reservation records: he was completely at home. Like an all-powerful god, he reigned supreme, even on his briefest visits.
And as he had expected, despite his prolonged absence, he was received like a king. After this dull meeting, he had reserved the right to treat himself to a little something sweet, enough to occupy him for an hour or two.
A bodyguard, whom he had met before, exchanged a firm handshake. With his imposing physique, this mountain of muscle could have crushed his knuckles if he'd wanted to. As Douma pulled a wad of bills from his expensive suit, the guard passed on some enticing information.
“You’re in luck, Douma-sama: there are a couple of new faces that should suit you.”
Douma readjusted a cufflink.
“Oh? I’m looking forward to meeting them then… What do you have in store for me tonight?”
The man showed his his white teeth. On the counter, he placed a high-end Venetian mask, adorned with a few precious stones. Douma put it on, covering the upper part of his face. An accessory that highlighted his best features: irises bathed in a cascade of colors and his long, pale blonde hair.
“Have fun, Douma-sama.”, he escorted him down the long corridor, the two men ending their run at the foot of a heavy door.
When it opened, Douma stepped onto the natural wool carpet. A few men were busy at the bar, sipping their drinks. Beautiful women strolled by in skimpy outfits, offering small glasses of champagne. He didn't hesitate. The day's work had exhausted him.
He surveyed the audience. The guests were also wearing masks, concealing the upper part of their faces. A few figures were easily recognizable. He also received a few discreet greetings.
The living room wasn't the heart of the place. The cozy atmosphere was fine for a while, but it didn't extinguish the raging fire. A brief interlude, almost like foreplay. A subtle prelude before the main course.
Soft music transported the customers to another dimension. Some swayed lasciviously to the rhythm of the melody.
It was at that moment that Douma spotted him.
A young man was swaying a few meters from the bar, cheerfully rubbing his buttocks against the crotch of a lucky young man.
The white mask contrasted wonderfully with the black suit he was wearing – a little too tight for his liking.
A bracelet of two lines in dark blue ink outlined his neck. A tattoo that drew the eye. But that wasn't all…
His short, spiky pink hair, an atypical color, pleasing to the eye, and a treasure hidden behind the mask: two golden beads with a pure shine in the place of his eye sockets.
Douma watched this impromptu choreography with rapt attention. He dissected every undulation of his pelvis, in perfect harmony with his partner's anatomy. The man behind him slid his hands along his hips. Douma thought he recognized one of the co-presidents of the International Olympic Committee, who had frequented the club before. It was a lucrative business for him to use his considerable influence to lure young athletes into his web. A quid pro quo: athletes, in exchange for sexual favors, were integrated into prestigious teams and gained greater visibility.
This beautiful creature made eye contact with him. Elbows resting on the bar, Douma never took his eyes off him. This brat had guts, he had to admit. Not for a moment did his golden pupils leave him. The enchanting creature arched his back a little more, writhing shamelessly against his partner.
Possessive by nature, Douma could not bring himself to remain a mere spectator. He moved closer to the dancing couple.
“What a pleasure to see you again… Where have you been?”, asked the troublemaker who was playing with a tempting toy.
“You know… daily obligations, business duties…”
This mystical chimera watched their conversation without flinching, focused on rubbing itself merrily. He no longer granted him his little games of glances.
What a badly behaved bitch. Douma made short work of those naughty boys.
“May I borrow your toy?” the businessman asked politely.
The co-chairman sneered openly. His ego was probably about to explode.
“I can’t refuse you anything… Take care of it.” He abdicated without opposition. A little too easily, in fact.
The fifty-year-old whispered in the ear of this divine creation, which made him stretch his lips. In any case, the seat was free, and the CEO didn't refuse such a feast. He had abandoned his passivity to become part of the heart of the spectacle.
This man was using his charms, his pelvis pressed against his. This little minx was putting on a show, offering a sensual dance, which was far from unpleasant. Magnificence within reach—now that was a stimulant that lived up to his expectations. Douma had been right to show up at this club unannounced that evening.
Just like his predecessor, Douma placed his hands around those generous – and toned – hips. Could this boy possibly be an athlete?
Its citrusy scent tickled his nostrils. The businessman pressed his nose to the inviting hollow of that neck. In this position, the two men were engaged in a provocative dance: Douma's mouth was watering.
What if they slipped away to private quarters to refine their choreography?
“Do you come here often, handsome boy?” purred Douma, ready to make his move.
Another pelvic roll against him.
“Hmm… this is my third visit.”
“Oh really? What a shame, I just missed you. Were you invited by that charming gentleman you were dancing with?”
A subtle way to extract some juicy information from him. Would he dodge the question?
“Yes, indeed…”, confirmed this seraphic beauty.
Internal policy allowed members to invite guests, provided they were willing to pay a fee, as the club was very exclusive. Douma, however, had not submitted any recommendations.
"Let me guess... you practice a high-level sport?"
The stranger sneered and refrained from any comment.
Ah, was he embarrassed at the idea of obtaining advantages in exchange for his charms? He won't be the first nor the last to sleep his way up the ladder.
To drown in success, you have to be ready for anything. Douma had fully grasped it. And he had applied it well.
The tall blond man couldn't continue his interrogation, as this Apollo brought their exotic escapade to an end. The golden ocean blended into this palette of vibrant colors.
"Well... thank you for that little dance... I hope you liked it...", declared the bipedal jewel.
Douma bared his canines. Up close, the boy's mesmerizing eyes sent shivers down his spine, electrifying every cell in his body.
The tall blond man remained perplexed: a carnal attraction connected him to this boy. He couldn't explain it. One thing was certain: Douma was irresistibly aroused by him.
This observation led him to lean towards him, tasting his well-hydrated lips. Hairless skin, devoid of any imperfection, with a silky touch. The young man readily accepted this spontaneous kiss.
Douma had only one desire: to strip him of his mask—and his fucking clothes. The two small, wet organs intertwined, in a quest for dominance. Neither gave up. Very well, Douma was dealing with a young man of character. A fascinating prospect, all things considered.
His hormones were out of balance, and soon enough, a volcano erupted throughout his body. Oh, was he experiencing the stirrings of a schoolboy discovering sexuality? Or was fatigue playing tricks on him? His hectic schedule had probably worn him out. At least, he allowed himself to be lulled by these false beliefs.
This boy had that little something extra.
And when it slipped from his lips, Douma was overcome with melancholy. They had barely enjoyed themselves, and this stranger with his luxurious virtues was already slipping away.
His large golden eyes sparkled brilliantly behind the white mask.
"Do you have a nickname, my handsome boy?"
The stranger played lasciviously with his lower lip. He reveled in this little game of seduction, into which Douma had jumped headfirst, bewitched by the sirens' song.
“My name is Akaza.”
Akaza…The name rolled silently off his lips, a name he wouldn't soon forget.
“Nice to meet you, Akaza…”
An unwelcome guest burst into their little bubble. The co-chairman wrapped an arm around his toy's shoulders.
“Sorry to bother you, my dear. I’ve come to collect what belongs to me. I’m going to show him to some other friends.”
Akaza's general attitude underwent a major upheaval: he stared into space, his gaze averted.
Douma bowed his head thoughtfully. Had Akaza been forced to follow the directives of this powerful man? Was he there of his own free will? Numerous accusations of sexual assault hung over the co-chairman, complaints that had been dismissed.
"Shall we meet again later, Douma-sama?"
At the mention of his name, Akaza raised his head but then fell into a heavy silence. Douma could no longer get anything out of him, much to his dismay.
Watching the two figures walk away irritated him: a precious toy had been snatched from him in the middle of recess. He wasn't used to being deprived of something, he who usually got what he wanted in the blink of an eye.
Upset and disappointed, he had gone to get something to eat at the bar.
He had chatted quietly with a few regulars. Out of simple politeness. Customs and etiquette demanded his full engagement: to be willing to converse, to listen, to contribute. But his mind wandered. Keeping the conversation going had proven tedious. How could he consciously participate when a highly desirable creature was probably swaying somewhere?
He used a subtle opening, which exempted him from his obligations. The first act was drawing to a close. It was time to descend to the private quarters, a place where all fantasies could flourish.
Upon entering this other dimension, he absorbed the smell and the sulphurous atmosphere. Some had already started the festivities, engaging in open sex in full view of everyone. Douma observed the scene but did not share the enthusiasm of the other voyeurs. The little whore getting laid gave him no satisfaction whatsoever. He grew weary.
He was approached by a regular, whose face was uncovered. Some of them had dropped the mask, abandoning their supposed anonymity. Secrecy was not in their vocabulary.
“If you’re looking for him, he’s on the other side, but they’ve already started…”
Intrigued by these revelations, the CEO investigated the already occupied booths. The young revelers were having a field day with some high-quality prey. But none of them came close to the treasure he had unearthed. The discovery of the fourth small lounge proved conclusive.
The rainbow rounded, grateful to be cradled by this breathtaking spectacle. Like a centerpiece, Akaza blended into the libidinal setting.
Kneeling and clad only in slightly too-tight briefs, other exotic accessories adorned his sculpted body. A defined, sculpted silhouette, fresh, juicy flesh.
A leather collar-leash was fitted around his neck. One of the participants pulled on it like a madman, compressing the carotid artery of the submissive young man.
The toy's wrists were tied behind its back.
In this position – kneeling and deprived of his movements – his sublime beauty brightened the fields of vision.
This bodily disposition did not yet constitute the apotheosis.
A ball gag accentuated the submission.
And above all…
Akaza had given up his mask.
He was completely exposed.
At that moment, Douma's guts turned, his heart on the verge of implosion.
This boy possessed a chimerical beauty: feminine features, hints of gentleness, spread out, counterbalancing his rather imposing build.
The most striking physical feature was the length of his eyelashes, the same shade as his hair. An avenue of cherry trees, their petals unfurling. A true breath of fresh air.
Akaza was undeniably magnificent.
Seeing him on his knees, tied up, almost naked and deprived of speech only amplified Douma's level of excitement.
That said, a pang of jealousy crept in: other individuals were having a good time with his toy, right under his nose.
Moreover, his little Akaza bore the marks of their misdeeds.
Transformed into a living canvas, splatters of semen had landed in his hair and on his cheek. Other rivulets dripped down his torso, glistening under the spotlights. Bite marks added a touch of color to his milky skin. His left nipple had borne the brunt of their barbarity, and not only that… a trickle of blood originated from a deeper bite on his shoulder.
There were at least five guys surrounding him, frantically stroking each other. Their hard cocks were pressed against the contours of his face. Another form of humiliation.
They rubbed their genitals one by one against his cheeks, with a desire to become one with him.
Douma sighed and sat down in another small velvet armchair. Some guys were occupying others, jerking off in front of this delightful scene.
The tall blond man crossed his legs, resting his elbow on the armrest. His crotch itched, but he refused to mingle with these boors who were sorely lacking in delicacy.
He wanted Akaza all to himself. What a waste. Such a handsome boy, to be shared with others.
“What do you think, Douma-sama?”
The CEO spotted the presence of this opportunist in his peripheral field of vision.
“Let me guess: a young athlete to whom you promised the moon and the stars in exchange for his ass?”
The powerful man laughed heartily.
“I sense you are tense and upset… Does Akaza excite you to this extent?”
"Hmm.."
The old man prostrated himself behind him, massaging his shoulders. His decrepit hands climbed higher and higher onto his collarbone, insinuating themselves onto the CEO's body as if it were his property.
Rough fingers moved under his shirt, feeling his pectoral muscles.
His foul breath was blown against his ear.
“You know, Douma-sama… You are worth far more than all these vermin put together. Even Akaza cannot rival your beauty.”
Douma stepped forward to speak out.
“I forbid you to say that. Akaza is perfect.”
The old man moistened his lips.
“I can give you Akaza… but I demand compensation.”
He chuckled in his ear. Douma wasn't fooled. It wouldn't be the first time he'd sacrificed himself to achieve his goals.
“What do you want?” the CEO asked innocently.
The grip on his own nipples intensified. Eager fingers explored his pecs with delight.
“Well… a night with you, that would be fine. Feeling your lips around my cock, tasting your ass and being able to slide inside… the privilege of fucking the great Douma.”
At least he got straight to the point.
Him, getting caught by a disgusting old man? What does it matter! He's seen worse.
A dull thud jolted him from his thoughts: one of the men had used the leash like a whip, damaging the beautiful skin of his toy. Another tugged at his hair, exposing the nape of his neck. A bottle of champagne was poured over his face to a general ovation. Akaza nearly choked several times.
Hungry tongues harvested the precious liquid that had flowed over his body.
This was too much for Douma, who was consumed by excessive jealousy.
“I accept your offer. I want Akaza… nothing for me. Let them all leave.”
“Perfect, Douma-sama. Before I comply, I want a small gift from you, as a token of your good faith.”
Obviously. This was predictable. A brief appetizer.
Douma did not protest. In this world of sharks, everyone was looking out for their own interests.
“Would a blowjob suit you?” asked Douma.
Exhausted, the old man stamped his feet like a child on Christmas Day.
“Certainly. You can keep your clothes and your mask on.”
Oh, what a lovely gesture…The tall blond man's knuckles cracked. The sooner he satisfied this bastard, the sooner he would possess his little Akaza.
So, without offering any resistance, Douma knelt on the rug and got to work. His host was already hard long before the first lick. The mere sound of the unzipped fly aroused him. Unsurprisingly, the old man didn't hold back: no time to waste on soporific foreplay. He grabbed several blond strands of hair and crushed Douma's throat, forcing himself deep inside. A series of gag reflexes followed, which eventually alerted some of the other attendees, who moved closer. Mockery arose here and there. There was plenty to scoff at: a powerful and respected figure like Douma, sucking another man. In this world, it was a small place. With his unusual appearance, Douma was recognizable despite wearing a mask. It didn't matter; Douma cared little for the opinions of others.
At that precise moment, he had only that young athlete in his sights. So giving that old man a blowjob wasn't going to kill him. He didn't care. As long as he could steal his toy.
Damn, what an appalling lack of delicacy! He was pulling on his hair, to the point that he was messing it up! And because of the deep throat, Douma was drooling like a dog on his own shirt.
He expressed only one wish: that his host not ejaculate in his hair. Semen would make his hair sticky, and he could do without that unpleasant sensation.
His prayers were answered. With a long groan, semen coated his throat. The warm, wet stream tickled his taste buds. Like a good, polite boy, he swallowed the viscous mixture. An impromptu meal.
The co-chairman patted him on the head, relieved and delighted by this little appetizer.
Douma ran his fingers through his long locks and carefully untangled them.
"You've messed up my hair," he said with a hint of bitterness.
Another burst of laughter.
“Don’t worry, you captivate everyone who looks at you with your natural beauty. Even with your hair disheveled, you remain highly desirable.”
The businessman straightened up and dusted off his trousers. A deeper thud elicited a groan of pain from Akaza.
By mistreating him so much, they risked hindering the perfection of his body. The tall blond man's sullen expression prompted a reaction from the co-president, who clapped his hands.
“My dear friends, recess is over. It's time for you to say goodbye! I hope you had a wonderful time with Akaza.”
The participants left their posts, not without a hint of disappointment. The group leader approached his kneeling student, under the scrutinizing, rainbow-colored eyes.
“You are very lucky, Akaza-kun. You have caught the eye of one of my precious friends. Be good and do everything he asks of you.”
The co-chairman planted a kiss on his forehead. He smirked as he passed Douma. That parasite had deserted the small lounge, and finally, Douma could look forward to a moment of privacy with this vivacious young man.
He stood before Akaza, who was watching his every move. Drool dripped from his gag. Champagne clung to his skin, and vivid marks—from the impact of the whip—painted his pretty figure.
The golden ocean opened in surprise when Douma revealed his face. The mask lay scattered on the ground, now a dispensable accessory.
Douma played with a few spiky pink locks, sticky from the champagne and other fluids.
“What rude people… they bruised your pretty skin… Unless you like that…”
Douma boldly ran his hand over his body: he traced random lines on the neck and torso of his new acquisition.
Akaza missed nothing: the golden ocean watched attentively. Not with fear.
His slow, deep breathing did not fit with the scenario imagined by Douma.
Did Akaza enjoy this little session of domination? Behind the favors shown to the co-president, was there a real motivation to be smeared?
Douma may have been dealing with a bad boy.
“Now it’s just the two of us… You gave me a lovely dance upstairs and then you left like a thief.”
Akaza flinched when the tall blond man unbuttoned his pants.
Eyes that reeked of desire. Douma had been wrong about him: his presence here was of his own volition… Akaza had not taken on the role of the victim.
“I had to suck off an old guy to book you… but hey, you must be used to it, right? Look at you, covered in sperm…”
Douma took great care in stroking his penis, with slow, deliberate movements. The golden ocean didn't miss a thing. His ample breasts rose and fell in an irregular rhythm. Oh, was excitement starting to go to his head?
“Do you like what you see, Akaza?”
Like his predecessors, he pressed his penis against his cheek. Akaza consented to this humiliation: he offered his cheek and moved, as if to embrace the penis that was rubbing against him.
His stretched underwear did not go unnoticed. Douma bared his teeth: this little marvel was excited to be degraded like this. Or was it something else?
“Hmm… you’re a good boy… you want to suck me off, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
A moan rolled behind the ball gag. That sentence had not left the submissive unmoved.
“You wear that gag wonderfully. I find you very handsome… but you seem to be forgetting something: Here, I'm the one in charge.”
Douma took a perverse pleasure in playing with his nerves.
“You had fun with other guys… I’m very angry. You deserve no leniency.”
Akaza let out a muffled cry when Douma's foot slammed into his genitals, hard enough to cause sharp pain. The tall blond man wriggled his foot against the sensitive area.
“Little whore… look at yourself…”
The toe of his priceless patent calfskin shoe sank into that strategic hollow. Unable to move, Akaza could only endure. The agony was clearly visible on his contorted face.
Not from pain, but from pleasure. His small, flushed cheeks betrayed him, and a trickle of saliva hanging from his gag made him irresistible.
Douma was pushing his depravity to its extreme. He took off his shoe and removed his sock. The arch of his foot entered that area overflowing with nerve endings. His bare foot teased Akaza's erection.
The tall blond man remained silent, savoring the pleasant sounds emanating from his toy's mouth. His foot slid along the hard cock, trapped within the briefs. Akaza appreciated the treatment his crotch was receiving.
He arched his back and spread his thighs slightly, offering more space. The tall blond man had always had a knack for spotting jewelry like that. He'd been right to go to the club.
What a delicious reward after a string of exhausting workdays.
His toy writhed under this slightly more exotic massage. A swarm of moans bounced off the walls.
Had he reached his limit? The contents of his underwear, at any rate, were about to burst. His toes were deliberately toying with the young Adonis. Douma's lecherous mind conjured up numerous lurid images. A handsome boy like him deserved to be invited into his grand house.
A damp sensation on his foot caught his attention.
His little Akaza had just enjoyed himself with complete impunity.
Douma grabbed the leash and pulled on it, which unbalanced Akaza.
“I didn’t give you permission to relieve yourself, my pretty…”
He snapped the chain against his chest. Akaza stiffened, letting out a desperate groan.
Not wanting to leave it at that – and somewhat annoyed – the tall blond man tipped the trembling body onto the ground.
His prominently displayed ass whetted his appetite. The position accentuated his subject's submission: hands tied behind his back, mouth sealed, collar around his buttocks, face pressed against the floor, all while arched back. A subtle invitation to indulge in his favorite activity.
A prisoner of his animalistic urges, the tall blond man skipped preparing his toy. He slid his underwear down his thighs, freeing his trembling little hole. Douma revealed his own penis: no time to remove his suit. He slid into the narrow passage, passing the muscular ring. His cock entered through this tight opening. In return, he received a moan, almost a sob. Indeed, Douma had neither prepared nor lubricated him. Being fucked dry couldn't be the most pleasant experience, but he was convinced that Akaza would eventually like it. Not being too rough, he slowly moved his hips, taking the time to stretch that rigid mass of muscle. Akaza groaned under these thrusts and struggled as best he could. He desperately writhed his captive wrists.
Douma gave him a break as Akaza seemed to be sobbing from the pain. Immobilized inside him, Douma felt the muscle contraction and a kind of expulsion movement. Was his little Akaza trying to reject his presence?
What a sneaky little whore! Douma's clemency had its limits.
Without a thought for his feelings, Douma delivered a deep, sharp thrust. Akaza let out a scream that smacked against the gag. The lack of lubrication irritated his glans, but the pain had a numbing effect. Besides, Douma wasn't the one who had it the worst.
Akaza's hole was struggling to relax. Wait, had Douma been completely wrong? He thought he was having fun with an experienced slut.
Douma still had some regard for handsome boys.
Using the leash, he straightened Akaza's body and made him sit on top of him, his damp back against his chest. He impaled his precious find on his anatomy – another groan – but with one notable difference: Douma's hand found its way inside the boy's underwear and took advantage of the warm semen to masturbate the handsome young man.
Akaza stiffened, throwing his head back, clearly delighted by the treatment of his penis. Indeed, his sphincter muscles relaxed slightly, opening the passage, and Douma seized this opportunity to deliver a series of sustained thrusts.
The tall blond man applied pressure to Akaza's neck with his forearm, immobilizing his head. The CEO made sure he didn't run out of air. The new position seemed to suit him, as his penis hardened under his nimble fingers.
Akaza gasped with his nostrils flared, his breathing ragged, mixed with a chorus of moans.
It was rather strange, but Douma had the distinct impression of hitting a smooth surface at the end of his run. He didn't pay any further attention to this detail. He had other priorities to deal with.
Douma ran his tongue over the bite mark on his shoulder, collecting a few almost dried droplets of blood. He too left a subtle mark on his skin, sensually nibbling at it.
Perfect, his little Akaza had become as malleable as clay.
Douma tipped him onto the ground, adopting the initial position, with one difference: the tall blond man was hitting his hole ferociously.
He used his flexibility to crush his skull with his left foot while delivering vigorous blows to his heart. Akaza did not object to this new form of degradation. What could he do about it anyway?
An undesirable element disrupted the festivities.
Douma looked up at the sound of the door opening and came face to face with the co-president, who had a smile on his lips.
The old man, in heavy silence, settled into the small armchair, admiring the copulation between these two magnificent creatures. It would take more than that to unsettle the CEO, who was determined to have a good time with his toy.
His well-arched backside made it easy for him: Douma slapped his balls gleefully. He held his foot against his skull and dug his nails into the firm skin of his buttocks.
Akaza drowned in a sea of delicious moans. The anal passage narrowed, crushing his moving cock. The young man repositioned himself on his knees, offering his buttocks on a silver platter.
All good things must come to an end: with a longer groan, the pink-haired young man lost himself in an intense orgasm. Douma took advantage of the tightness of his hole to deliver a good series of thrusts.
Stars flooded his vision at the moment of his climax. With each blink, tiny white dots scattered. The tall blond man sighed with relief, delivering the final thrusts, before coming to a complete stop inside.
When the post-orgasmic signs subsided, Douma finally withdrew.
The businessman licked his lips obscenely while watching his ass expel a trickle of sperm.
But… Akaza's battered hole continued to evacuate the viscous liquid.
Douma's eyes widened at the appearance of a bluish object. The sphincter expelled a ball the size of a ping-pong ball. So that was what he had touched during penetration.
The surprise was total when the anus expelled three more bullets, simultaneously releasing obscene gases.
The co-chairman laughed loudly and stood up. Douma silently got dressed, observing the two protagonists. The old man removed the gag. Akaza's mouth didn't remain empty for long: driven by a lewd desire, the old man inserted the four soiled bullets into the back of his throat.
He patted his head like you would a dog.
He gave his host a radiant smile.
“I hope you had a wonderful time with Akaza, Douma-sama… Would you be so kind as to leave us alone? I need to speak with him.”
Douma cast one last glance at the boy, lying on the ground, unresponsive to his surroundings. The tall blond conceded. He had gotten what he wanted; he had nothing more to do there.
So, what was this strange sensation that was pulling at him?
Guilt? Pity? Hard to say.
He sipped his glass of whiskey, enjoying the bustle around him. He glanced at his watch. Nearly 20 minutes had passed. He had left his mask on the counter, and new customers were coming to court him. His ego savored every compliment.
It was far from sufficient. His colorful irises wandered and his concentration drifted away from the frivolous conversations.
His heart sank when Akaza took his place at the counter, dressed in his costume and mask. Douma excused himself, pushed through the crowd, and walked towards the bar.
Akaza didn't even turn around, standing straight as a ramrod, staring at the displays of alcohol bottles. The corners of his mouth and his cheeks were marked by the too-tight straps of the gag.
“Sir, please serve this charming young man a glass of your finest champagne.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Akaza sized up his neighbor.
“Thank you, but I'm avoiding drinking.”
“A little touch-up wouldn't hurt you.”
The young man shrugged, showing little desire to engage in conversation. A stark contrast.
“You know, there was no need to wear your mask again. You look much better without it.”
This time, Akaza turned towards him.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”, his tone was not friendly.
Douma couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion. He felt a rather unusual kind of attachment to this boy.
“I found you much more enterprising at the beginning, when you offered me your little dance.”
Akaza took a sip of his overpriced glass. He didn't let it faze him.
“Yes, well, I no longer owe you any explanations. My obligations have ended.”
His pride took a serious hit: he had thought Akaza was interested in him. The young man had only obeyed orders, which completely changed the tall blond man's perception of him.
Was Akaza forced to come here and engage in these humiliating practices to satisfy immoral urges?
“Then you took the liberty of penetrating me and ejaculating inside me.”
It sounded like a reproach.
“Oh come on, you know that perfectly well: to frequent this place, you have to undergo regular medical examinations. I didn't give you any nasty stuff.”
“That’s not the point.”
The golden ocean reeked of anger.
“I didn’t want this. We could have played together without it coming to this, but people like you think they can get away with anything.”
Was he implying that Douma had raped him?
“If it makes you feel better, I have to sleep with your boss in exchange for this time spent with you,” Douma said awkwardly.
“That’s your problem, not mine. What do I fucking care?”
He pushed away the champagne glass and stood up from the leather stool.
“Go fuck yourself, Douma-sama,” Akaza snapped, his eyes filled with hatred.
Douma did nothing to make amends; it wasn't his style. But until then, no one had ever disrespected him like that. He was revered, and all eyes were on him whenever he went anywhere.
It had been a long time since he'd felt so wretched: an echo of his family's failure, rejected and belittled by his own people. The ordeal, submitting to men of dubious morality to reach the top. And coming from a young boy he'd grown fond of, it made the situation all the more bitter.
All things considered, he would have been better off returning to his sumptuous home after that damned meeting.