Greed

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I accidentally texted Mark a picture of my dick around lunchtime the day after I lost my job. He'd sent me a picture of his sad corporate cafeteria burger, so I pulled a pair of sweatpants on and sent him a picture of my bare feet on the coffee table next to my beer and a half empty bowl of cereal.

It was, in retrospect, a sad sight, but after an "I quit/you're fired" show down with my boss the day before, I'd spent the day convincing myself that sitting around the house half naked was a vacation, not a crisis.

--quit your job and you too can live the high life--I texted after the picture went through.

--I wish. You got apps out?

--I'm taking the weekend. I deserve a bender.

--true. fuckers. So what actually happened?

--long story. I'll fill you in next time I see you.

We chatted for a while about how awful my firm had been, how he'd definitely quit if he didn't get the promotion he was angling for, and how we, the unappreciated white collar worker, deserved better than we got.

I was working my way toward the end of my second beer when Angela sent me an afternoon surprise: a full frontal in a mirror from one of the changing rooms at the Jersey mall where she worked.

--a little pick me up--she said. --now go take a shower. you'll feel better.

--feeling better already, I said. I swiped away a message from Mark, opened my camera, and hauled my dick out of my sweats.

I'd been cruising porn all morning but hadn't gotten off, so my dick, not quite sleeping, not quite hard, stood up immediately. Pressing one thumb against the base to steady it, I held my phone loosely in the other hand and took a few pictures at different angles. It took me about five seconds to choose my favorite, open my messaging app, and send it off to the contact at the top of my incoming messages list. I realized I'd tapped Mark's name only a fraction of a second after I'd done it, but by then it was too late. Muscle memory had taken over and I hit send.

For an eternal hanging moment I sat staring at the name on the screen, my stomach a cold hollow and my dick wilting.

I jumped when my phone buzzed again.

--dude. Wtf?

My heart flopped in my chest. I typed three different responses, trying to sound both casual and apologetic in each, but after two beers on an empty stomach I had trouble thinking in a crisis. I finally opted for honesty.

--sorry dude. ang sent me a pick-me-up. wanted to let her know it was working.

There was a short pause.

--seems like it is

I thought that might be the end of the conversation, that maybe if we didn't talk about it we could pretend it never happened, but Mark didn't let it go.

--this is awkward

Then:

--you still at it?

That actually made me laugh. I could hear him saying it in the bro voice he used when he was excited or angry or stressed, all the vowels stretching out.

--would I be texting you if I was jerking off?

--you tell me dude!!

--no worries. Both hands on my phone

He didn't respond after that and I sat for a while, my phone in my lap, wondering what else I could do to make life miserable for myself.

I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking beer and watching old road runner cartoons. The sun was just beginning to slant into sunset colors when my phone buzzed against my thigh. I turned it over.

Mark. My chest lightened a little.

--I'm on my way over. Got beer. You decent?

I smiled. Water under the bridge, apparently.

--as I'll ever be

--that better mean you have pants on

Twenty minutes later he was standing in the middle of the living room with his tie loosened and a six pack of beer in each hand. He held one out to me.

"One for now, one for the fridge."

When I got back from the kitchen he was still standing in the middle of my tiny city living room, a beer in one hand and his suit jacket in the other. He looked at the couches on each side of the coffee table.

"Which one have you been tagging all day?"

I rolled my eyes. "Neither. They're safe."

"I'm not worried about safe," he said. "I'm worried about dry. This suit's expensive." He tossed his jacket across the back of the nearest couch and fell heavily onto the cushions. He looked at me, half reclining against the arm rest, and raised his beer. "To dick pics," he said.

I made a face as I pulled a beer from its ring. I lifted the can toward him. "To irreparable fuck ups."

"'Irreparable?' Don't be such a fatalist, dude. This is an opportunity. You left a shitty job. Time to move up."

I stared at the coffee table between us. "I didn't really quit," I said. "I kind of got quit-fired. And I burned some bridges."

"All right dude, story time. How'd you get 'quit-fired?' What the hell's that even mean?"

I sat for a while looking at the coffee table between us. What could I say? How could I tell one of my best friends that my boss, my mentor, had caught me sucking his boss's dick in their shared executive bathroom? How could I explain that I'd been trying to advance my career with my mouth, and that it had backfired spectacularly?

I looked up at Mark. "What's the stupidest thing you've ever done at work?"

Mark made a face. "Back at Aberloan I accidentally copied the VP of sales on an email I shouldn't have. Called him a dickhead in the subject line."

"Ouch. But I mean like a real 'oh shit' moment. A career-ending fuck up."

Mark considered me as the noises of Manhattan drifted in through the window from the street below. Finally he took a long swallow from his beer and blew a breath out his nose.

"You really got into some shit, huh."

I ran my tongue over my teeth. "Yeah," I said. "You could say that."

"Illegal?"

I frowned.

"Man, you shouldn't have to think about that one."

"Not illegal," I said. "Just..." I shrugged.

"All right," he said. "I can play that game. But this doesn't leave the room."

I held my beer over my heart. "Unemployed scout's honor."

"Yeah, perfect," he said. He settled a little lower on the couch. He rested his beer on the flat plane of his stomach and blew out a breath that rounded his stubbled cheeks. "Man," he laughed. "It wasn't at work, but it was definitely work related. And a total cliche."

He stared up at the ceiling. I didn't know if he was reliving the details or trying to figure how exactly to tell the story, so I sipped my beer and waited, content to study his tight, lean frame. I watched the can on his stomach rise and fall as he breathed and I enjoyed the way his legs had spread wide as he sprawled on the couch.

When the mound behind Mark's zipper twitched, my heart skipped a beat. I looked up to his face, afraid that he'd seen me watching, that he could see lust on my face, but he was still staring up at the ceiling. I settled my beer over the growing bulge in my sweatpants and sat up a little straighter on the couch.

"So?" I said.

Mark sighed and brought his beer to his lips. I watched his throat working as he swallowed. When he finished, he put the can on the coffee table. "Hit me," he said.

Crouching so I could keep my dick from tenting my sweat pants, I pulled a beer from its ring and tossed it to him. He opened it and took a long gulp.

"All right," he said. "I'm only telling you this because you're in some shit and maybe you need a little perspective. There's no way your thing compares to this."

"We'll see."

"Guess we will. But I doubt it. So I copy this VP of sales on an email calling him a dickhead, right?" He paused, took another swig. "Well, two weeks later he caught me fucking his wife."

My mouth fell open. "No way."

"Yeah. At 2pm on a Tuesday in their bed."

"Dude."

"Yeah. And in fucking Texas, where every goddamn grandma has a gun. But the dude didn't storm in yelling and waving his rifle around. I didn't even know he was there until I took my mouth off his wife's tits and saw her looking over my shoulder. I turn around, still balls deep, and I see him standing there holding this massive fucking hand gun."

"Jesus."

"Gets better. He's holding this fucking murder weapon in one hand, and he's holding his dick in the other."

"What? He's just standing there naked with a gun?"

"No, all suited up, but he'd pulled his dick out. And the guy is huge," Mark said, holding his hands about shoulder width apart. "Massive. So I see him standing there and I think: that's it. I'm dead. I'm just ten strokes from my nut and this psycho is about to blow his load while he commits a double homicide."

I smiled. "You're full of shit."

"Swear to god. So I'm staring this guy in the face, my dick still in his wife, and he says in this boardroom kind of voice: 'Mr. Hofler, please come with me.'"

"What'd you do?"

"The guy had a gun, what do you think I did? So we go down the hall and we're sitting in the spare bedroom in these arm chairs, both of us still hard because I'm a stud and he's a psycho--"

"You took a pill."

"--yeah, I took a pill, but this guy didn't, and he just sits there, dick pointing at the ceiling like a fucking tent pole, and he says, 'Mr. Hofler, I have a proposition for you.'"

I rolled my eyes. "Bullshit. This sounds like a porn."

Mark pointed at me with the hand holding his beer. "You wanna hear this story?"

I shut my mouth and waved my hand.

"So he says a bunch of stuff about how his wife is beautiful, how I'm young, how he can't blame me for wanting her, and he's actually glad we're enjoying ourselves."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. And then he says: 'I'll allow you to finish what you've started, but first we'll need to align on a few procedural details.'"

I hadn't even opened my mouth all the way when Mark held his hand up.

"Stop interrupting. That's what he said. That exact phrase. So I'm weirded out, but what can I do? The guy could shoot me in the face or beat me to death with his club dick, so I'm listening."

Mark took a long pull on his beer. As his head tilted back my gaze followed the line of his tie down to his crotch. I felt a little surge of adrenaline when I realized I could see the outline of his dick beginning to extend down his inner thigh. His underwear must have been thin, almost sheer, because they did nothing to conceal the ridge of his head as it pressed against the fabric of his suit.

When I finally looked up, Mark was watching me over the rim of his beer. He held my gaze for a moment, then took another swig. Letting his beer rest on his stomach again, he nodded at me. "So guess what this guy wants."

I couldn't help but smile. I could see where this was going. "He wants to fuck you," I said. My dick twitched involuntarily at the idea.

"God, that's what I thought too. The whole time he's talking I'm trying to decide whether I could sit on that monster or if I should just tell him to shoot me. But," he said, "he doesn't want me to bend over. He wants to blow me, watch me fuck his wife, then eat her out after I nut."

I stared at him. "Jesus. So much for the sanctity of marriage."

"No shit."

As I leaned forward for another beer I tried discretely to hold my dick down. "So how'd you get out of it?"

"I didn't."

I frowned, my hand halfway to the beer. "What do you mean?"

Mark shrugged. "The dude had a gun. I let him to go to town." He met my eye and laughed. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

I realized my mouth was hanging open. "No," I said. "I didn't."

I hadn't intended to ask the first question that came to mind, but after an afternoon of drinking I'd begun to lose control of my mouth. "Was that your first time with a guy?"

Mark smiled and cocked his head, watching me, but didn't say anything. I brought my beer to my mouth once as I waited. I drank again as the silence stretched.

"What do you think?" he said finally.

It sounded like a genuine question, not a rhetorical challenge, but I couldn't think of a safe answer. I shrugged.

Mark shifted on the couch. He lifted his left arm and flexed his bicep until the muscle filled the sleeve of his tailored shirt. He looked at me. "In college I didn't always hit home runs with chicks," he said, "but dude, I never had a theater kid say no to this." He put his arm down and slid a little lower on the couch cushions. As he did, his legs spread further apart. When he spoke again I realized I'd been staring at his dick. It now extended almost halfway down his thigh.

"So," he said. "How's my story compare to yours? Still think you're the king of fuck ups?"

"Well, I'm out of a job," I said. "What happened to you?"

Mark tilted his head. "Got a promotion, actually."

"Are you serious?"

Mark smiled. "It took a while. The horny fuck made me come back every Tuesday. I think he figured he'd teach me a lesson. If I wanted to fuck his wife, he was going to make sure I got what I wanted and then some. Got to be pretty routine after a while, though, even the gun, and I think he decided I wasn't suffering enough. We started leaving the office together, driving over to their place in his beamer so he could grill me about work. He realized he liked my ideas, though." Mark's smile widened. "And he liked that I could shoot in his mouth and still have another load for her. Said they'd never had someone so accommodating."

"Unreal," I said, staring at his crotch again. "Wish I had your knack for turning blow jobs into promotions."

"It's all about choices." Mark said. "Any crisis can become an opportunity. So, that what this was about? Blow jobs?"

I went still. I hadn't meant to say it, but the beer had loosened my tongue and his story had me reliving each time I'd gotten on my knees for a man in a suit. I didn't know what else to say, so finally I just nodded.

"Giving or receiving?"

I'd have panicked if anyone else had asked me that question, but Mark's tone, even and curious, was reassuring. I didn't think I'd revealed enough to suggest I'd ever given a blow job, but after Mark's admission that he'd been with men I wanted to respond in kind. We'd been friends since our early twenties, but this was a new connection and I wanted to cement it. Wanted, maybe, to explore it.

I glanced at his dick again, then leaned back with a sigh. I met his eye briefly. "Giving," I said.

"Right." His voice was low as he frowned at me. "Never saw that before, but I can see it now."

I wasn't sure what he meant and I didn't have the courage to ask. I waited.

"So things didn't turn out well."

"They did for a while," I said. "Then not so much. It was stupid. My fault."

"Who was it?"

Emboldened by the beer, Mark's obvious erection, and the frankness of our conversation, I reached down to adjust my own hard on and didn't try to conceal it. It pointed sideways toward my hip and tented my sweats. "My boss," I said. My dick twitched involuntarily. "Then his boss."

"What, at the same time?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sort of. They didn't know about each other. Got caught two days ago."

"Ah. You got greedy."

I sighed again. I'd told myself the same thing, that I'd taken a stupid risk getting on my knees for both of them, but it stung to hear someone else say it. I rubbed at my face with both hands, anxious about my prospects, depressed by my own impulsive stupidity, and excited, despite everything, to be aroused while I had Mark's eyes on me. I let my dick jump, knowing the fabric of my sweatpants wouldn't hold it down.

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Not sure," I said, rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "Any suggestions?"

"Well," Mark said as I let my hands fall away. "We could cut the bullshit--" he spread his legs wider so his bulge was on full display, "--and you could come over here and get on this."

If he'd held that pose another three seconds, if he hadn't broken, I would have been up off that couch. I would have been on my knees between his legs and I would have taken him into my throat without a second thought.

But before I could move he began to laugh. I glared at him as his smile widened and his stomach shook. "Dude, the look on your face."

"Fuck you," I said.

I folded my arms and tried not to look as mortified as I felt. And I tried, even as I watched Mark's hard dick where it lay against his thigh, to smother my disappointment. It would have been a terrible idea. I'd just lost my job because I got on my knees too often--what good could come from blowing one of my best friends on a whim? Mark had called me greedy, and he'd been right. I tried to be grateful he didn't realize just how right.

"Sorry man, couldn't help myself," Mark said. He was still grinning. "Shouldn't have laughed." He sipped his beer, wiped his mouth, then put the can on the coffee table. "But seriously. You've been checking this out since I got here." He laid his hand on his dick and gave it a gentle shake. "You need a fix? It's all yours."

I was on my feet before I realized I'd decided to do it.

Mark grinned as I pushed the coffee table out of the way so I'd have room to kneel between his knees. He slid down further on the couch.

"Man, why didn't you tell me you swallowed dick? You could have had this a long time ago."

I reached for his belt and tried not to think too hard about the surge of satisfaction that washed over me as I settled between his legs.

When I started getting on my knees at work I'd always been aware that I might need to scramble out of a compromising position quickly. That meant belts never came off and pants never came completely undone. My boss, and eventually his boss, would stand away from the windows or sit at a desk and I would suck quickly, methodically, until it was time for me to swallow. Ten seconds after he stopped grunting and I'd swallowed all there was to have, he'd zip up and we'd readjust. When he looked unruffled and my throbbing dick was discretely tucked up into my belt, we'd get on with business. At least once a day, that's how our meetings started. Sometimes that's also how they'd end. In the last few weeks when I was juggling meetings with both of them, sometimes multiple times a day, that could mean three or four loads before I went home--five, the time I walked my boss to his car and he fucked my mouth in the half empty garage.

Despite their frequency, our encounters were always furtive, always cautious. Only occasionally did my boss unbuckle his belt and let his pants slip down to mid thigh. It only happened when he was slamming into my mouth like a machine, both hands knotted in my hair, lost in the effort to grind out his third load of the day. I loved those moments. As spit ran down my chin and his pants fell down his hairy thighs, I'd reach around to grip his ass while he punished my mouth. It was wild, intoxicating, but it never lasted. As soon as he stopped blasting ropes of heat against the back of my throat, he buttoned up and we got back to work.

I wanted more from Mark. I didn't know if I'd ever get my mouth on him again, so I was going to savor it.

After I'd undone his belt, I reached up with both hands and gripped his pants by the hips. When he lifted his ass off the couch I tugged until his dick sprang free and both his pants and his white, see through trunks were bunched around his knees.

On the heat rising off his skin I could taste the rich smell of the sweat that had been gathering between his legs all day. I pulled it in through my nose, my mouth, then let his shaft slide against my cheek as I leaned down to bury my nose in his short, curly hair. When I opened my mouth and tilted my head to the side so I could suck on the base of his dick, he grunted and thrust his hips forward.

"Damn," he said.

I opened my mouth wider and curled my tongue along to the underside of his shaft.

"Ok," Mark said. His dick pulsed. "Ok." He pushed up against my face again. "Why'd they let you go?"

I almost smiled. At work when I'd gotten on my knees my reward had been a few muffled grunts and a load down my throat. The men I'd been blowing for months had stayed quiet, still, cautious. Mark let his whole body respond to my mouth and the couch groaned beneath him as he shifted. I sucked on the root of his dick again and my own hard on jumped as I heard him suck in a breath.

I thought again about Mark's appraisal of my attempt to seduce both my boss and the man above him.

"I got greedy," I said, and pressed my mouth to the crease between his balls and his thigh. As I inhaled again I ran my hands over his thighs, around to the firm, full globes of his ass, then up under his shirt to his abs.

Mark dug his fingers into the hair at the back of my head and pulled me up to look at him. "I like greedy," he said. With his other hand he pointed his dick at my mouth. "Take it," he said, and slowly, steadily, pushed my mouth down onto his shaft.

I rose up higher on my knees, angling so that his head could slide past my tongue and down into the sheath of my throat. I held my breath as inch after inch filled me up. When my nose hit the fragrant hair between his legs, I wrapped my lips around his base and slid my tongue back and forth along the underside.

Mark grunted and bucked, crushing my nose into him. After a few long moments of pressure he breathed out through his nose and took his hand away from the back of my head. Slowly, my lips tight, I slid up off him.

"Goddamm," Mark said when his dick was free. "You know what you're doing."

"Practice makes perfect," I said, wiping my mouth. I kept one hand on the muscles of his stomach as I hovered over his lap. I ran my other hand up his thigh.

"Yeah? How much practicing you do?"

"Two or three times a day," I said. "Sometimes more."

Mark's eyes rounded slightly. He used a hand to push the head of his dick forward until it tapped against my lips. I opened my mouth and let it glide over my tongue. "They could have this everyday, twice a day, and they let you go?"

"Politics," I said, shrugging. "Spite. Jealousy maybe. It got ugly fast."

I wrapped my lips around the head of his dick.

"Jealousy? Idiots. I'd share you with the entire office if it meant I could have this everyday."

I grunted and slid my lips down on his shaft.

"You like the sound of that?" I could hear the smile in his voice. "Office come dump?"

I hesitated. I knew the answer, but the question felt like a trap, like the universe was setting me up for another fall.

But did it really matter? My life was already upside down. I'd lost my job, my mentor, and I was blowing one of my best friends. Admitting I liked to be passed around couldn't make things much worse.

I nodded, grunted, and slid lower on Mark's dick.

"Interesting," he said.

We didn't talk much after that. He let me unbutton his shirt and tongue my way up and down the smooth skin of his stomach, his chest, then he leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and I got to work on his dick.

He had a thick, sturdy piece. It was slightly wider at the base than the tip and perfectly straight. I wrapped my lips around the head and kept my mouth soft, enjoying the sounds he made when I inched down his shaft. When he got quiet, comfortable with the warm, steady pleasure, I swallowed him whole and held his balls against my chin by grabbing his ass with both hands while he bucked. He thrust up against me, flattening my nose and moaning while I worked my throat around his shaft. When I let him go I watched his abs contract and his mouth work soundlessly as he kept thrusting toward my mouth, his head back, his eyes closed. After I caught my breath I leaned in again and swallowed him, using both hands on his ass to fuck his hips against my face.

It went on like that for what felt like hours. His hard, slick shaft push over and past my tongue so many times that it began to feel more natural to have him in my throat than in front of my face. I loved the sound of his breathing, of his moaning and muttering above me as I swallowed him, and it felt like his whole body was moving against me, his thighs, his hips, his chest, his ass--all of him rolling forward to drive his dick into my mouth.

My jaw had begun to ache by the time his grunts turned to quick, gasping moans. As his thrusts became more urgent I rose up on my knees and planted my hands on the couch beside his thighs. I braced myself as he fisted both hands in my hair and hammered into my mouth, swearing and grunting, while his balls, wet with my spit, leapt up to slap against my chin.

He came without warning. Thick jets of heat poured out of him, flooding my mouth with warmth. I swallowed after the first two pulses but as he continued his quick thrusts, growling as he shot against my tongue, my throat, the roof of my mouth, I couldn't keep up. It began to pour past my lips to coat his shaft, his balls, and then my chin.

Not wanting to lose the moment, I reached down into my sweatpants and began pumping furiously. As he collapsed back on the the couch, panting, I held him in my mouth and let his dick stir his load around on my tongue until I shot inside my boxers. I moaned around Mark's shaft as my dick convulsed and my balls emptied, covering my fist and then my thigh with thick, wet heat.

I was still crouched that way, hand in my boxers, dick in my mouth, when I heard Mark's breathing change. I looked up at him and saw him staring over my shoulder. I turned, heart sinking, and saw Angela standing in the doorway.

When our eyes met I realized how I must look: crouched between Mark's naked legs with his dick fresh from my mouth, my face shiny with a combination of spit and Mark's load.

Before I could speak, before I could imagine the possibility of speaking, she turned and left. I winced as the front door slammed.

For a while we sat just as we were, frozen in the silence that followed, and all I could smell was the load Mark had churned out onto my face.

Mark's voice was quiet when he spoke. "I'm really sorry, dude."

I turned from the door to look at him. "I am such a fuck up."

With his shirt still wide open and his pants around his knees, Mark leaned forward and pulled the collar of my t-shirt up. Gently, firmly, he wiped my chin clean.

"Maybe," he said, sitting back. "Or maybe you just know what you want. And now you've got some choices to make."

I let my gaze wander down to his half hard dick.

I did know what I wanted. I'd just lost my job and ended a relationship of two years, but all I could think about was seeing how soon Mark could pump another load into my mouth.

I looked up at him. "Can I crash with you for a while? Until I can find a new place?"

Mark smiled. "As long as you need."

"Might be a while. I'll be short on cash until I find a job."

Mark stood. With his wet dick a few inches from my face, he began buttoning his shirt. "Our hiring manager is a buddy of mine," he said. "I'll have him over tomorrow so you can meet him." He looked down at me as he began to pull his pants up, then paused. "Maybe I'll see if some of the guys from the office can make it too," he said. He tucked his shirt into his pants but left his dick hanging in front my my nose. "What do you think?"

"Is this a party or an interview?"

"A little bit of both."

"For what position?"

Mark's smiled again, wider this time. "Your dream job," he said.

I looked at the dick hanging in front of me. "I've never done a group interview before."

Mark reached down and squeezed his shaft until a small white bead appeared at on the head. "Might be a lot to juggle," he said.

I stared at his dick. "I've gotten pretty good at juggling," I said, "but maybe I should practice a little more."

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