Summoned

Kyle almost jumped out of his seat. The private messenger’s window popped up on his screen.

“Please see me in my office immediately.” The CEO’s words.

“Ok, Sir. I’ll be there in a sec.” typed Kyle.

He’s had brushes with the CEO several times during his three-month stay in the company and he considers it a sign that he picked the right people to work for. Many employees today never see their CEOs face-to-face, he mused while rummaging for a pen and a piece of paper in his drawer. Their companies are so huge that they get fired before the year-end meet-and-greet party. iEventCentral makes it possible for your average clerk and security guard to chat with the CEO at least two times a month — kind of makes everyone feel special and appreciated, theoretically boosts their production. This guy is much more special, though. He’s known to randomly pick 9 employees in the building every April to celebrate his birthday with. He only picks guys and they go to a bar where he provides every single one of them with their own whore smack on their lap.

But he hasn’t tried that. Once, the CEO rode the elevator on the 43rd floor with a bunch of Israelis who scraped the elevator’s ceiling with their heads. Kyle was in a corner having gone to the ice-cold Finance Department on the same floor to manually submit some names. The CEO turned his head, noticed him gulping and looked at him for three seconds before smiling and nodding his head a fraction of a millimeter. Kyle heavily sighed and smiled and nodded, too. It was a fantastic experience being recognized like that.

As he pushed the up arrow alone in the white marble hallway, he can’t help but grin a cheshire grin. It’s the 26th of March and everyone knows the CEO’s birthday is on April 7. It’s about time for him to choose his next lucky pals for that special night. Kyle reviewed their encounters in the employees’ bathroom, their unexpected meeting at a showing of “Avatar,” and just recently at the building’s pantry. The bald bespectacled man in beige coat glanced at him once and told some skyscraper Italians, “See that over there at the condiments? One of our excellent employees here, Kyle.”

It’s coming.

Doors opened on the 43rd floor and Kyle stepped out, his trousers hiding the tremors in his legs. The CEO’s glittering silver office came nearer and nearer as he walked toward it — he felt his eyes were like a hand-held camera and he’s about to witness something awesome. He watched as his hands grasped the golden doorknob.

He was in.

“Hi, Sir,” said Kyle, grinning nervously, “What can I do for you?” bowing three times while awkwardly stepping forward toward the heavy oak desk.

The CEO’s glasses were on his table. His beige coat was over his chair behind his back. The fat rich man was just sitting there, not smiling, not moving an inch, but staring at him.

“I want you to suck my cock.”

The air-conditioner hummed on solo.

Kyle’s grin was still on. The CEO licked his lips.

“Wh-what, Sir?” asked Kyle, his brow furrowed but white teeth still glowing through his grin.

“I said I want you to suck my cock.”

The CEO’s glasses were on the table. His beige coat was over his chair behind his back. This fat rich man is squatting here with a laid-back expression on his pudgy pale face. Everything seems to be right, Kyle thought. He chuckled.

“Always the cool man, Sir! You got me.”

“Fifty-thousand.”

Air-conditioner hums.

“Fifty-thousand — what, Sir?”

“I’ll give you fifty thousand if you suck my cock.”

Finally, Kyle’s grin evaporated.

“You suck the juice outta me and I’ll bust everything in your throat then I pay you fifty thousand.”

Something clicked in Kyle’s mind, and his grin flashed back on. He shook his head and said chuckling in an obviously fake manner, “Sir, that is the greatest prank ever. I should’ve talked to the other lucky guys before I came here.”

Air-conditioner.

“No, Kyle, suck my cock you fag.”

“What?”

“Ok then, seventy-five thousand.”

Then the CEO stood up. His rock-hard penis was pointed at Kyle, dripping with what seems to be baby oil. The ruby red head was about to burst. His corpse-pale thighs were covered with curly hair. Left hand with a golden wedding ring clasped tight around the veiny shaft.

Sunlight from the windows shines through him.

“Get down under my desk and be seventy-five grand richer or get out of my office.”

Kyle gulped.

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