Originally done as a collaboration. I wrote for Ichijou, tumblr user shota-akagi wrote Murakami. Changes in character POV are indicated by line breaks.
Please enjoy and review!
About when he had reached high school, and getting his first job, it became apparent to Murakami that he enjoyed serving others. He wasn't a submissive person (not entirely), but he got the same satisfaction out of helping a superior file records or clean the floor or receive gratification as he did compared to those who liked to be above and controlling. Being told what to do, doing a good job of it, and being rewarded with praise was a very good feeling. And while he didn't necessarily care what it was, he wanted a job that revolved around that. A waiter wasn't the same, because that was the bottom of the barrel. But maybe a butler or a bodyguard. Something personal, something that would have him close to his boss, and something that would make his boss happy.
He was a good man, so getting involved in illegal work was something that seemed uncharacteristic of him, but because of a process involving a bunch of favors from previous managers who were anything but saintly, Murakami found himself working for an underground casino. Gambling was something that made him nervous, initially, but he didn't mind it. He heard what his pay was going to be and he couldn't believe it! He didn't know anything about the manager that he'd be working for, directly, even, other than he was young and 'quite the character'. Was he under qualified? Was he obnoxious, childish? What sort of person was he, if that's all he was going to get out of it? No matter what kind of person he was, Murakami was sure that with enough gratification, his employer would enjoy having him around. Maybe he could even be the favorite!
His first day had him smiling. He was young, himself, only pushing twenty-two, but he was always told he looked and seemed much older. He always had a mature air about him, and he assumed it was because he dedicated himself to labor and professionalism in his work life. Many students at his school hated working, hated the prospect of growing up, but Murakami loved independence and the idea of making a way for himself in the workforce. And with this job, no less! This was like a dream come true, wearing a tuxedo and standing in the manager's office, anticipating the first meeting he'd have with perhaps the greatest man in his life. The casino, itself, didn't seem hectic at all, despite all the high-stakes gambling and the drama and tension and joy overflowing the place. But those powerful emotions weren't suffocating at all, and somehow, Murakami was able to ignore them as he made his way to where he stood at that moment.
"Sir?," he called out, a bit timid at first, but once he found his voice, he grinned as widely as he had all day and stood up straight. "I don't know if you've heard or not, but, ah, I was evaluated by your higher-ups and employed just a few days ago. My name is Murakami Tamotsu, and it's an honor to serve you."
He had a broad smile on his face as he said that last part, and his voice was booming with confidence and pride. It was clear that he meant everything he said, but his nervousness was soaking the air around him, and that, too, was made evident. While he was happy with the position he'd received, it being everything he'd ever wanted, he was nervous about messing the job up, about his boss hating him. That would be awful.
In general, Ichijou was not an easy going person. He didn't accept mistakes or failure or anything less than perfection. But while imperfection drove him up the wall, he realized that nothing would come from berating his employees for small blunders. Ichijou knew better than anyone that mistreating your employees would cause nothing other than hatred and resentment. So instead of punishing and lecturing those who worked for him, he treated them with kindness and benevolence.
True, he was still firm, all things considered, but Ichijou found that the best work ethic came down to the relationship between assistant and boss. It wasn't that he coddled his employees, but a nudge in the right direction did more than fear. Nothing good came from a bad work environment. If his employees were relaxed and happy to do their job then productivity would skyrocket. And it did. And the best way to do this was become close with each and every one of them.
Most people would consider the relationship that Ichijou had with his employees to be odd. In all honesty, it probably was. But it was efficient and it worked. Ichijou wined and dined them, talked to them on a personal level, and always helped them through their occupational responsibilities with a smile on his face. He made it clear that he was approachable. And while he may have been the boss, Ichijou made sure that they saw him as such due to respect and not simply the title. There would be no room for insubordination if his employees looked up to him. He made it so that they loved to come to work, to come see him each day, to work beneath him. But not all of this could be done with simple kindness and cordiality alone. There were definite perks that Ichijou's employees received that made them show up in the morning with a smile on their face.
It was for these kinds of reasons that Ichijou always felt so betrayed when one of his subordinates turned out to go against how he had treated them. Attitude was both nature and nurture, and Ichijou tried to always perfect the former. The latter wasn't always up to him, though, and when he eventually had to let someone go, he took it almost personally. Termination of contract wasn't always a huge affair, but it still put him in a bad mood. He felt personally slighted when an employee refused to improve, no matter what he did, and no matter how well he treated them. Usually when he had to fire someone, they left on good terms, but his most recent loss had not.
It was not a good idea to try and steal money from Ichijou. As easily as Ichijou had poured wine for the man in his private office and conversed with him during his break, he tortured him for attempted thievery. It wasn't as though he liked to. If anything, he was disappointed to see him leave to the underground with bloody fingers and a broken leg, but what else could be done? Ichijou had one less employee and one more reason to be in a foul mood.
Although he might have been the manager, Ichijou was still not the hiring supervisor. He could do little more than wait for the vacant position to be filled. Ichijou wondered what the new man might be like when he was told that someone new had finally been hired. Would he turn out to be like the man who he had just fired? Or would he be good and subservient like the rest? Ichijou thought it over many times. He wondered if he should treat this new person as well as he had done with his previous new hires. Was there a point, if they could also turn out to try to stab him in the back? Ichijou felt very, very betrayed, although he would not show it.
The day rolled around that the new hire would start working for him. Ichijou reserved his resentment, bottling it up and saving it for later. For now, he would give him a chance. If he turned out to be a criminal, then all the pent up anger that he had had would be inflicted on him double. Yes, that would do.
Ichijou perked up from his papers when he heard a knock on his door and the man enter his office. His voice was a bit shaky at first, but grew confident the more he spoke. Ichijou could feel the excitement and eagerness in his voice. That was a good sign. Ichijou turned in his chair to face him, folding his hands politely in his lap as he looked him up and down.
He was broad, square jawed, and nervous. This was probably the first job of high caliber that he had had, and it showed. But his words were enthusiastic and Ichijou saw potential in him. He studied him for a few seconds longer. Yes. Potential.
"Feel free to take a seat," Ichijou said with a smile, motioning towards his couch, "I'm sure you're nervous on your first day. Relax a little before we talk. There's no need to be so uneasy, Murakami." He tested the sound of his name, allowing it to become familiar.
Murakami wasn't the type of man to judge a book by it's cover, but when the chair turned around and he saw the man that was seated in it, he began to get the feeling of why he was described the way that he was when Murakami was first told about him. His hair was long, and red, and it seemed very healthy. Was that mascara he was wearing? His eyelashes were so long, and very-alluring, in an odd, almost uncomfortable way. His eyebrows were oddly shaped for a man, and he had a very sharp, masculine jaw to contrast with his face. He had broad shoulders. A nice suit. His legs were long and lean and crossed, and his hands seemed strong, yet delicate. His voice was soothing, as was his expression, and even as the new employee began to grow confused and upset with all these disorienting contradictions, he ignored them and was made to relax when he heard him call his name. Like he was a siren luring a sailor to his demise. Or like a lovely instrument lulling him to sleep, if he was receiving a good impression of him.
There was a rather comfortable looking couch in the room, and he sat down, hesitantly, at his request. His boss's eyes never left him, and he found himself sitting up very straight. His smile faltered a bit. "I'm very excited to be under your wing, sir," he spoke with the same amount of confidence. His eyes never left Ichijou's. "This is the exact position I'd been dreaming of since I was a first year in high school. Well, hah, maybe not this exact one, since I didn't know what exactly it was I wanted to do. B-but-" oh no, he stuttered, would his boss mock him? "-a few of my former employers were kind enough to help me out, and-I didn't know any sort of thing like this existed. Uhm, what sort of things would you be asking of me as a daily routine, sir? Since I'd never heard of anything like this-before-"
He began to bite his lip. His nervousness and anxiety were beginning to overwhelm him, and Ichijou's piercing gaze-it wasn't that bad, the man was just looking at him, but Murakami was under a lot of pressure-felt invasive, made him feel like he was trapped, and he soon trailed off and stopped speaking entirely. He was worried he was giving off a bad impression, and he shouldn't have said that he didn't know what he was doing, he shouldn't have stuttered, he should have finished what he was going to say!
Ichijou smiled again and laughed amiably, secretly studying his reactions.
"It's okay. Relax. We have time. Today is your first day and I've decided to dedicate it to showing you your responsibilities. You'll find that it's quite alright here. I understand where you must be coming from; I admit, I was much the same, years ago as well. But in time you'll see that it's far nicer than you are expecting. And you seem to be expecting quite a lot, don't you? I hope to make sure that your expectations are exceeded."
This part was always fun for him. Once less nervous and more calm, people changed. One's true personality wasn't necessarily the one displayed while under pressure (Ichijou knew this personally). So it was interesting to see his new employee so nervous and timid now when he hoped he would be sturdy and reliable in the future. Few of his employees started out with the same outlook that they had after Ichijou had warmed them up. Ichijou wondered what sort of man Murakami would be once he became comfortable with this environment. Though to be thoroughly honest with himself, Ichijou didn't mind the shy boy in front of him, knowing that it would be temporary. Perhaps he could take advantage of it.
"I'd rather discuss your responsibilities under more comfortable terms. It wouldn't be very productive to begin now, while you're so nervous. If I did that then only half of it would get through to you and I would have to repeat myself later. I'd rather have you relaxed and focused." Ichijou's voice was formal but inviting, letting himself lead Murakami into a more at ease mood with his body language and tone.
"Would you like some wine?" Ichijou asked, standing and walking over to the cabinet that he kept more personal items in. He chose an unopened bottle for such a special occasion. "I believe your file said that you were twenty two; quite young to have a taste for such vintage, but I really do urge you to try it."
Although he had asked him, Ichijou didn't give Murakami much of a choice when he handed him the glass of dark red wine. Ichijou had a tendency of doing that; deciding for others, forcing his opinions on them and making them adopt them as their own. It didn't matter if Murakami hadn't actually wanted to taste it, Ichijou decided that he would, so he would. But Ichijou did it all with a gracious smile as he handed the glass to him and sat down with him on the couch.
Introductions, when it came to joining a new company as a loyal worker, had never gone the same way twice. Each time meeting a new boss, meeting new co-workers, and meeting new supervisors was always different. Sometimes it was short, and impersonal, and sometimes it'd last the whole day, getting used to things and listening to an introduction speech prepared by the man he'd be working for, or an over-enthusiastic worker who always got the shaft. While some situations went the same, it was, ultimately, unique each time in more ways than none.
For example, never had Murakami felt his jaw go agape during the first meeting with his boss, and never had he felt so intimate with a man he only knew by name.
It was incredible! He thought Ichijou must have been messing with him, why would he be offering wine? Of course, the whole spiel about wanting him to be comfortable and hoping to be happy with his multitude of responsibilities was expected, but the offer of wine! And Murakami didn't know very much about it other than what his father had preached-having a hobby of wine tasting and turning their old cellar into a wine storage facility-but from what he'd learned from his old man, this was some nice stuff! It smelled strong, and it was dark, so that meant it was rich, and aged. His hand was shaking with nervousness as the glass was thrust unto him, and when his boss sat next to him on the couch, he simply stared at him. His eyes were wide, his mouth was wide, and nothing was coming out. He was in a complete stupor.
This had to have been a joke. Never before had any of his bosses-well, maybe they would have if they were wealthier. Perhaps this wine was a gift from his higher-ups-no, no, that wasn't it. This stuff was far too nice, Murakami wasn't stupid. He had it sealed, then, for a special occasion-was his arrival just that special-?
"Uh, m-manager-" He swallowed down his flabbergast, and stared into the glass he was received. "No one will get mad if I drink this, right?"
He wanted to ask why Ichijou was being so personal with him, so caring, taking so much just to make Murakami feel good. He was a lowly worker! He had a nice job, sure, but this was so much more than he'd ever imagined!
"I-I mean! I'm not-I mean-This is really great, sir! I wasn't expecting this when I was hired, this is so much more than I was expecting! But-you won't get in trouble, right? For being so nice to me? I-I'll make up for it, I swear! I won't let you down!"
He continued to smile, studying him, taking in what he was saying and how he was behaving. Murakami's enthusiasm seemed to be honest. He felt a bit out of place in this situation, no doubt not used to such kind behavior from a superior, but all in all he radiated a promise for confidence. Far too often Ichijou was sent a boy who stumbled and agonized over their work. Ichijou eluded confidence himself, and liked to see it in others. Murakami had that potential. Ichijou smiled at him again, judging him.
"I know that you are new, and that's what today is for. But the first thing you should know is that here, I am in charge. I wouldn't give you something that I didn't have authority over, as this is my casino, and what I say goes. You should use that as a general rule of thumb. Now, to answer your question: no. No one will get mad. There's nothing to worry about. You're under my supervision. It's my wine and I'm choosing to share it with you. This is a special occasion that I think dictates it, don't you?"
Ichijou waited a bit for him to calm. Although flustered, he seemed to be fairly adaptive. That was a good sign. And he seemed to eager to please, too. Ichijou trained his employees well but it wasn't very often that he was given someone who was so truly enthusiastic. Generally that was something that had to be taught. Gently eased in to. But Murakami was so polite and honest with his ardor. He seemed to be passionate about it almost.
"Now, then," Ichijou said after he felt that the man was focused enough to truly listen, "I believe we have business matters to discuss."
He set his glass down on the mahogany coffee table, making sure to use a coaster, before picking up the papers he had been reading over. They were Murakami's case files and he had kept them together with a red paperclip. On the cover was his resume. Decent, but not very impressive. Ichijou flipped through the papers silently once more before facing his new employee.
"You haven't had very much experience in this line of work, it seems. You're a bit green in that sense. Is there any particular reason that you chose to apply here? I do not doubt the intentions of who was in charge of hiring you, but I have to admit that you are not a likely candidate for this position. Illegal gambling is not the sort of business one just finds themselves in. Is there anything about yourself that you feel would be an outstanding quality to aid you in becoming a croupier?" Always sure to make himself appear as gracious as possible, Ichijou smiled once more. He did not want the man to feel insulted, yet he did want to assert an aura of doubt, as a means to push him to open up.
After having been given the okay to drink the wine, his fears and worries washed away with a few simple words, Murakami regrew a shaky smile as he took a sip from the alcohol. It tasted wonderful-he'd had wine, and while it wasn't as nice as beer, he felt that he would quickly develop an appreciation for it. Ichijou must have been paid so much if an unopened bottle of wine meant nothing to him. He wasn't aware of it, but the new worker didn't value himself as much as he may have seemed.
A slew of questions! The evaluation of his boss had already begun, and Murakami seemed like he'd been kicked in the side when that realization hit. He cleared his throat and placed his glass down on a coaster before he, too, faced the other man, and straightened his back. He'd been prepared for this! But being asked why he looked for that job, well-
He couldn't let his voice falter this time. He didn't want to seem timid, or underqualified. He was confident! He was strong, and brave, and he could do this! He was perfect for the job! But could Ichijou see that? "I'd always wanted a position like this, sir. Serving others and being rewarded with their gratitude is such a satisfying thing, and with my first job, it was something I recognized that meant a great deal to me and would affect my goals for the future. I heard-from one of my former employers about underground casinos, and about Teiai. I didn't hear very much about the specific job, but-" He rubbed the back of his neck and gave off a bashful smile. "I was told I'd be good at this, so I just sort of went for it. B-but not without making sure I'd be covered! I wasn't stupid, or anything, sir!"
For the first time since speaking to him, Ichijou felt a bit disappointed. Most of his employees had come to him with a background of gambling and casino work. Murakami had not. He was completely inexperienced. Ichijou could sense potential from him, and an innate ability to learn, but it would still take time. There was a lot that would take a while to be taught; how to gamble, how to read cards, how to work with large amounts of money. He wondered how much his honest personality would make up for such inexperience.
"This isn't any ordinary cashier job. True, I might ask you to clean and to mop and to scrub toilets from time to time, but that's not what this is. This is an illegal casino. You will be monitoring customers, watching to make sure that they adhere to my establishment's regulations. You will look for irregular behavior and report it to me. And for that, you will need to learn all of the ins and outs of every game here. It won't be easy, and in fact, I expect you to make mistakes in the beginning. But what is different about this job more than any other is how you deal with those mistakes. Each mistake you make could wind up costing me millions of yen." Perhaps he was scaring him a bit, especially with such an intense expression. But this had to be said. Ichijou was firm, and there would be no room for sidestepping around the truth. "It will be big money that you'll be working with. It will be overwhelming. But that's why I'm here; to manage and supervise you."
Ichijou picked up his files again, reading over comments past managers had made about him. Hardworking, loyal, dedicated. Those words came up often. There was potential here, but it had to be refined carefully if it was to be turned into perfection. Did he have the capacity for that? Perfection was a hard thing to ask of most people. Ichijou had to make sure that he did not crack under the pressure.
"This isn't something for everybody. You may not be cut out for this. Do you feel confident enough in your abilities to take this on?" He asked, looking at him over the papers.
Murakami's smile dropped when Ichijou's attitude seemed to change. He knew he was just looking out for him, and for himself, and he knew he had no real reason to trust someone who was as inexperienced as him. Someone who was so green, innocent, in a way. But Murakami was to be trusted! He learned quickly, and he never let there be rooms for mistakes unless it was something minor, like a spot on the floor not cleaned, or-just something minor. He could do this! Even if it was scary.
"You can trust me, sir." His smile was gone, but he hadn't lost any of his confidence even after having been scared. "Really. I know I may seem incapable of doing the work, but there have been plenty of times I had to pick up a new skill, and quickly. I can ask for help from some friends I have when it comes to gambling, I can do what I must outside of work. Really! Please, sir, I'm capable of doing this work."
His eyes had a pleading look. He was being serious. He wanted this job.
The way that Murakami remained calm under pressure was a good sign. Sure, he was no longer smiling, but his eager attitude never left. He was so steadfast in his resolution of being a good employee. His honest nature was so refreshing. Ichijou could feel his enthusiasm and integrity. And while what he had said was true, that he was inexperienced, seeing him react in such a way reassured the small doubts that had begun to form. Murakami was promising, and Ichijou hoped to use that to his advantage.
Ichijou smiled again, though not as warmly as he had initially. "It's very good to see such heartfelt devotion. While I train my employees well, I admit that that is not something that I come by often. At least not in such an honest manner such as yours. Would you consider yourself to be that, Murakami? Devoted? Are you willing to work hard? To dedicate time outside of work? To do things that many people might consider to be unsavory, for me?"
The papers were set down for good and Ichijou turned to face him more directly. Although he was not small himself, Murakami was larger than him, and Ichijou consciously made sure that his posture alluded dominance and confidence. Men subconsciously tended to size each other up and he was no exception, even though his position was one of much higher stature. But he placed a hand down on the cushion between them during all of this. He appeared big, but not unapproachable. Ichijou did not necessarily want his employees to feel on the same level as him. More so, he wanted them to feel a calming, submissive security in his presence. Just small gestures such as extending his hand between them helped to ease Murakami into such a mindset.
A bit of color came to Murakami's face when Ichijou's smile returned, and when, for some reason, he moved a bit closer, placing that hand between them. He had trouble swallowing what had built up in his throat, as well, but despite his shocked and unnerved expression, his voice gave no inkling as to what his expression conveyed. He had to clear his throat, however. His boss was very close, and this sort of proximity wasn't something he was used to. Or comfortable with, in most circumstances.
"I promise you, I won't be behind for much longer. I'm sure you're an excellent teacher. I'm willing to dedicate everything I have to help make sure the workings of this casino go on as smoothly as they have since before I started working here. You won't lose any money because of me, you won't lose any trust in people as a whole because of me. I'm willing to do what I can to make you happy, boss."
He smiled, again.
"I hope not. I'm putting my trust in you, and don't expect to see myself be disappointed. You have definite promise. Everything else can be taught." He flattered him a bit as a reward for the slight interrogation he had just put him through. But it was the truth. He had high hopes for this man. "Now, onto other manners..."
They talked for a long while about various things. Finances, work experience, expectations, job responsibilities... There was a lot to cover. It took a while, and Ichijou let Murakami get up to leave for a short break, leaving himself alone to muse over what had just happened. All of his first impressions seemed to hold true over the course of the day. Murakami was such a straight forward man. He didn't get the feeling that he was hiding things from him, that he doubted his abilities. When the man told him that he would work to do his job as perfectly as possible, Ichijou couldn't help but believe him. There was definite leeway that Ichijou gave new employees, but he didn't expect to be needing much of that with this man. Even if he slipped up, he believed him when he said that he would work as hard as possible to correct his mistake.
Ichijou tapped his finger on his desk absentmindedly. Such promise was hard to come by, and he couldn't help but wonder if it might be too good to be true. Perhaps he was on a rebound of sorts after his most recent experience with the man who's job Murakami was filling. The thought disappointed him, and he sighed, leaning back against his black leather chair and staring up at the ceiling. He would make sure to keep an eye on this new worker. Ichijou would not let himself be double crossed again. It reflected poorly on him as a manager and a person.
"Come in," he said when he heard a knock on his door after a while.
It had been about half an hour before Murakami returned. Ichijou turned to look at him and softened a bit. He stood there with his hands behind his back as he shut the door quietly. He was such a modest man for appearing so broad. Perhaps it was his age. Or, perhaps, it was all in his personality. Ichijou liked the way that his uniform looked on him. Well dressed men were a secret pleasure of his. Or, well, not so secret after all. He chucked a bit inwardly. Ah, Murakmi was a new employee after all. There were still things to go over.
"Did you enjoy the card I gave you?" Ichijou welcomed him back into his office, continuing to sit in his chair as Murakami stood in front of him. He enjoyed the way that he held the dominance in the room without being the one standing. Murakami had likely not been expecting all of the hospitality that had been given his way. The gift card was loaded with yen for a nearby luxurious restaurant. Ichijou loved to spoil his employees in as many ways as possible. It must have been a bit overwhelming, his mind no doubt dizzy from such generosity. Ichijou was very, very generous when he chose to be.
While he had been outside, mulling over the events that had transpired in the manager's office, Murakami used it as a chance to see what sort of things went down on the floor of the casino. He saw people win, people lose, and even up in the rafters, he was aware of the intense emotion overflowing the place. It was like a cesspool of greed and vice, and it made his skin feel cold just experiencing it. Feeling it in his hair, in his eyes, it was like it was staining his clothes. But Ichijou was such a clean man. He looked so clean, so provided for, so-
A perk he hadn't been expecting was the appearance of his boss. Hell, everything about his boss, even. He was so generous, giving him this card for a nice restaurant! But he didn't want to go alone, maybe he could treat his boss to a nice dinner for what he did for him, using the money Ichijou provided for him. But that'd be silly, and inappropriate. Still, he smiled a little at the thing, turning it over in his hand as he went over his responsibilities a few times. Ichijou had such a nice voice. He seemed so happy with him, with his enthusiasm, with his dedication and his attitude. He thought he'd screwed it up with the very minor mistakes he made in his speech, and with his gawking. Ichijou was so nice.
He was thankful to be working for a man like that. And all the employees seemed happy to be there! They weren't all smiles and songs, though, and with reason, but speaking with the ones that he did on his break, and upon arriving to the building, they seemed-chipper. They all had the same enthusiasm that Murakami exuded. Maybe Ichijou was a witch, and it was all magic, and they were all under his spell. Maybe he was paying them to be like this. Or maybe the attention-and affection-that Murakami received was what was standard, and it wouldn't fade if he did his job well.
Then he got to thinking. Maybe there were other perks. Ichijou couldn't be straight, he reasoned with himself, but would he do anything-inappropriate-with his employees? The higher-ups would know, wouldn't they? Maybe that was why everyone was so happy to work there. Simple praise enough wouldn't be that effective for everyone, would it? Or maybe there was just more to it. Instead of thinking about the gravity of what he'd been assigned, he thought more about his boss, and what he did in his spare time. That made things a bit nervous when he returned to the office, still as meager as when he'd left.
"If it wouldn't be too much to ask, maybe-" he straightened himself up a bit, and looked towards the ground. "Maybe, since I'd never been to a restaurant of that class, we could visit it together. Th-this isn't a date, or anything! I'm just not sure how comfortable I'd be there-but I appreciate the card, sir! I'm not ungrateful! I'm just-not used to a lot of things like this. But it'll get better!"
He was so desperate to satisfy his boss, he wasn't aware of how flustered he was. It wasn't a date. "It'd be very inappropriate for me to-a-ask you on a date, since we'd just met, and considering our positions-and that we're both men. So perhaps we could go as co-workers. Or-friends."
Ichijou quirked an eyebrow, his expression remaining ultimately unchanged. That had been unexpected. It wouldn't have necessarily been selfish for Murakami to use the card on himself, as that was why it had been given as a gift, but to offer to use part of that gift on the person who had given it to him was very selfless. This man was astoundingly...submissive. His voice was strong but so very, very eager to please. Ichijou was certainly pleased.
But his attitude was a bit different from before he had left on break. It was a bit more flustered even though he left so calmly. And with such talk of dates... Ichijou narrowed his eyes in a slightly sly manner. Murakami had been thinking about things. There would be no other reason for him to behaving this way, to imply such things at such an innocent gesture. There was something on his mind and Ichijou had purposefully planted it there.
"You didn't eat? Oh, but it was a gift. If I wanted to use it on myself, I wouldn't have given it to you." He watched him deflate a bit, so Ichijou added: "But it was a gift. And if that is how you choose to use it, then I would have no other choice than to accept, would I?"
He did not comment on his word choice, on how he kept talking about 'dates' or bringing up their gender, purposefully acting as though his reaction was a common thing. There would be no reason to assume that their outing would be anything other than friendly. After all, it would only be sharing a meal together as business partners. Unless, of course, Murakami had begun to have other things on his mind.
"But you seem to be so nervous again. Do I make you uncomfortable? I thought we had gotten past that, Murakami." All he did was say his name, but it held such unspoken implications. "Is there anything on your mind?"
Ichijou stood and crossed the room and set a hand on the small of his back, directing him back towards the couch. It was subtle but it said so much. No normal man would touch him there instead of, say, the arm or shoulder. No normal man would touch him at all. But Ichijou wasn't necessarily what you would call normal.
"Please, take a seat." He said, not giving him much of a choice.
He came off as too strongly. He knew it. He hadn't had any other intentions, really! That was why he was so defensive, because he was sure that his boss could see right through him! But there was nothing to see, it was just a precautionary thing, and, and-
And he said yes, which Murakami wasn't sure if he was expecting or not. He had said yes, that he'd have dinner with him, and that helped relieve a lot of the anxiety that the bigger man felt. And still, when things were beginning to clear up and he didn't need to worry about being nervous around that man anymore, Ichijou approached him and placed his hand on his back. Murakami's skin felt like ice once more, and he found it very hard to move. He did as his boss said and sat down on the couch, but not really looking at him. He'd seen through him, and what he'd been thinking about since he left.
"I'm sorry for acting so strangely, a moment ago," he said. "I guess today's just not a good day, haha. I guess I'm a little out of it. But I'll be on the ball starting now." Always eager to correct his mistakes.
"You...don't mind having dinner with me, right?"
"No, I don't mind, not at all. I want you to know that I'm approachable and free to anything that my employees might need from me as their supervisor. This extends beyond just work itself. It's good to have a more personal relationship if we are to spend so much time together, don't you think?" His voice was sweet and laced with honey. Double meanings rung clear and he made it so that it was more than just slightly implied, while also making it so that Murakami would feel guilty for picking up on it, thinking that it was just in his head, that his new manager wasn't really hitting on him.
But he was. He always did. Every thought that Murakami had was likely true. Ichijou was very, very generous, and he truly loved to... spoil... his employees. The first day was always a bit difficult but very rewarding. It would take a little time but Ichijou would reap the benefits shortly, and he sat back down with him on the couch, legs angled towards him. It was a very different mood.
"There is one thing left that I'd like to go over, before I forget. But I'd rather have you relaxed again before I do so. More wine? Or some water, maybe?"
Murakami may have been one that had no grasp of romance, or at the very least was very poor at it, but he was aware of when moods and feelings in the atmosphere changed. He was aware of when someone was looking at him a certain way, when someone's voice meant something different, and he was smart enough to know when it was and wasn't intentional. Ichijou's voice was very sweet, differently so from when they spoke earlier. He sat closer to him, in a different manner. The way he'd touched Murakami just moments before was different than how he would have in the beginning.
Things were different, and Murakami was worried. His boss couldn't-no, he wasn't-
His boss wasn't really hitting on him, was he?
"M-more wine would be fine, sir."
Murakami was shaken and nervous. He was young and inexperienced, and not just in a professional sort of sense, it seemed. Ichijou gloated a bit to himself. He would enjoy showing him the ropes. Yes, Murakami very much had potential. All he needed was a little guidance and a push down the right path.
Ichijou looked to the side and picked up the bottle of wine and the glass from earlier. He poured it expertly and handed it to the man next to him. Their fingers brushed and he noticed what large hands he had. Murakami seemed so sturdy in almost every sense. It made Ichijou a bit excited. Prospects, prospects. That was key. He watched him down the glass in a way that wine wasn't meant to be drank. Ah, he was so nervous. Ichijou grinned, his teeth showing slightly. He wanted to truly see how eager this man was to please.
"Now then, I believe I had something left to give you. Just one moment." Ichijou stood and dusted off his suit slightly before moving to one of his cabinets. He reached into the back and withdrew a small unopened package, handing it to his new employee as he sat back down with him. He rested his his arm on the back of the couch and leaned his head onto his hand. Watching him intently, Ichijou edged very, very slightly closer. "Go ahead," he urged, "open it. One last part of your wardrobe." Ichijou made sure that his calm confidence was both reassuring and intimidating at the same time.
Ichijou's smile was much different than it had been initially. He was aware of what Murakami was going through. He could tell, himself, that the atmosphere between the two of them had changed, and that there were different words and feelings being exchanged between the two of them. He hadn't mentioned it directly. Neither of them had. And hopefully, to avoid further embarrassment, they never would, and the mistake Murakami made of asking his boss out to dinner and implying it wouldn't be a date would be forgotten, and they'd get passed it, and he never had to feel anxious and dreadful around his boss ever again. Because Ichijou knew. He could tell. Murakami was an average man, but he could tell.
Ichijou went to go pick up a little box for him, which completely took him off guard. Another part of his uniform? It was in an unopened box, a nice one, too-a nice, dark blue. Was that Ichijou's favorite color? No, it must have been red. His hair was clearly dyed, and his undershirt was red. Did he know dark blue was Murakami's favorite color, then? He was anxious to see what it was, why he'd have a gift like this, why he'd be treated so kindly! Was it a watch? Was it cufflinks? What was it!
Inside the box was padding, and within that padding was a blue cone with a flat, blunt handle to it. Like a handle to a corkscrew, except attached to the end of the cone, and the cone was blue, as well, and it was see-through. It was thick, and rubbery, and the width suddenly concaved right before it reached the hilt. This wasn't a watch. This wasn't a special bowtie, or golden cufflinks, or even just a comb to brush his hair. He didn't really know what it was, since he'd never seen it before. But it didn't look-appropriate, to say the very least. Was this a joke? His blood turned cold, despite his face gaining color.
These sort of reactions were what Ichijou loved. They were absolutely wonderful. He loved how quickly his face flushed, how little he had to say as he looked down at what Ichijou had presented to him. He felt very within his control, and he loved that. It was always so fun to do this for the first time. Especially with a man who appeared to not understand what exactly was happening.
"Do you like it?" Ichijou asked, leaning his hand on his palm, grinning slightly. "I've seen and tried many of these, but I admit that this is one of my favorites. I thought it would be appropriate, as a means to welcome you to my facility. Don't you?"
He teased him with his words, asking questions that he knew Murakami couldn't answer fully. Ichijou could tell from how he behaved and looked at him so intently that he had had thoughts of other men, but it was unlikely that he had acted on them before. His reaction now told him that. Murakami was completely out of his comfort zone.
"Or..." he said, trailing off a bit and leaning closer to him, flirtatious and conniving as he set his hand down gently on Murakami's thigh, "could it be that you don't know what it is?"
He had a loose idea of what it was, but all in all, he could tell it was something sexual, and that it went in-his ass. Maybe. Or maybe it was some sort of fucked up pacifier that went in his mouth, but that was just wishful, absurd thinking. He didn't know what it was, or what it was used for, but when Ichijou touched his thigh all of a sudden, Murakami jumped and sat up and regained his focus on his boss.
This had to be illegal, giving your employee something like this. It had to be classified as sexual harassment. It was one thing for his boss to be gay-it was fine! Murakami considered himself to go both ways, and he figured, well, that his boss was more interested in his own sex than in the opposite. That wasn't a problem. But sexually harassing his employees was something else entirely, and giving them these things he didn't understand at all, and touching his leg, and getting close to him and looking at him with those nice eyes and speaking in that calming, soothing voice-Murakami had to say no, he had to leave, he couldn't work there if his boss was going to do this, probably as a joke.
"I-I don't know, sir-"
Ichijou shifted closer and closer to him until their knees touched. His hand was still on his thigh and he leaned forward to his face, his lips a bare breath away from his ear and he spoke in the most provocative voice he could muster. "It's a buttplug. You've really never seen one? Well, then, it's my job to show you how it works, isn't it? I am here to teach you after all."
He was so close to him that he could almost feel the nervousness radiating off of him. Murakami gulped and tensed and Ichijou loved it. He had done this so many times, with so many different men. Everything was going exactly like clockwork. He followed the same pattern that his other employees had: disbelief, rejection, and eventually compliance. There was a very specific way that this was done, and Ichijou had perfected it to an art. He slid his hand a little further up his leg. A little close to the inside of his thighs.
"Have you ever had anything inside of your ass before, Murakami?" He asked with his voice the tone of silk. This was usually where his employees jumped up and began to accuse him of sexual harassment, threatening to quit, that 'anything would be better than this'. Ichijou smiled to himself. He knew this game well.
It may have been in his best interest to get up and shout and leave right then and there, but to be frank, he felt terrified of Ichijou. There was an aura the man gave off, a feeling he got from him, that lead Murakami to believe that there were those who were scared of him, and rightfully so. People revered him, respected him, loathed him, and every different attitude and opinion every single person had of him was legitimate and not without reason. Ichijou was a powerful man. Murakami's instincts and own temperament as a human being told him to respect that. He was scared of Ichijou, then, but he respected him, and he was attracted to him.
His stomach began to hurt with all the mixed and mingling emotions and views he had on the man, and he swallowed and began breathing again when he heard the last bit that Ichijou had to say. He'd never had anything in there, no, and he was hoping he never would! He'd been-interested in men before. He'd been curious about them, and he'd kissed and done a few things here and there with boys he'd known in high school, a sort of experimental thing. But he'd never put anything inside of himself. That was the scariest thing.
"D-do you do this with all your other employees?" His voice felt so small, so timid. "Do they not complain?"
For a small second Ichijou wasn't sure what to say. That passed quickly though, and he made a small sort of humming sound at the question, pressing himself further to him. His hand caressed his thigh. The flesh there was thick and supple and Ichijou loved that. He loved how absolutely thick he was. He loved the layer of fat that he felt and he wanted to tear off his shirt and run his hands all over his chest and feel what he assumed was muscle. But he didn't. Ichijou was a composed man.
"In the beginning they do," he said, pressing against him, "but I always find, ah, ways to change that."
The leather of the couch made a noise from friction as Ichijou leaned forward to press his mouth against Murakami's neck. It wasn't a kiss or anything of that sort, he just simply placed his lips against his skin, right behind his ear. Murakmi smelled nice and he exhaled in a way that felt so incredibly raw. Although Ichijou was professional, he couldn't really help but get like this. Especially since he knew that he could get away with it. Perhaps, at any other company, he wouldn't behave like this, but this was Teiai. Ichijou knew what he could and could not get away with,what with the hell that he himself went through. This would be nothing in their eyes. Ichijou could do this and still be a professional man, albeit a bit morally questionable. He was okay with that though.
"Do you want me to show you what I mean?"
At this point, he could take this two different ways. Murakami was sending him mixed signals and he needed to know which way he was leaning. But the man was timid and shaken and slow to react, so Ichijou used his free hand to reach out and grab his chin a bit, a bit sudden and harsh. He looked at him with an intense gaze, his other hand continuing to massage his inner thigh.
"Well, Murakami? Don't keep your boss waiting." At that he almost had to smile. So manipulative.
Ichijou held him in place.
Murakami gasped a little when Ichijou's hands groped at him more, squeezing and rubbing his inner thigh and closer to his groin. His head fell back a little, too, and he was silent, save for the harsh breathing he offered his boss, and then, he wasn't sure how his boss would take it. Would he see the noises he was making as a clear sign that he enjoyed the work his hands were doing-which he certainly was-or would he see it as fear?
Murakami was scared, but he felt himself feeling a different sort of emotions with those hands, with those lips on his skin-which he made a different sort of noise at-with that sweet, silky voice his boss spoke in. No one had ever touched him like this. No one had ever had an interest in him like this, and it was exciting. He swallowed, again.
"B-boss, is this okay-?"
"It's fine," he said quietly, his hand moving to more of a soft sort of gentle touch on his jaw instead of the harsh grip on his chin, "I told you that everything is fine. I'll never do something that I know isn't okay, so you have no need to worry."
Ha. That was a joke. This was absolutely not okay. There was nothing in the realm of employee relations that said that this was okay. In fact, this was what most companies were scared of. 'Sexual harassment'. That's what this was. Of course it wasn't okay. But Ichijou didn't care. He'd done this enough before to know that it was only not okay in the beginning. After that, he had a hard time keeping them away from him. His employees, that was. Murakami would want more just as the others before him had.
But Murakami really was such an easy going man. He'd said how loyal he was, of how much he wished to please. Funny. Ichijou learned more about him through these reactions than he had when he was actually discussing business with him. It was a good judge of character that Murakami did not immediately jump up and push him away like most. Whether it be that he was truly submissive and liked to serve or that he'd secretly wanted this, the fact remained that he did not in fact initially reject him. Ichijou felt pleased by this, and slowed his pace down a bit, purposefully going slower, purposefully easing him into it instead of just dumping everything on him at once as he had just moments earlier.
No, Murakami wanted this. It would do no good to rush things. Ichijou reserved that with those that needed immediate persuading. The man next to him did not. He was already hooked, and Ichijou brought him in gently. The hand on his thigh relaxed a bit, rubbing circles and pressing lightly onto his leg. He softened and brought his voice to a whisper. Hopefully that was more soothing. It was obvious that Murakami wanted this, that he wanted to please him. He just needed the right guidance.
"There's nothing to worry about. You don't have to think like that. Just let me take care of everything..."
Ichijou reached out to gently take the box out of his hands, setting it away on the table where it would wait until later. Perhaps with the promise of the toy out of his mind for a little while, he would relax faster. Ichijou took advantage of the new extra space by moving his leg so that it rested heavily against his as he pressed his face against his neck, pleased at the soft noises he had made. He could almost feel how anxious he was. Excited, yet nervous.
"Has no one ever touched you like this before?" That was an honest question.
They wouldn't get in trouble for doing this, then? This was safe? Did-did Ichijou's employers do this with him before, then? Or were they simply turning a blind eye to it? Murakami trusted Ichijou, and he knew neither of them would be harmed by these actions, once he instilled that confidence in Murakami. Then-
Was it okay to touch him?
His hands hovered nervously in the air as Ichijou moved closer to him before putting them down at his sides. If Ichijou wanted him to touch him, he'd say so. How did he touch a man like that, anyway? Intimately? He knew how to touch women, and he knew how to give handjobs and receive blowjobs, but how does one caress another man's body? Ichijou wasn't doing much, just rubbing his legs, and that felt amazing. If Ichijou wanted that, he'd say so, right?
He tilted his head a bit to give Ichijou more room, and he let out another sigh. He was beginning to relax. He was still scared, and nervous, but he was just a human. "No," he said, honestly. "I'm not-a virgin, though. But women usually just want one thing from me. They're never really interested in my body, and they don't talk a lot. Neither did the guys." He spoke with more confidence.
"May I touch you, too, sir?"
These reactions were outstanding. This man was so incredibly pliable that it overwhelmed him. He wasn't spiritless or necessarily passive, but he was so... extremely docile. Compliant. But enthusiastic at the same time. Murakami wanted to participate. He wanted to please but he wasn't about to just let himself be controlled without giving anything back. It excited him. Nothing like this had ever really happened before.
"You can." Ichijou pulled away only slightly to reach out for his hand. He held it and set it on his chest, giving him physical approval. "You can do whatever you want to do. Don't worry about anything. If you do something wrong, I'll tell you, and you'll aim to fix it. Isn't that what you said?"
That small quirk to his lips returned at the idea. Yes. This was far more of an interview than before. It amused him how much more he learned about this man through this situation then his personal files. The more he learned about him the more intrigued he was. It almost surprised him that he wasn't a virgin, from how timid he had been behaving. But still, no one had given him this sort of close affection, apparently. Ichijou usually just had casual fucks, he knew what that was like. That wasn't what Murakami wanted though. It seemed that he wanted something a little more personal.
"This suit looks nice on you," he said, flatting him, lowering his eyes to his chest and leaning his head against his jaw slightly. Ichijou slid his hand over his chest, underneath the black jacket of his suit, his fingers probing slightly. Yes, that was definitely muscle. Little sparks of electricity ran up his spine as he groped him, urging him into touching him back. That was what both of them wanted. It was Ichijou's job as his manager to encourage...efficiency.
When he was given permission to touch his boss, to squeeze him, to make him feel good, he found it difficult to restrain himself. He leaned close to his boss and kissed his jaw, hoping it was okay, before he kissed his neck, and his hands squeezed at his chest like he had a pair of breasts. Men had sensitive chests, too, right? He did, at least. He loved how his boss was groping at his pecs. He loved how his boss made it obvious how enamored he was with his muscles. It made him feel amazing.
"Thank you, boss." He tried to be as gentle as he could to not put wrinkles in Ichijou's suit, and he continued to press kisses against his neck. His boss was certainly no frail thing, and it surprised him to a degree to feel the amount of muscle he had underneath his suit. It wasn't as much muscle as he, himself, had, but Ichijou clearly took pride in his body. As he should.
"You look-astounding." His compliments were pathetic. "You look much better in a suit than I do."
Ichijou relaxed a bit from how close he had been to him. Murakami was coming along nicely and he moved to sit in a more comfortable position, knowing that he would follow. Ichijou reclined against the couch and tugged at his suit jacket a bit, guiding him to lean over him more. His hands continued to move across his chest, picking up on how much he liked that.
He didn't say much to the compliment. It was a compliment, but at the same time, it wasn't necessarily about him at all, and Ichijou wasn't too sure on how to address that. Agreeing would inadvertently make Murakami feel bad, and denying it would imply that he did not in fact look better than he did. And it wasn't that he disliked how he looked, but Ichijou took a great amount of pride in his appearance, and would never say anything that implied otherwise. So instead he changed the subject and pushed his index finger against his nipple. It had hardened a bit and he was fixated on how he could tell with his shirt still on.
"Sensitive? Do you like it when I touch you here?" Ichijou asked, rubbing his thumb over his nipple. "Let me know what you like."
A small sound of approval escaped him as Murakami kissed him. It felt good. He was used to being kissed in fits of passion, but still, it felt good. It felt good knowing that Murakami was savoring this, savoring him, not just wanting a good fuck. Not that Ichijou necessarily minded that, but this was nice too.
Murakami's breath hitched when his nipple was prodded, and he pressed his own body closer to Ichijou's. His movements were a bit clumsy, because he still wasn't sure what to do, but his hands decided to move to his legs to stroke, and squeeze, and caress, like he'd done to him earlier.
"That feels nice. I like-having my chest rubbed. I like that you like my muscles." He sounded like an idiot, like an inexperienced fool, but Ichijou wanted to know what he thought, didn't he? "I'm sorry that I don't know how to-do this. You have wonderful legs, boss. Do you work out?"
"You think too much. Didn't I tell you to stop worrying?"
Murakami's hands on his legs felt exquisite and he moved into the touch. His whole body felt amazing. His presence was wonderful and Ichijou craved more of it. Although he had wanted to ease him in gently, things were going a bit too slow now for his taste. It wasn't that he couldn't take the time if he wanted to, but damn, he was getting hard and Murakami was making him go crazy.
Ichijou lifted his leg up slightly when it was touched, setting his foot on the edge of the coffee table so that his legs were spread. He pulled Murakmi closer to him again by the jacket, positioning him between his legs better as he reached around to slide his hands down his back and eventually lower. Ichijou squeezed his ass slightly before pulling his hips towards him. That was much better. Much more close. Ichijou looked up at him with an expression that could do no more than encourage more forward behavior.
"I do." The sound that Murakami had made when he'd touched his nipples had excited him, and Ichijou selfishly sought out more. He reached up to his chest once again, massaging, sliding his hands over the fabric of his shirt.
"Take this off." Ichijou tugged at his suit jacket.
Murakami made a similar noise when his ass was seized. He liked that, too, and he offered no resistance when his hips were pulled in closer to Ichijou's. He started getting more handsy-one arm wrapped itself around his torso, and the other got a bit bold and began massaging his erection. With more confidence, he moaned as his chest was massaged, and he offered his boss a kiss on the jaw as a sign of thanks.
He didn't need to be told twice. He began undoing his jacket and pulled at his bowtie, even, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone. His shirt seemed too tight-it clung to his biceps and his pectorals, and with the suit jacket off, one could see how wide and thick he really was. He was beginning to consistently breathe heavier, as well.
"Do you still want to, ah, put that thing in me, boss?" His voice was timid again, but he, himself, was more confident.
The way this young man was touching and holding him made Ichijou shiver. He loved how physical he was, how he wrapped his arm around him and held him there with ease while his big hand palmed at his crotch. He loved it. More than that, though, he loved how that did not make him any less submissive. He still did exactly what he wanted, because he wanted it, because he wanted to make him happy. Ichijou was so used to being the physical aggressor that being touched so heavily like this made him melt. It wasn't that he necessarily felt small, but that Murakami felt so large. Hell, he was taller than him, but Murakami was so broad and strong that Ichijou felt physically overwhelmed. And it was wonderful.
Having that hand on his crotch made him immediately jerk his hips upward. He pressed against his hand, the pressure against his dick feeling amazing. There were so many clothes in the way. Ichijou shrugged off his jacket when Murakami undid his. Yes, he was very obedient. It made him shiver.
"Getting excited, are you?" Ichijou laughed softly and groped at his chest once more, undoing his shirt with deft fingers so that he could feel his skin. Finally off, the shirt was tossed to the side and Ichijou leaned forward to nip at his right pec, unable to stand it any longer. He squeezed him, feeling the muscle there, loving how muscular he was. Ichijou pressed his tongue flat against his nipple. "Do you want it? Do you want to feel something in your ass, stretching you out?"
Ichijou couldn't help but groan a bit at the thought. He wanted his fingers in his ass. He wanted to prepare him and press his fingers inside of him and feel him squirm as he slowly pushed the toy into him. He wanted Murakami to lean forward on his hands and knees, press his forehead against the floor, and raise his ass up to let Ichijou admire and examine his handiwork. The hand against his dick felt so heavy then.
"I'm going to put it in you," he said almost to himself, his words a bit mumbled from how he was speaking against his skin, "and you're going to thank me for how it feels, for rewarding you this way, and then you're going to fuck me."
The last bit was almost hissed out, and he wrapped his leg around the back of Murakmi's thigh, pulling his bottom half closer to him.
His boss was so into this, he almost didn't know how to react. He was so vocal, and it made Murakami embarrassed, flustered, and he faltered a bit. Especially hearing those things. He'd never thought of having-anything inside him, really. He never wondered how it felt, unless he was fucking a girl, but that was more immersion and placing himself in one's shoes rather than imagining it for himself. He never-thought he'd be in this sort of situation.
Ichijou's words, regardless of the discomfort they brought him, aroused him further. Maybe because of how lewd and blunt it was. A reward? Putting that in him-was a reward? That excited Murakami, and he wasn't sure why. He didn't understand why he wanted this, all of a sudden. Thanking his boss for violating him and putting something inside of him that shouldn't be there seemed so, so enticing.
And getting to fuck him. That was the most exciting thing of all. Being able to fuck this man, who was all over him, who treated him this way, who made him feel complete and overwhelmed. He was a bit hesitant, but he placed his lips over his boss's, and muttered a word of thanks. Then he ground his dick against the other's.
Ichijou's eyes widened when Murakami moved to kiss him. He hadn't been expecting that. For a moment or two all of his movement stopped. He stopped touching him, stopped grinding his crotch against his hand, stopped pulling him closer. Ah. He hadn't been expecting that at all. Murakami's lips were a bit chapped, and it didn't last for very long, but Ichijou broke away and looked to the side shortly. He didn't know how to feel. Murakami wanted intimacy but that was so- that was a bit too intimate. Ichijou felt suddenly very out of control and so he grabbed him again, by the shoulders this time, and pulled him back to him for a more harsh and raw kiss.
It was less of a kiss and more of a display of dominance as he moved his tongue into his mouth and pressed his lips hard against him. He could taste the metallic tang of his mouth, feel his wet tongue, run his tongue over his teeth and invade him, crave him, need him in a more sexual way. Spit smeared against his chin slightly as he kissed him. His face felt hot and he wanted to pull off both of their clothes. Just get rid of all that unnecessary clothing. Ichijou wrapped both his legs around him and ground their clothed dicks together.
"Fuck," he breathed when they broke apart, "you've got me so hard. I wonder what that ass of yours feels like."
He grinned slyly before wrapping his arm around Murakami's neck to grab him by the hair and hold his head in place as his free hand snaked down his back to tease at the waistband of his pants. His kisses were all tongue and teeth as he pushed his hand down his pants, kneading and cupping the flesh there. All of his skin was so soft and supple and Ichijou moaned into his mouth when he grabbed his ass.
That response when Murakami kissed him made his heart drop. He screwed up, didn't he? He made his boss uncomfortable, because kisses were too intimate, that must have been it. He didn't mean to upset his boss! He had hoped that it would be okay, since kissing during sex was one thing Murakami really enjoyed, but if that wasn't alright-
He let out a started moan when he was pulled into a far less innocent and more savage kiss, but he didn't back out or pull away. He fed into it, letting his boss do whatever he wanted with his mouth, run his tongue wherever he wanted and hold him there as long as he wanted. His boss was in control. He was the boss, and he could do with him whatever he wanted, and Murakami was more than okay with that.
He didn't respond to the statement concerning his ass, but he moaned when those hot, strong hands seized him underneath his clothes, and he became far more enthusiastic about grinding against his cock. He moaned more into his mouth, in a complete fit of passion, and he must have looked so stupid. He would feel shame later-maybe-but for the meantime, he wanted his boss's hands all over him, he wanted his tongue inside of him, he wanted-
"I want to be perfect for you, boss," he said, pulling away for a brief moment. "Let me know what I can do to make this the best that I can for you."
At that point Ichijou knew that whatever way that he wanted to take this, Murakami would follow. He was horny and needy and he could feel how hard he was, with his dick pressed right up against his own. As much as Ichijou wanted this, Murakami wanted it the same amount. Perhaps even more. After all, Ichijou did this almost daily. This wasn't new to him. He could get this whenever he wanted. In fact, his employees would line up just to get chance to do this with him. There was no need to beat around the bush anymore. Ichijou bit at his jaw softly before standing up and taking Murakami with him.
Murakami was a bit shaky on his feet so Ichijou stood close against him for support while he grabbed at the front of his pants. He could feel his dick through his pants and Ichijou grinned, gripping it slightly. The promise of having that inside him made him feel hot, and Ichijou began to undo his belt, pulling it through the loops of his pants and throwing it to the ground. He looked Murakami in the eyes and grinned as he unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down, leaving him only in his underwear. Murakami was such a handsome man. Ichijou acknowledged this by running his hands over his body.
"Get on the couch." It was an order more than anything. Ichijou nudged him slightly as he began to unbutton his own shirt. "Lay down." The couch was big enough, although it would be slightly cramped with what he had in mind. His eyes flicked over to the buttplug for a second and Ichijou smirked. This was easily one of his favorite parts of his job.
Murakami was feeling so incredibly hot. None of the experiences he'd had before compared to this one bit. They were absolutely nothing, none of them left him shaking on his feet, none of them had him moaning from just a single kiss. None of them had him rolling his eyes back and sighing from having his dick squeezed through his pants, wanting nothing more than the approval of the other person. He swallowed when ordered to get on the couch, and he worried for a bit that he looked silly in his white underwear. Maybe his boss liked that.
He kneeled on the couch, but it was uncomfortable. Thinking about that thing inside him made it simultaneously worse and more bearable. Thinking about his boss invading him. Putting something inside him, something that wasn't necessary, something that didn't need to be in there, and accepting it so willfully just to make Ichijou happy. He began shaking again, and there was a very dark spot on the front of his briefs.
"Boss," he sighed out.
"I told you to lay down."
When Ichijou gave an order, he expected to have it followed. It wasn't that he was mad; he knew that Murakami was new. But Ichijou was naturally a domineering person. And so when he finished stripping and saw that his command had not been met, he pushed Murakami forcibly back. Perhaps it was a bit too hard, as he gave a little 'oomph' noise when he fell back, but it was what Ichijou wanted and Ichijou always got what he wanted.
Murakami looked hot and flustered. A red tint was flushed across his face, and Ichijou watched as his chest rose and fell dramatically. His chest was so big- no, his body was so big. Having such a man under his control was one of the most incredible power rushes he had ever gotten. Ichijou looked down at him and trailed his fingers over his torso, noticing how his eyes were so fixated on his dick. It made him smirk. This man was so inexperienced with this sort of thing. With men.
Likely, when Ichijou placed his knee on the couch, Murakami had been expecting him to do something completely different than swing his other leg over him, straddle his chest, and press his ass in his face. It was all at once, so sudden, and he could feel him tense up once again. Ichijou arched his back and leaned forward, sliding his body over Murakmi's until his own face was eye level with his crotch. White underwear. Cute. It fit him.
Ichijou hooked his fingers into the waistband and began to pull them down. He grinned when Murakami's cock was finally freed, and he reached out to touch it with two hands in admiration. It was built like the rest of him. Ichijou groaned and shifted, pressing his thigh against Murakami's head.
"I want you to finger me," he breathed, running his thumb down the length of his dick, taking it all in. It made him hungry almost. "Like you would a girl. Have you ever had your fingers in another man's ass before? It's an amazing feeling, trust me. Just do to me...what I'm going to do to you."
He let go of his cock momentarily to reach down to the floor where he had dropped his pants. Rummaging for a little while, Ichijou perked up when he found the small bottle of lube that he'd put in his back pocket earlier when Murakami had gone on break. All of this had been preplanned. Ichijou leaned on his elbows and patted Murakami's thighs. He could feel his body shake slightly. Nervous.
"Spread your legs."
His body was so sensitive, his nerves all so tender and seemingly on fire. He felt little surges of electricity flow through him with each soft touch his boss gave him, and when the hand neared his dick, he bit his lip. This was going to feel astounding, being in a position like this, he thought to himself. When Ichijou straddled his face, however, he was worried that he would suffocate. Or that Ichijou had a kink that would make Murakami sick to his stomach. He'd never done this before!
But he smelled so nice, between his legs. He smelled so strong, he could smell Ichijou's arousal, the scent he gave off, and it made Murakami's own member twitch. Ichijou was wonderful. Ichijou was perfect. His hands came up to hold his hips, to massage them and to stroke his stomach, and he wanted to put his mouth over his balls and his dick and his taint when he was given a different command. He'd fingered girls before, but never a man, so this was as new as anything he'd experienced that day. On command, he spread his legs, but his entire body was tense. He was very nervous.
He knew lubrication was needed for this, however, so he respectfully held his hand out so that his fingers would receive what they needed. In the meantime, he did just what he wanted to before receiving the order. Ichijou's skin tasted so nice down there, and Murakami wasn't being greedy at all. He was lightly sucking on his balls, gently licking the areas around them, and moaning ever so slightly at just how wonderful this whole ordeal was.
Ichijou hunched his shoulders slightly when he felt Murakami's mouth on him. That felt amazing. He had been so hot and feeling his tongue on such a sensitive place cooled him down almost while simultaneously arousing him further. His nose pressed against his ass a bit when he licked at him. Feeling that was just so much. He felt like a young girl, then, breaking down and being unable to continue with furthering his partner's own sexual needs.
For a while he let himself just enjoy the feeling of having his balls and dick sucked before returning to his work. Albeit, a bit more shakily than before. Murakmi had spread his legs obediently and Ichijou licked down the length of his cock in return as he massaged the most inner part of his thighs. God he had been looking forward to this. Ichijou sucked the head of his dick almost absentmindedly while he uncapped the lube and spread some on his fingers. He passed the bottle back to Murakami to do the same.
"Just one, first." Ichijou instructed as he traced the line of his ass softly, letting the man get used to the feeling, before pressing a finger against his asshole. He didn't enter it immediately, instead teasing him slightly, slowly allowing him to become accustomed to the feeling. When he could feel Murakami start to relax underneath him, Ichijou pressed his finger into his ass, hooking it slightly.
"You're so tight..." He couldn't help but admit, groaning at the feeling. But of course he was. He'd never had anything here, after all. "Tell me how it feels."
He didn't mind having to wait. Really, he didn't. It was fine, boss, take your time! If you decide you like this more than fingering him, really, Murakami wouldn't mind! Of course, he enjoyed making his boss happy, satisfying him like that, being so eager to please even if it wasn't exactly in Murakami's comfort zone one hundred percent, but Ichijou rewarded him for being good, it felt like, when he licked and sucked on his dick and rubbed his thigh. Then, that cold finger trailed along his taint, and he shuddered, and he seized up.
He didn't know what to say. He took the bottle and felt it for a bit before getting some on his hands-no, that's not enough. He put more, and then more, and he had a little too much. Oh, well, Ichijou wouldn't mind, right? Too much might be good, in any case. He moved his boss's hips more off of his face so he could worm a finger inside of him, and he was abrupt with his action. He hissed, hoping it wouldn't hurt him, but then he began mimicking him. Pushing it in, pulling it out, hooking it a little, just what his boss was doing. He felt so clumsy.
"I-it feels-really weird, boss. Are you sure I'm gonna like this?"
Murakami's thick finger inside of him made him moan and drop his head down a bit. Red hair clouded his vision momentarily and he could see it pool on Murakmi's thighs. He wanted more than just his finger in him, but damn if that didn't feel good after having been horny for so long. Ichijou relished the feeling for a while as he mimicked the motions to the man underneath him. He was good at this, he'd had practice. Although Murakami was tight, he could feel him gradually started to loosen a bit.
"You will. Trust me." He kept saying that. But Ichijou was in charge. The man had little other choice than to trust him. "It'll feel weird at first, but when that passes it'll feel so good. Trust me."
Ichijou reached his arm under Murakmi's leg for a better position, pulling it away slightly to give him easier access. He loved the feeling of the inside of his body surrounding his finger. It made Ichijou shudder with pleasure. Some day he hoped to have more than just his finger there. But that would come later. For now, Ichijou continued to move it in and out of him, preparing him, relaxing his body to a more comfortable state.
Murakami continued to make discomforted noises. It felt so weird. It was painful, in a way, but more invasive. Something was going up where nothing was supposed to, so his muscles didn't know how to react, and they squirmed and writhed and ached around that finger. He squinted his eyes and groaned when the finger went in the deepest it could, but he let go of his breath after a while when he felt himself relax. Ichijou was tight, too, but he relaxed much sooner than he felt himself relax.
"I'm excited to be inside you, boss," he said, to distract himself from what was making his organs tense and make him feel sick. "Your body is wonderful. You, uh, like what I'm doing, right? You're not very-hah-vocal, so-"
Ichijou's entire focus was on making Murakami feel good as he prepared him. Beneath him he could hear noises of discomfort, and he aimed to change that. This was a new experience for him, Ichijou had to keep in mind, and so he had to find a way to make it feel good. Without stopping the movements of his finger, Ichijou used his free hand to hold onto his dick. He massaged it slightly, slowly pumping it up and down, squeezing where he knew it would feel best. Having had lots of practice, Ichijou was skilled at this, and he made it so that Murakami could tell. Only until he could hear the man underneath him start to moan from pleasure instead of discomfort did he speed up the motions of his finger, leaning forward just slightly to begin to suck his dick at well.
It wasn't a secret that Ichijou loved men. Ichijou really, really, really loved men. Everything about them drove him crazy. He could not imagine anything better than this; laying on someone, feeling their thick fingers in his ass as he sucked their cock and finger fucked them in return. Murakami smelled so masculine, so amazingly good and Ichijou pushed his head all the way down to the base of his dick, deep throating him, desperate for more. He was drowning in the experience, in his body. He could feel the head of his cock press against the back of his throat as his nose rubbed against his perineum slightly. It was just all to much. Ichijou was absolutely in love with his body.
"I love it," he said breathily after pulling up for air, "keep doing that. Curve your fingers more, fuck my ass. Fuck." He threw his head back slightly and rubbed his hips downward when Murakami complied. Usually he did not use such crude language. But this was different. Ichijou felt vulgar, now, as he rubbed his face against the man's cock and pushed his fingers into his ass, feeling him, tasting him, worshipping him. "Fuck you feel so good. You're so tight I feel like I could die." Ichijou jerked back against his fingers, pressing his ass into his face more, urging him for more. "Your cock is amazing, I can't wait to feel it inside of me instead of your fingers."
The thought made him groan and he resumed sucking him. Ichijou was rocking back and forth slightly on top of him, unbelievably horny and unbelievably turned on. It was painfully obvious how infatuated he was with everything that was happening. More, he needed more. "Put another finger in me." Without giving him much time to comply, Ichijou began to bob his head on his dick while slipping another finger into him. He could feel him begin to become accustomed to the feeling.
Even if one was completely clueless about the enjoyment of sex, one could tell that Ichijou was incredibly, absolutely overwhelmed and satisfied by what was happening. He was so happy sucking Murakami's dick, making him arch and his legs quiver and his chest rumble with moans, putting fingers inside of himself and putting them in another man. He was so happy having a dick in his mouth and being on top of him and just-Murakami didn't know what it was. He didn't know what was so fascinating about this, so appealing, so incredible that Ichijou seemed to become a completely different person, unwound and unrestrained, but Murakami liked it.
He liked that he was the one able to satisfy Ichijou like this, to give Ichijou this experience, to give Ichijou what he wanted and what he loved. Even if having another finger in him made his breath hitch, his stomach churn, and his fingers freeze up, he did what he could to mimic his tutor and slip another one of his thick digits into his boss's ass. He could see it stretch so nicely around his finger right in front of his eyes. Maybe Ichijou would like hearing about it.
"B-boss-nngh-you look so nice from this, uh, angle. You always look nice, boss." This was the first day he'd ever met the man.
"Do I?" Ichijou asked, breathless, rubbing his cheek against his cock when he drew away. He didn't ask it to be reassured. He already knew that he looked good. If anything, Ichijou was conceited. He liked hearing how arousing he was. Everything about him was provocative and Ichijou made sure that it was intentional. "Tell me. Tell me how good I feel and how good I look and how much you love feeling my mouth around your cock."
If anyone else had said those things, they would have been looked down upon for being so conceited. But the way that Ichijou presented himself, it was no secret that he was narcissistic. He put that out there himself. Ichijou took a breath before happily deep throating him again. He bobbed his head, feeling Murakami's dick continually hit the back of his throat. The first couple of times he had done this, he had wanted to gag, but practice had certainly made perfect.
There were many things that Ichijou was good at, and he felt almost smug knowing that his sexual prowess was unrivaled. He could suck dick like no one else, and Ichijou flaunted it, wrapping his tongue around the shaft while he moved his head up and down and his fingers in and out of his ass. His body rocked back and forth slightly as he pushed his hips closer to Murakami's face, urging him to begin giving him the same sort of treatment.
Each time Murakami's dick his the back of Ichijou's throat, he gasped, and part of his abdominal muscles twitched and quivered and his whole body felt so incredibly warm and livid. He closed his eyes for a bit before he managed to recollect himself and start speaking, like Ichijou asked. It'd be very difficult, however, but his boss probably knew that.
His voice was strained, and heavy. "I like seeing you stretch like this. I like seeing my fingers go inside of you and-ah-s-stretch you. Out." He felt so awkward saying it, so he filled his silence with fucking him more enthusiastically than when he focused more on speaking. "Your mouth feels amazing, boss. Girls have really soft lips but they go too fast and don't know where it f-feels best. You're really g-good at this. I'm glad you're happy s-su-" He couldn't make himself continue, so instead, he hesitantly slipped his boss's dick into his mouth, and tried to mimick what he was doing for him. He'd done this before, so he wasn't completely inexperienced. One trick he knew was to squeeze the man's ass while he was moving his head, and with his free hand, he did just that.
He'd never moaned around a dick before, so he hoped his boss wouldn't mind.
His back arched when he felt Murakami's mouth on him. It was wet and warm and made him shiver with delight. All of this was just so overwhelming. His senses were completely taken over by the sounds and feelings of sex. When Murakami moaned, the vibrations ran all the way up his spine. His entire bottom half was on fire. Ichijou rotated his hips back and forth, getting the most out of the experience, loving how wet his tongue was on his dick. Yes, he certainly knew how to please.
"How are you feeling?" Ichijou pulled away to look over his shoulder. Murakami's head was only slightly visible from behind his ass and he watched as he bobbed his head, enthusiastically sucking him off. It felt exquisite and Ichijou tightened his thighs around him just slightly from pleasure. "Tell me how my fingers feel, now. Yours feel so good, they're in me so deep. Doesn't it feel astounding, having that thickness in you, moving in and out, filling you up?"
Ichijou felt that if he were any other person, he would be drooling from pleasure. His mind was cloudy and hazy and his eyes fell shut for a moment as he heard himself say those lewd words. Everything was blurry when he moved to pour a bit more lube on his fingers. It was just all so insanely erotic. Ichijou hooked his fingers up at a different angle this time, searching inside of him and rubbing against his inner walls expertly until he heard Murakami gasp slightly around his dick.
"Ah?" He felt sly. There it was. Ichijou lowered himself so that he lay completely on his body, no longer propped up on his elbows. He laid his head on his thigh, letting his dick rest against his face as he watched himself move his fingers faster, rubbing a bit harsh against his prostate, excited to have found it. "Do you know what that is, what I'm touching? Does it feel good, Murakami? Do you like that?" He could feel him tremble slightly. Ichijou was relentless as he massaged that intimate area, coaxing him into the pleasure of having his ass played with.
He was going to answer-maybe-after he'd found himself getting used to the musky taste of Ichijou's erection, but when he felt something inside of him, his dick fell out of his mouth and he buried his head into the cushion of the couch and he gasped. More roughness was applied to the spot, and he let out a baritone noise and he spread his legs some more. He felt like a whore, but holy shit! That thing inside of him-what was that?!"
"B-Boss!" He sounded so desperate, so needy. "Boss, wh-what-oh man, boss, your fingers f-feel like magic-"
"Tell me you love it. Tell me how good my fingers feel inside of you. Tell me!"
He was grinning like crazy, although Murakami couldn't see. His whole body had completely relaxed from the pleasure and Ichijou was pleased when he spread his legs more. The way that his voice sounded when he groaned made his gut churn. It didn't seem like he was a very loud sort of man, so hearing that was very pleasing. The lube smeared all over his hand as he pushed his fingers in and out of him faster and harder. Feeling Murakami's ass around his fingers and feeling him melt from the intimate touch drove him wild. He couldn't stop grinning. Ichijou massaged his balls with his free hand as he finger fucked him harder. Now that he'd found his prostate, he would not leave it alone. It was being abused but he was just so overcome with the idea that he was the first one to have ever touched it. He was the first one to ever make him feel this way. Murakami may not have been a technical virgin, but he'd never had sex with a man before, at least not like this. Ichijou took great enjoyment out of that.
"You're so dirty like this. You barely even know me and here you are, naked on my couch, my cock in your mouth, my fingers all the way up your ass. Did you think that you'd be my whore, when I hired you? Because you are now. Moan for me more, whore. Tell me how good it feels!"
Perhaps the words were too much, but Ichijou didn't care. He felt that way. And Murakami was so far gone in his lust that he felt confident that he would comply. And besides. If Murakami truly like to serve, truly like to please, to worship, then Ichijou was almost certain that he would enjoy being spoken in a degrading way during sex. To be put in his place while his superior used him. Yes, Ichijou was certain that that was something he would enjoy. Ichijou moaned at the thought of being in control of someone so obedient.
Oh, Ichijou expected so much from him, but he could barely think straight with having all that pleasure pumping through him from that spot in his ass, that he didn't even know existed, his toes curling and, well, he was drooling a bit from having his mouth hang open, and he'd given up on fingering his boss and all he had left to give were pathetic little thrusts because he was so completely and utterly taken over by that feeling inside of him. His boss wanted him to describe what it felt like, how good it felt, what he liked about it, but he couldn't! It was too much, and he groaned a bit from the constant questions, but then-
He was called a whore, and that brought him back, and he was moaning again. Ichijou saw him as a whore? Maybe he was, but-i-it was different, with this! He was told to do this, by his boss! His boss wanted him to do this, and he couldn't deny his boss! But he wasn't protesting. Why wasn't he protesting? He moaned when he was ordered to, and he even arched his back a little. "Y-yes, sir," was all he said, and it sounded so forced, like he couldn't even speak properly at that point. And he couldn't.
But after a few more moments, "B-boss! Boss, that hurts, you're too rough!"
When Murakami called him by that title, Ichijou moaned again. He was doing that a lot, but he didn't care, he was completely taken over by the whole experience. It was funny- he was acting more sluttish than Murakami was.
"I told you to tell me. Do as you're told." Ichijou let up a bit on the amount of pressure he was putting inside of him. He'd gotten too carried away. Murakami was no doubt completely dazed from the whole experience. This was the first time he'd had his prostate touched, after all. Ichijou needed to be a bit more gentle again. So he let up slightly, massaging it gently while using his other hand to stroke his thigh. He didn't stop touching it, continuing to push him farther and farther into unbearable pleasure, but he did ease up enough to allow him to think more clearly.
Ichijou wanted to see his face then. He wanted to see that lust, that need, that unrestrained euphoria that came from being touched this way. There was no way to see him clearly in their current position, so Ichijou swung his leg over him to move to sit near his hips. It was cramped on the couch so he lifted Murakami's hips up so that his bottom half rested on his crotch. Ichijou's cock pressed against Murakami's bottom, his fingers still in his ass as he leaned forward over him.
It had been worth it. His face was completely flushed, his mouth open, panting, drooling slightly, hair mussed and unstyled as he looked up at Ichijou with heavy lidded eyes. Ichijou looked down his nose at him, his hair falling to the side, completely enamored. Something inside of him stirred at his expression. It wasn't exactly infatuation, but he was completely captivated by this man underneath him and the way that he looked at him in such a needy way.
"Tell me," he said, his voice a fair amount softer, "tell your boss how it feels to have his fingers inside of you, touching you like this. Tell him how much you like and want him." He didn't know why he switched to third person, but he did, and he pressed his face closer to his so that Murakami could not escape.
It was easier to breathe once his fingers let up, and especially so when he saw his boss was sitting down near his legs rather than having his hips hovering above his face. It was also, at the same time, much harder to breathe, because he'd disobeyed his boss the second time during their encounter. First when he didn't lay on the couch, and second when he couldn't tell him how it felt. But if he did, he'd just repeating himself over and over again, and his boss wouldn't be happy with that. He could try. He'd never-spoken like that before. But it was what his boss wanted.
Looking away, embarrassed, and feeling invaded by that perverted and expectant glare, far more so than by the fingers giving him so much pleasure, he was quiet, sans his panting, as he thought of what to say. "S-Sorry, sir." Sir was more polite than boss, and he needed it if he was to make up for his mistake. "I-I've never felt this before. It feels-" he twitched his hips a bit, "-it feels weird, s-sometimes, but holy shit, boss-s-sir-it feels incredible." Did he want him to get descriptive? He made a more uncomfortable expression, but with everything else about him, including the little moans coming out, it must have looked more lusty than displeased. "Sir, I'm gonna cum if you keep that up-"
What he described were two very different feelings. Ichijou laughed slightly. "That's certainly what it's like. It does feel strange, at first, doesn't it? Feeling that pressure in you where you never have before?" He curled his fingers and pressed hard against him again to demonstrate what he meant. "But at the same time you just want more and more. You want it inside you, rubbing you, never ending, torturing you it feels so good."
Pausing, he exhaled hotly. He wanted that. He wanted to have that feeling again. He wanted Murakami's cock in his ass, pressing inside of him, fucking him, filling him up. It was almost an acquired taste and Ichijou had become addicted to it, beginning to crave it once more. This whole experience had left him ultra sensitive. If he didn't get what he wanted right then, Ichijou felt like he would die.
"I'm putting it in," Ichijou said suddenly, drawing away, letting Murakami look at him with a flustered expression as he picked up the buttplug that had been left on the table. He withdrew his fingers from his ass for the first time and smeared more of the messy lube over his hands. He was about to cover the toy in it before he narrowed his eyes deviously and licked it, making eye contact with the man underneath him once again as he did so. Ichijou grinned and covered the buttplug with lube when he was done teasing him.
"Ask for it." His expression was filled with corruption and perversion as he pressed the tip of the cone against Murakami's ass.
"Y-yes, sir," he agreed with him. "You're so much better at s-saying it than I am, sir." That wasn't needless ass-kissing, it was the truth. It was hard to say how it felt feeling something inside of him, feeling something foreign mess with his muscles and rub at him and make his whole body feel hot and needy. It was hard to describe how wonderful Ichijou's fingers felt, spreading him, stretching him-holy fuck, did he love that to bits-and making him turn into a completely different person from something so-alien. So alien, and bizarre. It was hard to say how he'd never imagined something feeling so good, and never imagined needing something like that so much. He really did feel he was going to orgasm if he kept it up. But all these things he felt, describing the burning, describing how he could feel his blood all throughout his body because of how hypersensitive he was from just a few fingers, he couldn't describe. He wanted to say, 'Boss, please keep stretching me out, please put something in me that would make me feel full like that, I love that you're doing this to me.' He wanted to say, 'Boss, please, keep spoiling me and put in another finger, I'm sorry for messing up earlier, I love your fingers.' But he couldn't.
He let out a little noise when the fingers were withdrawn, and he wished that he could find the words to ask Ichijou to put them back in. But the toy was going in, and it was strange. He could trust Ichijou's fingers, but not that translucent cone. He didn't want something manmade inside of him. He wanted something living, something organic, something that could feel, rather than that-disgusting little thing. He kept his legs spread obediently, and his breathing stopped when Ichijou licked it. Had he been paying attention, he would have covered his groin when his dick twitched at that. He still couldn't breathe when he felt it against his entrance. God, he was scared. This was disgusting. This was so lewd. Why wasn't his boss happy with just his fingers in him?
"S-Sir-" This was hard. He didn't want it! But he knew that feeling stretched out, and completely full, would feel nice, right? "Y-you're certain this will feel good, right, sir?" He winced. He screwed up, for the third time. "I-I mean-!"
"It'll feel fine," Ichijou snapped, becoming impatient, "didn't I tell you to trust me?"
He didn't mean to become so angry. And it wasn't that he was necessarily angry, but he had been waiting for this and he wanted this now. Now. Now. No more waiting and no more easing. Why wasn't Murakami going faster? Having him be so inexperienced was normally so exciting, but now, when Ichijou was almost panting from lust, like an animal in heat, just wanting to be fucked, he wished he was doing this with one of his more experienced employees. One who had been around for a while so they knew just how he liked it. Someone who would obediently and immediately bend over and let him push the toy into their ass while praising him for doing so.
Ichijou rubbed the tip of the plug against him, pushing in only very slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable but enough to make the presence of it known. He wanted to put it in him. He wanted to feel Murakami's body resist it, try and push it out, and he wanted to force it in regardless. But he wanted Murakami to ask for it first. It was a power trip. It was what Ichijou wanted and Ichijou always got what he wanted. He had always been manipulative.
"Trust me. Trust me when I say there's nothing to worry about. Trust me when I say that it'll feel good. Trust me when I say that having it inside you while your dick is inside me will feel amazing." He forcibly calmed himself, consciously speaking in a more soothing way. Ichijou leaned down to lick the head of his dick, flicking his tongue against the very tip, making Murakami shudder. "You trust that, don't you? This is no different." He looked up at him while continuing to tease him with the toy and his tongue, alluring and manipulative. "Now ask for it."
Murakami was growing anxious, and his fear was increasing, with Ichijou's attitude. He was getting angry, and it made Murakami feel horrible for distrusting him. This was his boss! His job was to take care of him, to teach him, to give him purpose! If Ichijou failed at his job being a manager, then how would this casino be running so nicely? Why would he have been recommended for this job? Why would the other employees be so happy to simply be there? He whined, pathetically, because he knew he made a mistake. His boss wanted that thing inside of him. His boss deserved to have it, to have his body like that, because he was supposed to trust him.
He swallowed and closed his eyes, exhaling, and spreading his legs. "I'm sorry, sir." His voice was as deep as always. "I'm sorry for not trusting you, and I'm sorry for not believing you."
He wanted him to ask for it. This was the hardest part.
He swallowed again and placed his hands on the inside of his thighs, hesitantly, slowly, shakily, and his face turned to the side. He looked so worried, and scared, and regretful. "P-Please, sir. Please put that-toy in me."
When he heard what he wanted to hear, Ichijou couldn't help but grin widely. Murakami was nervous, anxious, but he had said it all the same. He spread his legs for him obediently, gave himself up obediently, followed his commands obediently, even if it required a little persuasion. Ichijou felt extremely pleased. True, he was being selfish, but years of experience told him that Murakami would be thanking him soon (regardless if Ichijou told him to or not). He acted as he did based only off of past experiences and patterns that repeated themselves every time that he did this.
"Very, very good," he praised him, sitting up a bit to lean over him and whisper in his ear, their bodies close once again, "that wasn't so hard. It feels much better to just listen, hmm?"
His voice was smooth and devious as he reassured him and nipped along his jaw. The heat that radiated off of Murakami's face was almost endearing. Yes, so nervous. And fearful too, no doubt. How pleasant. Ichijou let Murakami help spread himself as he began to push the toy inside of him. Slowly and carefully he thrust it into him. At first Ichijou pushed it in only a couple of inches before pausing, withdrawing it, and repeating the process. He pushed it in and out of him, going deeper each time, loving the way that he tensed and trembled. It began to slide in easier the more he did this, though Murakami had begun to protest and move away. Ichijou reassured him by setting his hand on him and massaging his chest lightly. There would be no escaping until it was in. He would make sure of that.
"Ah-" Ichijou made a pleased noise as the toy was finally pushed in all the way past the widest point. "It's in."
He watched it disappear into Murakami's body. Ichijou twisted the handle slightly, pleasuring churning in his gut as he played with it inside of him. It aroused him so much. It made him want to spread his own legs and be fucked while imagining how they must feel with it inside of them. Something so foreign and stiff, being constantly reminded of how filled they are, always owned by him, even if he never intended to actually penetrate them.
"You're doing so well." Ichijou praised him, rubbing his hands hard over his body, feeling his abdominal muscles and holding his sides. "You've done a very good job."
As the thing began to press into him, his entire body, on reflex, went rigid, and he bit his lip and he couldn't breathe and he gripped the couch. Having a finger or two inside of him wasn't a problem, because fingers were slender, consistent in width, living tissue and not some hard toy forcing itself into his body. It hurt, and it felt so uncomfortable, having himself stretch that much. He was stretching more than having two if his boss's fingers inside of him, and so much pain was associated with his muscles trying to stretch unnaturally to accommodate the thing's girth. And it wasn't even that big, really, when he looked at it. It was shorter than an average dick, and the base was as wide as one, but it had a well-escalated increase in width the further away it got from the tip. But his entire insides ached, his organs trembling and quivering inside of him, getting used to feeling so unnaturally full.
Ichijou played with it when it was inside of him, tugging on it a bit, having Murakami gasp and begin to sweat. He twisted it inside of him, and he whimpered, and a hand came up to rest on his forehead. He was aware, almost entirely, of the fact that something was in him, focusing primarily on the fact that something was in his body, and that even if he could try to force it out, he wouldn't be allowed to. He had to keep that in him, because his boss wanted it. Feeling stretched like that was relaxing, in a very bizarre way, but the pain-
"B-Boss," his voice was very small, and strained, and he began to ease into the stroking his employer was doing for his chest and abs. "Boss, i-it feels so weird-"
"It does, doesn't it?" He wouldn't pretend that it didn't. Half of the fun was in how unnatural it felt. Having such an unusual, outside force inside of him for the first time... Ichijou shuddered and leaned on him, pressing their chests together and rutting his cock against his hip slightly.
"It looks amazing in you. I love how you look right now. Don't try and hide anything, I want to see." Everything he said was meant to flatter. Honestly, though, it was all very truthful. Ichijou was overcome with need and pleasure. He always rewarded his employees when they pleased him, and he was even more inclined to do so when he was so far gone with lust. It clouded his mind and made him want to do anything that would give him more. Murakami would be happy to hear this words. Ichijou nipped at his jaw and neck and collarbone enthusiastically as he rubbed his bottom half against him and twisted the toy inside of him. "It fits you, you make it look so much more enticing."
The affection his boss was giving him as a sort of reward for being able to take such a thing-and perhaps with as little complaint as he was offering-made Murakami relax far more easily than had Ichijou simply done nothing but watch. Ichijou was happy that it was in him. He was happy that it was stretching him out, making him feel strange, making him feel so full. It was a very unique and intense feeling, but once his organs calmed down and became accustomed to what was malforming them, he rubbed his stomach a little and let out a relieving sigh. It still ached, it still burned, but the sensation was nothing like he'd ever felt before.
"Is this how you feel whenever you-uh, do this?" His voice was steadier, and his hands went to rubbing his boss's back, and his ass. "It hurts so bad, sir, I-hah!" He couldn't finish what he was saying, because the toy inside of him was twisted again, and his cock gave a small throb. His hand came up to run through his own hair again, and his voice went, almost instantly, from one of discomfort to one of eroticism.
It felt different, that time. His insides were so sensitive, and he'd never known that he could feel something so great from a simultaneously internal and external source. Were his nerves on edge because of how brutalized they were by the fingering and by the placement of the toy? Or were they always like that, hypersensitive, ready to warm and electrify his body from having something rub against them? He was enjoying the toy, then, to a greater degree than he'd thought, but still, the aching had his back rigid. "Boss, d-do that again-please, sir-"
This was what he loved to see. This sort of heavy breathing and twisting and arching that only came from anal stimulation. Ichijou shuddered from how he was behaving.
"You like it now, don't you?" He asked, moving the toy back and forth inside of him, but not taking it out. "I know because I've felt this. It's such an overwhelming feeling to have something inside of you. Knowing that it's there, when it shouldn't be, invading you and holding you hostage in your own body. You can't relax. You're being invaded and penetrated."
His own words turned him on and Ichijou buried his face in the crook of Murakami's neck, breathing hotly in his ear as he grinded against him. The lube had gotten his hand wet and slippery and he ran his thumb along Murakami's balls as he continued to move the toy inside of him. He angled it a bit to rub the tip against where he guessed his prostate was.
"I want you to do this to me. I want you to fill me up and put something so large and foreign in me that my body feels like it's on fire. I want you to hold me by the hips and watch you move your cock in and out of me, disappearing into my body, knowing that it's all the way inside of me when it shouldn't be. I want you to fuck me as you feel this inside you."
It was getting hard to hold back his lust. Although he had slipped up a couple of times with his temper and impatience, Ichijou had still not succumbed to completely breaking down. But seeing the toy inside of his employee was too much to handle and Ichijou groaned loudly with need, rubbing his cock against Murakami's as he laid on top of him.
Holy shit, the things this man was saying! Murakami's expression was one of bewilderment, surprise, and he had no idea what to say in response to all of that. He was going into so much detail describing what the toy must have felt like-and he was right. It wasn't meant to be there, it was put in there by another man, by his superior, like a mark of ownership, like Ichijou had staked his claim on his body. Ichijou had invaded him and taken away his power, his rights, by putting something so lewd and personal and unnatural inside of him, and he was aware of that. They were both aware of that, and Murakami was in love with the idea. The idea that his body was for Ichijou, and that Ichijou could do with it whatever he wanted, because he wanted to. Because he loved Murakami's body to that extent.
He began moaning, but did his best to cover it up and silence it as he felt it moving in and out inside of him. It felt like his whole body was being pierced, like he could feel it all the way in his gut, that forceful pressure, rocking into him and stimulating his nerves and making him feel sick, initially. His breathing was choked up, like he'd been crying, and the more the toy moved, the more his ring of muscles surrounding it relaxed, and ached less, and filled his dick and his legs and his arms and his head with warm pleasure, making his head cloud up, making him caring less and less about the things Ichijou said and how absurd and arousing they were and he focused more on the feeling of having such a thing inside of him. It felt incredible, and he wanted to do the same for his boss.
"Yes, s-sir-" He swallowed, and did what he could to steady his voice. "I wanna be inside of you, sir, I want you to feel good like this, I want-I want to feel you around my dick, sir, I bet you feel-k-keep hitting it there-s-so nice-" The more his senses were awoken to the feeling of the toy inside of him, the harder it was to keep a straight pronunciation.
"I w-wish I could see you stretch open for me, and I wish-I wish I could see what it'd look like inside of you, boss-I'm sorry the things I'm saying aren't as good as what you're saying-"
"Then do it. Fuck me." Ichijou sat up straight on top of him, moving his hips so that he sat on his lap, rubbing himself down on his dick. He moaned sluttishly, looking down at Murakami while rotating his hips back and forth as if he was actually riding him. "Do it." He edged him on, repeating himself, demanding everything that he knew he could. Murakami would do it and Ichijou loved that. He loved that he had this man here in the same position that all of his employees had been. He loved the power he had to control and manipulate so many men to react in the exact same way. Because of his body. Because of his words. Because he was the boss. It was all formulaic and Ichijou had perfected it. He was a whore and he loved it.
Ichijou had no shame as he grabbed Murakami's hands and set them on his thin hips while holding himself above his cock. "Do as I say. Fuck your boss." His eyes were narrowed with delight and desire as Murakami looked up at him beneath him.
He was really allowed to do it. It was really going to happen, Ichijou wasn't the type of person to make a promise and not follow through on it. He would say he wanted something, and he would get it. Ichijou was spoiled, and Murakami wanted to spoil him even more. He deserved to have a dick in him, for how nicely he was treating Murakami, and that was both of their reasonings. They both wanted it, they both deserved it, they both needed it.
He looked nervous, initially, grabbing his hips, but he'd had sex before with women. This wouldn't be any different, would it? Aside from the plug filling up his ass and making his genitals feel on fire, and the fact that the man he'd be penetrating and satisfying was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He wanted to go slow, at first, because he figured that'd be best. He swallowed, and pushed him down.
He was so tight! Murakami couldn't help but toss his head back and groan and feel his muscles flex as that tightness and that heat surrounded the most sensitive part of his body, gripping it like a vice, Ichijou's walls twitching and undulating and giving his dick what felt like a massage, warming it up, the lube making it wet-everything about it was perfect. Ichijou was perfect, and he wished so desperately he could see how it looked inside of him, cradled in his organs, his body having craved and then been satisfied, needing this-
Ichijou's breath hitched as he felt the head of Murakami's dick slide into his ass. It went easily for the most part, but still there was always that first initial pain that made him tense up and exhale hotly. So full. He felt so full as he felt every inch of Murakami's dick enter him, filling him up. Ichijou was mesmerized by the feeling of his employee's erection inside of him. Every inch was absolute gratification. God he had wanted this so bad. But he wanted more. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.
"Yeah, that's it..."
Ichijou moaned and leaned back, his hair falling over his shoulders, setting his hands on Murakami's thighs so that he could lift his hips up with ease. He rubbed himself down him, feeling his ass connect with his lap and knowing that Murakami was all the way inside of him. Deep, lewd moans continued to slip past his lips as he put his weight on his hands and started to move up and down. It was a bit uncomfortable at first but he loved that. He loved knowing that he was fucking himself raw upon his employee's cock when he definitely should not be. It was wrong and Ichijou loved it. It was taboo, unthinkable to take advantage of this man like this. But Murakami was helpless to resist him, he knew, as he was the one who was being fucked. Ichijou loved cock, loved having things inside of him, loved being fucked, but he always did it this way first for a reason. It was power. Once his employee's dick was inside of him, he knew that they would never want to say 'no' again.
"You feel amazing. Oh, god, I can feel you all the way in me. Come on, fuck me, I want to feel you move." Ichijou grinned and looked at him with lidded eyes clouded by devious excitement.
God, he could feel how full his ass was. He could feel Murakami inside of him. It made him yearn for something that could never truly be satisfied as he moved on top of him, fucking him down onto the couch. His own dick was on full display before him and it bobbed slightly as he rode him.
"Touch me," he ordered, spreading his legs so that he was completely open to him, absolutely shameless, "put your hands on me and fuck me."
This wasn't a completely foreign feeling for Murakami. It was one he'd felt before, a few times, even, but never with a man. Never like this, of this intensity, feeling like his dick was being clamped, suffocated, and torn apart by surges of intense pleasure of a magnitude he'd never even imagined. He was so tight, even though Murakami did what he could to prepare him, and even though he must have been loose from how much he'd done this sort of thing before. Maybe he wasn't this tight, and it was simply Murakami thinking he was. He clenched his eyes shut and took in big, deep breaths, and then forced himself to look at Ichijou.
He was perfect. His red hair, which should have been messy, was still perfectly in place. His eyes were big, and wet, and his face was red, and wet, and his mouth was open, and wet. He looked like something out of a magazine, or something he'd see online; like a fantasy, like something he shouldn't be allowed to have and yet this man is still within his possession. He had Ichijou on his dick. He was inside of him. He was in the more dominant position, penetrating him, invading him and making him feel so unrealistically good, and yet Ichijou was his boss.
This was a gift. This was what he got for being good, for obeying him. His boss gave him his body to use, gave him that hole, and he intended to use it. He wanted Ichijou to be moaning his name, pawing at his pecs and ordering him to cum inside of him, tainting him even more, and Murakami wanted to be the only one Ichijou would ever ask to see for this ever again-
"Y-yes, boss-" He immediately seized his hips and began lifting him up and down, with relative ease. He panted each time he exerted himself, and he groaned each time he fell back down. He stared at his dick, watching it bounce and leak precum, and he stared at his balls and watched them flatten whenever their hips collided. "Boss, you feel so fucking good," he was saying basic, generic things, but he didn't care.
"I-I like looking at your dick while you ride me, boss, and you feel so good, I loved you moving your hips, you have such nice legs-boss, you're great-"
Having this man touch him in such a way was so overwhelming. He could really feel all of him. Ichijou's whole life, at that moment, was completely filled by Murakami. Murakami. Murakami. He moaned that name, throwing his head back.
"Your hands are so big," he gasped, "grab me more. Touch me. I want to feel your hands all over me. Show me that you can be as good with them as you are with your dick."
The way that Murakami held him was wonderful. His grip was cautious but firm, and Ichijou let himself be picked up and slammed back down on his lap repeatedly. Each time he was lifted up he could feel the man's dick slide out of him almost to the limit before it was thrust back into him. Over and over and over he fucked himself on his cock, touching himself, running his hands over his own body, and looked down to see the red, earnest face beneath him.
Murakami's eyes would squeeze shut every so often when Ichijou ground down particularly hard on him. His mouth would fall open with a gasp and his eyebrows would furrow deeply. Each time he dared to look up again, his eyes were glazed and fiercely intent on the way that Ichijou moved his body above him. Ichijou loved to have his performance studied so closely, every movement drank in and admired.
Murakami would never dare say his name. He wouldn't say Seiya-san, and if he were to call him by his name, Ichijou, he'd rather suffer the humilation of castration than overstep the boundary of intimacy, especially knowing that this is the first time he'd ever met the man. If he were certain that they were to do this multiple times in the future, he wouldn't say it even then. He'd call him boss, sir, or manager, but never Seiya-san, or Ichijou.
He began writhing a bit, from how good his insides felt. They were so soft, so hot, and massaged his dick in all the right places. He wished desperately that he could see his dick inside of Ichijou, inside of this man's beautiful body, to see how his muscles twitched and contracted to take his massive thing, and to see what it was they did that made him feel like in a sea of ecstasy. Tears were welling in his eyes, from how amazing it was, and his hands squeezed at Ichijou's chest like it belonged to a woman, rubbing his nipples. One hand even trailed behind him, and rubbed a bit at the stretched ring of muscles that was embracing his cock.
"B-Boss-" He continued to say his name, and he didn't know what else he could utter, as his boss, his face, his body, and his name, were all that was on his mind.
Ichijou arched into the touch, thrusting his chest out so that Murakami could touch him easier. This man was at his complete disposal and he used that to his fullest extent, fucking himself down hard onto his cock and letting his nipples be twisted with raw desire. Being touched like this while he rode his dick and let himself be penetrated was euphoric.
"Oh, aren't you so good." He grinned and leaned forward, laying on his chest as he continued to move his bottom half up and down. "Do you like being told what to do? Hmm? Does it feel good when I tell you what your job is and expect you to follow it?"
The grin on his face did not waver as his eyebrows furrowed at his prostate being hit. His breath was heavy and the burning ache inside of him to be filled felt like an insatiable hunger. Ichijou grabbed Murakami's hair and pulled his head back, kissing his neck as he ground his ass down on his cock and rubbed his own dick against where it was trapped between their stomachs. Groans spilled from his mouth as he nipped at him, tightening his grip more and more.
"This is how you will service me best. You will have other responsibilities, but I will be expecting such model behavior from you from here on out. Don't think this is only just initiation. You will fuck me as long as I am in charge of you. That is your job." This was illegal but he didn't care. Ichijou's cock felt too good at his words and the way that Murakami thrust so deep into him to ever stop this.
It was so hard to breathe, what with the rigorous activity they both were engaged in, not to mention the intense arousal that was clouding Murakami's mind and making his body feel as thought it was on fire. He must have been sweating so much, and shaking, too, but all of his own experiences and the way he felt was all blanketed out by the overwhelming stimuli flooding his brain and all of his other senses, but also by the man that was causing him to feel this way.
In all of the other times he had had sex, it had never felt this amazing. Sure, the girl may have been loud like his boss was being, but none of what she said was really that arousing. She would talk about his dick, but she'd just say 'give it to me, give it to me,' and wouldn't ever-be like Ichijou. And Ichijou was the first man he'd ever had the privilege to fuck, and good God, he never wanted to be with another man for as long as he lived. When he leaned down and asked him that question, all he could do was nod, and mutter a breathy affirmation, and he wondered how stupid his face must have looked to this deity. At that realization, that Ichijou was his god, his hands became a lot more energetic, and did all they could to squeeze his body, to massage his body, to pleasure his body.
And then, his boss said something he wasn't anticipating, or even expecting. He was hoping he'd say something like it, but he knew it wouldn't be the case-or he thought so, at least. This was to be Murakami's job. His job would be to fuck this man, his job would be to give this man a dick that made him positively livid, that made him unwind and act so much unlike himself-from what Murakami had known of him-and that was the most satisfying position. His body was literally being used for his own needs, and that was what was expected of him.
Was he the only person with this privilege?
"I-I can make it better, if I may, sir-"
He began to sit up, keeping his hands steady on Ichijou's hips.
"Oh?" Ichijou asked with a flush face.
He hadn't been expecting it, so when Murakami sat up, Ichijou clung to his shoulders. His thighs were spread on either side of the man's lap. He could feel the penetration of his dick so well then, with his legs spread and his back arched and his ass rubbing down on it. And with Murakami so close, it was thrilling. They were about the same height so Ichijou looked down at him from sitting on his lap. That pleased him. Ichijou's cock pressed between their stomachs and he shifted slightly to make it more obvious.
"You may, I give you permission." His expression was sly and Ichijou stretched his arms out to rest on top of Murakami's shoulders while rubbing his dick against him. It pleased him that he asked and took nothing for granted. Murakami knew his place.
Upon receiving permission, he found it rather difficult to, but Murakami had stood up and held onto Ichijou's hips and his back the entire time. He grunt as he exerted force in order to lift the lighter man, and his face was pink with strain, but after a few moments, it was easy to hold him.
"You're rather light, sir," he said, with a small smile. He wanted to ask if this position was exclusive to him. He wanted to ask if he was special to his boss upon receiving this sort of work expected of him. He pressed his boss's back up against the wall nearest to them, and a bit nervously at first, he began thrusting up into him, holding him up and bracing him against the wall for support. He was so close to him. Ichijou's face and body were so close, and Murakami stared at him with a dreamy look.
He must have looked like he had fallen in love.
However much Ichijou had been caught off guard when Murakami sat up, he was even more flustered when he was promptly picked up and pushed against the wall. He made a noise of surprise and wrapped his arms around Murakami's neck when he was moved. The man was strong. He could feel how his muscles tensed, hear how he grunted when he picked him up, saw his flushed face; it overwhelmed him with arousal. There was nothing else in the world that Ichijou loved more than men (and power), and a strong, masculine man was what he lusted after the most. Ichijou might have been slight of frame, but he was not light, and he wrapped his legs around Murakami's waist when he was pushed against the wall.
"Ah!" A small, startled sound left his mouth when he felt him thrust up into him. The position made it feel so deep. He was being moved and held in place and penetrated. It felt like he was the one being manipulated, not the other way around. But that was not true. Murakami asked permission, Murakami did as he was told, Murakami fucked him hard because it was what Ichijou wanted. But still, Ichijou was held with strong hands as he was pounded into over and over. It drove him wild.
Moans and guttural noises left him each time he was thrust into, his body jerking up and down against the wall each time. Murakami held him tight, keeping him from falling. He was so strong. Ichijou was so hard it hurt and he leaned forward to kiss him sloppily on impulse. It was just all so much and each time Murakami's cock hit his prostate, he tightened his legs around him harder.
"Fuck." He did not usually curse but this was an exception as his ass was being fucked so well. "You're so good at this, you're doing such- ah!- a good job. Such model behavior. Your performance is exemplary. You could set an example. So proficient..." His voice wavered as he rambled on. Talking was so hard, but he felt so much. Not saying anything would be too much to bear. Ichijou's groans were becoming louder and louder as he was fucked harder.
"You make your boss feel so good! You're so- talented!" It was silly, what he was saying, but in the moment nothing sounded better. He was in charge. He was, certainly, as he held his arms around Murakami's neck and pressed his face against his chest and let himself be penetrated over and over and over.
What made it especially more awkward to move for Murakami was the thing still in his ass. He was worried that, with this new position, it would be even more likely for it to slip out. He could feel it digging into him, as well, as he had to clench up his pelvic muscles in order to thrust up into his boss. Occasionally, he'd let out a whining little moan, much like the girls he'd fucked in the past, because of how it felt. And when Ichijou wrapped his arms around Murakami and complimented him and buried his face in his chest, he couldn't hold himself back, and he had to wrap his arms around him, as well. Rubbing his hair, grabbing at his back, fucking him the best he could, and panting so loud and deep and heavy.
"S-sorry for messing up your hair, boss," he forced out. Ichijou's hair was tangled up in his grip, and he knew he would suffer punishment for it later. "I-it feels so nice, I couldn't-help myself-"
He was getting close, and as a result, he did what he could to reach between them to rub at his boss's dick. It was awkward, and his hand couldn't move much, but he was fine with that. "Boss, I-" He panted some more, and closed his eyes shut tight. "I want to be your s-star employee, sir, I want to outshine my f-fellow co-workers in this-this a-area of expertise. P-please allow me opportunities in the future in which I can d-display my skill and impress you, sir-"
His hips began moving faster, and harder. "S-sir, if I may, w-would it be okay if I-" He was getting close, but he knew he wasn't allowed to cum until his boss gave him the okay.
Truth be told, Ichijou loved having his hair grabbed in fits of passion. So when Murakami gripped it, Ichijou leaned back his head and hissed softly, loving the feeling of being touched and pulled on. The sound quickly returned to more obscene moans when he felt his dick be pumped. His eyes shot open and he looked at him mischieveously, knowing what that sudden touch meant, hearing his heavy pants. Ichijou pushed his hips back down on his cock hard.
"What is it? What do you want? Work for it, Murakami, show me what you'll do for it, and I'll consider."
Really, he was too generous.
Oh, he should have known that Ichijou would make him ask for it, and be direct. It wasn't as nerve-wracking as it would have been before, but it was still an improper thing to say! But with all that Ichijou had said-and been doing-it wouldn't be very humiliating, would it? If he asked to be allowed to cum?
"B-boss, please, I'd like to-c-cum inside of you. It'll feel good for you, I'm sure! I'm sure you'll like it, boss!" He was sounding so desperate, and his hips were beginning to still as he focused more on convincing his superior. "Any time you need me to do something like this for you, sir, I'll do it, I'll come satisfy you any time you need it! Please, sir, let me cum!"
Ichijou shook his head and laughed, tutting his tongue. "'It'll feel good for me'? Oh Murakami, you don't have to try and persuade me, that won't work on me. I make the final decisions and trying to butter me up certainly won't work. What I say goes, and nothing else."
It was entertaining to see his face fall so suddenly. Ichijou had been so considerate and kind so far, literally fucking himself and moaning on his dick, and now he reverted back to his usual cold and professional temperament. Even worse that he had done this to him on purpose. Ichijou had advanced on him, sexually harassed him, fingered him, put a buttplug in him, and now that he was finally asking- no- begging to cum, he was being cruel.
Murakami's eyebrows furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something in reply, but Ichijou hushed him sharply and put a finger over his lips. "You want to cum in me? Well, I want to know how dedicated you are. I want to know if you'll be able to handle this job. I want to know how you will try your hardest at doing a good job of fucking me, every day, as part of your schedule. I want to know that you will wear the more intimate" Ichijou moved his foot down Murakami's back to rub against his ass, "parts of your uniform loyally. I want you to tell me that you will do these things without any without question or fuss, that when I tell you that it will be part of your job to fuck me each day, that you will have as good of a work ethic in here as you do out in the casino."
Ichijou pressed himself close against him again, one hand moving down to rest against his large chest. He stroked the muscle there, ghosting lightly over a nipple and twisting it slightly, looking at him intently, loving the red blush covering his face. Murakami was such a submissive man.
"Can you do that?" He asked, alluring, manipulative. "Can you be the employee I need you to be?"
He was making this so terribly hard for Murakami, and he was about to start whining. His dick was beginning to hurt, and he was so desperate to be able to cum, and if he hadn't stopped thrusting into him entirely he would have blown his load and possibly have had his new responsibilities taken away from him. He looked so positively pained as he heard Ichijou say these things, heard him call the thing inside of him part of his uniform, and that Ichijou wanted-needed-him to do these things. And Murakami needed to do them, too. He had to do this in order to satisfy his employer.
"I can, I can do all of that, and more! Every day I come into work, I'll-I'll have this thing inside of me, sir, just like you told me." It made his cock throb to think of that. Having that inside of him the whole time he worked. Ichijou practically owned him. "I'll do anything you ask of me, sir, and more, even! With your permission, like-like this this, sir. I'll do the best job out of anyone else, sir, I swear! I want-"
He gripped Ichijou's ass, and paused, anxious.
"I want-to be the only one who can make you feel this good, sir."
Murakami was overflowing with enthusiastic need, getting so ahead of himself just to please him. It made Ichijou feel big and smug to know that he was trying so hard on his behalf. Murakami wanted him so bad that he was willing to wear the toy Ichijou had given him daily, fuck him when he wanted, and in time, be the one who was taken. The thought had so much promise.
"Good boy." He was young, but nowhere near a 'boy'. But as he held him there, face flushed and needy and ready to do anything to please, he felt like nothing but. "Do a good job, and maybe you can be."
Truthfully, it was unlikely. It would be unfair. Ichijou had been manager for years, he knew how people worked, and how they reacted to favoritism. It wouldn't be good, especially since they would have such a motivating privilege taken away. Because it was motivating to them. Ichijou's employees were efficient and worked hard, but they didn't just do it on their own. They did it knowing that they would be rewarded for a job well done. Fucking them was a certain incentive that made his men be almost more hardworking than all of Teiai combined. But...
Ichijou moaned when he felt Murakami's dick twitch inside him. He felt so good. Never before had he found a man so eager to please, so willing to do whatever was asked for him. A strong, masculine, submissive man... It was such a rare thing to come by, and seeing Murakami look up at him with such pleading need and honest enthusiasm made him want to give in.
"Don't swear it, do it. Show me what a good worker you can be. Cum inside me. I want to feel it. Do as you're told, let me see how submissive you really are. Cum inside your boss, Murakami."
Just like that, Murakami found himself thrusting up into the other man, panting just as hard as he had been earlier, rubbing his boss's dick, brought back to the edge he had been on before he had to make himself stop, and within a few short moments, he could feel his dick twitch once, twice, and then his vision went black and all he could see where intense, bright flickering lights through his eyelids. His heart felt like it would stop, his head was hurting, and he wasn't aware of what noises he was making, or if he was making any at all, aside from moaning Ichijou's title. Even during that fit of pure bliss, torrents of serotonin destroying his senses, he was aware enough not to say his name.
He could feel his dick shooting out its semen inside of his boss, and moments after the last spurt, his eyes opened, and he slowly fell to his knees. His boss was still on his lap, and he was still holding onto him, and he could finally breathe. He couldn't say anything, but he looked at his boss like he had before, like he had fallen in love-and maybe he had. His boss was so beautiful. His boss was perfect, in every way.
"Was that-satisfactory, boss?"
Ichijou gasped and watched Murakami's face as he came inside him. He watched as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, feeling his hands dig into his hips as he pulled him down so that his ass touched the very base of his cock, listening to the slew of groans that left him. It was so satisfying to see that he had made the timid, shy man who had first entered his office become so lewd and unrestrained with pleasure. Ichijou leaned onto him more so that his knees touched the floor and his hands rested against his chest. He stroked him softly while speaking.
"It was a definite start, yes. You did a very good job fucking me." The adoration on his face was pleasing, and Ichijou nipped at his strong jaw. "But there's one last thing I have for you to do, Murakami. Don't get selfish now." Ichijou said it with no true bite, looking down at his adoring expression when he stood up. Murakami's cock slid out of his ass and he could feel cum drip down the inside of his leg. Ichijou set his hand on Murakami's cheek, lifting his head up, and patted the top of his thigh. "Remember, it is your job to please your boss above all else. I wan to feel your tongue, again."
Without a moment's pause, he received a vague order, but very readily went to fulfill it. He lifted his boss up from his lap-his arms were aching so terribly-and pushed him up against the wall again. He, himself, still sat on the ground, and he spread his boss's legs and leaned forward to lick the cum that had begun dripping down his thighs. It was his own cum, that had been inside the both of them at some point. He let out a little moan, and when he saw his boss hadn't orgasmed yet, he finished cleaning his legs and went to licking and kissing and sucking on his dick like he had done before.
He was ordered not to get jealous of the other men who would be doing this with their boss. That was one order he wouldn't be able to follow.
"Oh..." Ichijou groaned and sighed when he felt Murakami's tongue lick along his thighs and ass. It felt so good and calming after having been fucked so hard for so long. He looked down at him with lidded eyes, seeing his head between his legs, licking his own cum off of him dutifully. It made Ichijou's dick twitch and he was more than pleased when Murakami attended to it. He ran his fingers through his dark black hair when he started to suck him. As good as it had felt the first time, it was nothing compared to this, and Ichijou was a moaning, sluttish mess against the wall.
"Yes, do that, keep doing that..." He had been so aroused for so long, had had his prostate hit so much, so hard, his dick rubbed between them, felt Murakami come inside him... Murakami's hot, wet mouth was perfect. It had all been just too much to take at once, despite his boastful stamina, and Ichijou felt himself nearing orgasm quicker than he had expected.
His boss was making such nice noises, and it made Murakami feel so proud. His boss was this aroused, and he was feeling this much pleasure, because of him! All of what had happened during that encounter was because of Murakami. Ichijou complimented him so much, Ichijou had been in pure ecstasy because of the physical sensation and because of the pride he felt at having such a good employee, were all because of him.
He looked up at him and made a little noise, himself, as he felt his boss's semen begin to fill his mouth, and while it wasn't quite as disgusting as he had anticipated it to be, he still had to force himself not to make a face about it. He pulled away once he'd finished, a strand of semen mixed with spit connecting his lips and the tip of the cock, and he continued to look up at his boss as he swallowed. And made a show of it. See, manager? He was better than his co-workers.
He didn't even need to be told to swallow!
When Ichijou came, his thighs trembled and he hunched over and held Murakami's head tight, riding the waves of pleasure that surged through his body. It was absolute bliss to finally orgasm, overly satisfying, more than he could have hoped for. Ichijou hadn't cum so hard in so long, and seeing Murakmi look up with him with obedient eyes and swallow his load made him groan. There was a bit of his cum on his cheek and Ichijou moved to thumb it off of him after he rode out his orgasm.
"You did such a good job. Swallowing without even being told..." Ichijou was generally cold after sex, but Murakami was endearing and he felt unnaturally attracted to his submissive behavior. "Next time, I will cum over your face and you will look up at me just as you are now."
Ichijou pressed his back flat against the wall and exhaled heavily. The wall was cold and he longed for his clothes, noticing that he had tossed them in the corner. How undignified. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed once more, and looked back down at Murakami who was kneeling beneath him. He couldn't help but grin.
"Do you still feel confident that you can do this every day? It's rigorous work, and I have strict expectations. I expect nothing more than exemplary behavior."
When Murakami had first received the job, he wasn't anticipating doing much more than cleaning, dealing chips, or even having a boss that he enjoyed seeing everyday, and felt he could get close to. When he had first been hired, he was told of what his duties would be-and even guarding the vault didn't seem very promising-and having heard bits and pieces of his superior, he wasn't expecting him to be as nice as he was. This was his first day of work, and he knew this was the best boss he would ever have.
Ichijou was so happy with him, too, and as he should be! Murakami was a dedicated worker, and most of what Ichijou could say about him could be said by his previous employers before him. He was dutiful, punctual, dedicated to what he did, and followed every order without question. He was the perfect subordinate. He never had much motivation for doing what he did other than seeing the pride he gave his bosses, but this time-
Murakami wanted to be the best. He wanted to stand up above the rest of his co-workers, he wanted to stand out, to shine, to be the sole receiver of Ichijou's praise and affections. He wanted to be the best man to do what Ichijou asked of him, to be the best man he'd ever had work for him, to be the best man he'd ever fucked. He wouldn't get special privileges. But he still wanted to be the best.
He smiled up at his boss, with a determined look on his face, and he nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll be the best employee you've ever had."
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