Braxton's Prerogative Part 2

As the day wound down and the office emptied, Leonard sat at his desk, pretending to go over the same report for the third time. His hands were clammy, his collar too tight. The events of the past 24 hours hung over him like a storm cloud, pressing down on his shoulders.

He told himself he should leave. Go home. Act as if nothing had changed. But he didn’t.

"Staying late?" The voice was smooth, knowing. Leonard looked up to find Feldman standing by his desk, coffee cup in hand despite the hour. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something Leonard recognized now—something he had seen in the mirror that morning.

Feldman glanced around the office, confirming they were alone, then leaned in just enough for Leonard to catch the scent of his cologne—warm, spicy, familiar.

"I saw the way he looked at you today," Feldman murmured. "The way you looked at him."

Leonard tensed. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Feldman chuckled, setting down his coffee. "You don’t have to pretend with me, Leonard." He settled on the edge of the desk, folding his arms. "I know how it starts. The first time is a shock, isn’t it? You think you’re different. You think it won’t change you." His gaze darkened slightly. "But it does."

Leonard swallowed hard. "So it happened to you too."

Feldman smiled, but there was something bitter behind it. "Braxton collects things, Leonard. People. He likes to take, and he likes to own." He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his mustache. "But sometimes… sometimes you realize you want to be taken."

Leonard looked away, his pulse a steady drumbeat in his ears.

Feldman reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, tossing them lightly onto Leonard’s desk. 

Leonard blinked. "What?"

Feldman smirked. "You’re moving into the group home with the rest of us. Your stuff’s already there."

A cold weight settled in Leonard’s chest. "The rest?"

Feldman’s smile didn’t falter. "You’re not the only one, Leonard. And you won’t be the last. Braxton makes sure of that."

Leonard sat frozen as Feldman stood, taking one last sip of coffee before walking toward the exit. "See you at home."

Leonard stared at the keys. The choice had already been made for him.

The house was larger than he expected, just minutes away from work, its polished exterior giving no hint of what lay inside. As Leonard stepped in, a strange energy pressed against him—not overt, not definable, but present. He spotted Feldman in the living room, along with a few other men from the office. The way they moved, the way they existed in this space—it was both familiar and alien.

Feldman greeted him with a nod. "I’ll show you to your room."

Leonard followed in silence, his breath shallow. The room was neat, sterile. His belongings already placed where they belonged. Like he had always been meant to be here.

Feldman clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Freshen up. There’s a shower down the hall."

Leonard muttered a quiet thanks and made his way toward the bathroom. As he approached, he hesitated. The door was ajar, steam curling from within. When he stepped inside, he saw it—multiple showerheads lining the tiled walls. A communal shower.

Something about it made his skin prickle. The vulnerability of it. The inevitability.

He stripped, his fingers trembling slightly as he stepped under the water. The heat washed over him, but it didn’t chase away the chill in his bones.

Then, behind him, the door opened.

Braxton entered, his voice casual. "Your wife and I both agreed this was for the best. Everything will settle fairly."

Leonard stiffened.

Braxton pulled off his shirt, unbuttoned his slacks, and stepped forward, turning on a second showerhead. He ran a hand over his chest, letting the water cascade down his body. "Your body, along with the others, is part of this house now."

Two days ago, Leonard never would have imagined he would be familiar with his boss’ naked body but that was then…

Braxton held out a washcloth. "Clean my back."

Leonard’s breath caught, but he obeyed, pressing the cloth to Braxton’s broad shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin. As the two men moved under the spray, the door opened again.

Leonard stood frozen under the ceaseless spray as the door to the communal shower swung open again, revealing the familiar figures one by one. These were the men he had nodded to in elevators, exchanged perfunctory pleasantries with by the coffee machine—now entering the tiled sanctuary with a casual familiarity that belied the intimacy of their shared fate. 

Feldman led the procession, his unhurried movements marked by the deliberate unbuttoning of his dress shirt. Leonard found himself unable to look away as he absorbed the detailed map of aging that Feldman wore so openly: a pale, concave chest sprinkled with a sparse constellation of silver hair that trailed down to a soft belly, a remnant of once broad, strong shoulders now bowed by decades behind a desk. As Feldman stepped out of his trousers, revealing a network of varicose veins telling tales of long, arduous hours, he moved toward Leonard with a quiet composure. Warm water glittered in his silver curls as he reached out—his hand, softened by time and marked with prominent veins reminiscent of river deltas—cupping Leonard’s cheek with surprising tenderness. “Welcome ,” he murmured, his voice blending with the hissing water, before leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against Leonard’s lips. That soft, sympathetic touch brought to mind not only the physical traces of age carved into Feldman’s form but also a solidarity etched in every weary line of his face.

Almost immediately, Hobson from legal followed, his entrance punctuated by the ritual loosening of his signature bow tie. The absence of his perfectly tailored suit unveiled a man whose lean body bore the quiet surrender of former athletic prowess to time’s inevitable softening. Leonard noted Hobson’s hairless, slightly sunken chest and the delicate translucence of his skin, revealing rib outlines beneath. There was even a pale, puckered scar on his left knee—a silent testament to a past injury. As Hobson leaned close, his thin lips quirked in what might have been a smile or a grimace, his kiss clinical and precise. His body’s subtle lean brought Leonard the unexpected warmth of Hobson’s semi-erect member gently brushing against his thigh, a whispered reminder that “You’ll adjust. We all did,” as he pulled away with measured calm.

Not long after, Fischer from the mailroom entered, his compact sixty-two-year-old frame betraying years of physical labor that had sculpted defined, veined forearms contrasting sharply with the soft upper arms. His torso, barrel-chested yet tapering into a narrow waist and accentuated by a pronounced paunch, told a story of too many beers after work, while a faded tattoo on his shoulder hinted at long-forgotten military insignia. The tapestry of moles and age spots across his shoulders marked each year spent at the job. Efficiency marked Fischer’s approach as he closed the gap with quiet authority. His kiss was firm and assured, his calloused hands gripping Leonard’s shoulders with the dependable strength of a man accustomed to hefting heavy mail carts. As Fischer pressed closer, his arousal made itself known, the heat of his animated desire pressing insistently against Leonard’s hip bone—a ghostly sensation that lingered even as he stepped aside and offered the blunt reassurance, “It gets easier… the wanting, I mean.”

Owens from payroll was the last to join, his deliberate movements a testament to a life fully lived, if not entirely wisely. Nearly at retirement age, his skin hung in soft, brown folds around a middle once robust, now a testament to both weight lost and time well spent. Deep creases carved his face and neck, trailing down to a chest that had softened under hormonal change, while his surprisingly muscular legs supported a frame that tilted slightly forward at relaxed shoulders. Gray patches adorned his body like stray brushstrokes. When Owens finally approached, his every action exuded a measured determination born of years. His kiss, claiming Leonard’s mouth with a surprising vigor despite his deliberate pace, carried with it the faint tang of peppermint and a hint of medicinal solace. As his body pressed against Leonard’s, the yielding contours of his flesh merged with the firmness of Leonard’s own form, a subtle yet profound declaration of shared intimacy.

Together, beneath the multiple showerheads, the five figures—each marked by the distinct geography of age and experience—formed a surreal tableau where water cascaded down like rivulets of time, and the steam wrapped around them, blurring boundaries between flesh and memory. In this shrouded, dreamlike moment, Leonard felt suspended as every touch, every gentle caress, and every lingering kiss narrated the quiet acceptance of who they had become—a fraternity defined by both the gentle erosion of time and the unexpected tenderness found in their embrace.

In the steamy shower, Braxton ordered Leonard to get on his hands and knees. “Demonstrate what you learned,” Braxton thundered, his tone both commanding and ruthless. As Leonard's eyes met the eager gaze of the four men around him, his heart pounded a cocktail of dread and anticipation.

Braxton positioned himself from behind, entering Leonard with measured penetration. ““Show the men here what your mouth can do, Hargrove” bellowed Braxton, “Feldman you’ve been wanting this for so long, you first!”. Feldman stepped forward and kneeled in front of Leonard placing his crotch in front of his face.

 

Feldman knelt before Leonard, water cascading down his aging body, droplets clinging to the silver hair on his chest. His eyes—pale blue, creased at the corners from decades of squinting at spreadsheets—held Leonard's gaze with unexpected tenderness.

"I've always watched you, you know," Feldman murmured, his voice barely audible above the hiss of the showers. He leaned closer, his breath warm against Leonard's ear. "Always fancied you from the moment you joined the firm. The way you hunched over your desk, so earnest, so desperate to please." His fingers traced the curve of Leonard's jaw, tilting his face upward. 

Leonard trembled, caught between Braxton's relentless rhythm behind him and Feldman's confession before him. His hands slipped slightly on the wet tiles, his knees already aching against the hard surface. Braxton's powerful thrusts shoved him forward in short, jolting movements, his fleshy body rippling with each impact.

"Open," Feldman whispered, thumb pressing against Leonard's lower lip with surprising gentleness. "Let me in."

Leonard's lips parted, a gasp escaping as Braxton hit a spot deep within him that sent electric currents up his spine. Feldman took advantage of the moment, guiding himself into the warm cavity of Leonard's mouth with a reverent sigh.

The sensations overwhelmed Leonard—the fullness behind, the weight on his tongue, the steam enveloping them in a private cloud. His world narrowed to these points of connection, these men using his body with such deliberate purpose. His own flesh jiggled with each impact, belly and chest undulating in hypnotic waves that seemed to entrance the watching men.

Braxton's hands gripped Leonard's hips with bruising force, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Look at him take it," he growled to their audience. "Built for this, weren't you, Hargrove?"

Leonard's moan vibrated around Feldman, the sound resonating through the older man's body, drawing a shiver from deep within him. Water cascaded down their bodies, making their skin slippery, amplifying every touch, every thrust. The shower's heat turned Leonard's pale flesh a delicate pink, like a canvas painted with raw desire.

Feldman's breathing grew ragged, his rhythm faltering as Leonard's eyes filled with unexpected tears—not from pain or shame, but from the intense intimacy of the moment. Feldman's movements synchronized with Braxton's thrusts from behind, creating a relentless pace. Soon, Feldman released his essence into Leonard's mouth, and Leonard, instead of recoiling, seemed to savor the taste, his eyes locking onto Feldman's with a newfound hunger. Feldman, overcome with emotion, lifted Leonard's face and planted a tender kiss on his cheek.

Hobson entered the scene with his methodical precision, his sharp, clipped instructions reminiscent of a dominant lover. His measured touches and deliberate motions compelled Leonard into a pose of vulnerable obedience, each calculated movement igniting a clinical but fierce desire. Fischer, small but fierce, made his move—his encounter raw and unyielding. Under the watchful eyes of the others, his rapid advances brought a new, frantic urgency to Leonard's overwhelmed senses. By the time Owens took his turn, Leonard had become adventurous, his tongue exploring  of Owens' balls, relishing his scent and taste before ultimately receiving his liquid reward.

Throughout the relentless cycle—each man varying in method and intensity—Leonard became a vessel for their divergent, overpowering cravings as he sucked each of his co-workers to completion. 

 

With the four men satisfied, their spent bodies glistening under the relentless spray, Braxton remained insatiable. His massive form loomed over Leonard, still buried deep within him, his rhythm never faltering despite the marathon of shared pleasure that had unfolded. The other men watched from various positions around the communal shower.

"Not done with you yet," Braxton growled, his voice echoing off the wet tiles. He withdrew suddenly, leaving Leonard empty and trembling on his hands and knees. Before Leonard could process the loss, Braxton's meaty hands gripped his shoulders, flipping him onto his back with surprising strength. "Want to see your face for this part."

Leonard gasped as his spine met the cool tiles, water immediately pooling beneath him. The ceiling lights blurred through the steam, creating halos that swam in his vision. Braxton loomed above him, his substantial belly hanging pendulously, beads of water trailing through the forest of hair on his chest before dropping onto Leonard's upturned face like warm rain.

"Look at me," Braxton commanded, positioning himself between Leonard's splayed legs. "I want to see your eyes when I finish."

Leonard's gaze locked with Braxton's, finding in those dark depths a hunger that transcended mere physical release.  Braxton's hands slid beneath Leonard's thighs, lifting them with unexpected gentleness before draping them over his fleshy shoulders. The position left Leonard completely exposed, utterly vulnerable.

"Christ, would you look at that," Fischer murmured from somewhere to Leonard's right, his voice thick with renewed interest. "He's opening up for him like a flower."

Leonard's cheeks burned at the vulgar remark, but he couldn't deny the truth it held. His body, which had initially tensed against Braxton's intrusion, now seemed to embrace it—to yearn for it, even. When Braxton pressed forward once more, sheathing himself fully in a single, smooth glide, Leonard's spine arched off the cold tiles. A guttural moan escaped his lips, a sound so raw and unfamiliar that it seemed to echo from someone else's throat. "Fuck me, Mr. Braxton, fuck me!" he cried, his voice reverberating through the chamber.

"That's it," Braxton growled, his massive frame looming over Leonard like a dark storm front. "Show them how much you crave this."

Water cascaded down around them in a steady, drumming rhythm, creating serpentine rivulets that mapped the curves and hollows of their joined bodies. Leonard's fingers clawed at the slick, wet floor, desperately seeking traction as Braxton accelerated his pace. The obscene slap of flesh meeting flesh resonated within the tiled walls, interspersed with Braxton's primal grunts and Leonard's increasingly frantic mewls.

Braxton claimed Leonard with a series of savage thrusts, each one echoing like a gunshot. Leonard felt the moment of Braxton's release, the heat and pulse of it, as Braxton asserted his dominance in the most primitive way.

Braxton withdrew and stood, rinsing his cock clean.  Braxton's eyes were cold and calculating as he stared down at Leonard.  He said, “Welcome to your new life, Leonard!” The words echoed through the shower.  Braxton was the first to exit.  The remaining four men followed Braxton out of the shower, leaving Leonard alone on the floor.  The steam from the shower slowly dissipated, and the room began to grow cold.  Leonard felt the tile against his cheek, as he stared at the ceiling.  His body ached from the encounter, and his thoughts raced as he tried to process what had just happened.

Last week, he was a married man, comfortably settled into the predictable routines of his life, but feeling trapped in a stagnant rut. Today, however, everything had changed with undeniable clarity. He found himself embracing a newfound identity as a homosexual, drawn with an intense and unfamiliar yearning towards other men—an attraction he had never experienced before. This profound shift in his desires had awakened a vibrant part of him that had lain dormant for so long.

However was being the plaything of his boss going to be his life?….

Later that evening, the gentle tap of a knuckle against his bedroom door echoed through the quiet house. It was Feldman, his eyes soft with a tenderness that had been absent in the shower. “May I come in, Mr. Hargrove?” The formality of the request was a stark contrast to their earlier encounter, and something within Leonard stirred at the sound of his name in such a gentle tone. He nodded, unable to find his voice. The door creaked open, revealing a man who had shed his earlier ravenousness. In its place was a gentle soul, yearning for connection beyond the primal.

Feldman approached the bed, his steps deliberate, almost tentative. He knelt beside the trembling form of his young subordinate, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight. “What I said earlier, during—it wasn’t just the heat of the moment. I truly do find you...beautiful.” His hand reached out, brushing a lock of wet hair from Leonard’s forehead, his touch feather-light.

Leonard’s eyes searched the older man’s, seeking truth in the depths of those pale blue orbs. The room was suffused in a soft glow from the single bedside lamp, casting shadows across the contours of their bodies, highlighting the stark contrast between youth and experience.

“I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but...I want to show you something different, Mr. Hargrove.” Feldman's words were a gentle balm on the raw wound of Leonard's shattered dignity. He meant every word he'd said in the bathroom—his hunger for Leonard wasn’t born of the moment's depravity but of a long-nurtured desire. 

"It doesn't have to be like this," Fischer murmured, his breath warm against the Leonard’s ear. "Sex between men—it's not always about control and domination. Sometimes, it's about this—about love and understanding."

With trembling hands, they began to explore one another, the air in the room charged with a new, tender energy. 

 air grew thick with unspoken understanding as the two men shifted closer, the dampness of their skin meeting with an electric spark. This time, the kiss was gentle, exploratory, as if discovering something precious and fragile. 

Leonard’s hand trembled as it reached out to touch Feldman’s chest, his fingertips tracing the smooth paths of his co-worker now housemate’s skin. He felt the steady thump of Feldman’s heart beneath his palm, a comforting reminder that amidst this maelstrom of confusion and desire, there was life—there was passion.

Feldman’s mouth traveled downward, kissing a path along Leonard’s neck, across his chest, and lower

Their kisses grew deep, each stroke of the tongue a silent promise of care and affection. The rest of the night was a symphony of tender touches, passionate whispers, and an erotic dance of bodies that had never known such intimate connection. It was a stark contrast to the brutish claiming Braxton had subjected him to.

The dim lamplight cast a golden haze across Leonard's bedroom, transforming the stark white walls into a canvas of amber and shadow. Feldman's movements were unhurried as he descended Leonard's body, his lips leaving a trail of warmth against skin still tender from the earlier assault. Unlike Braxton's brutal efficiency or the other men's hungry desperation, Feldman moved with the deliberate grace of someone savoring a rare vintage.

"I've thought about this," Feldman confessed, his voice a reverent whisper against Leonard's trembling stomach. "Not like that—not how it happened in the shower. But like this. Just us."

Leonard's breath caught as Feldman's silver hair tickled the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. The older man's hands—paper-soft from decades of ledgers and keyboards—slid beneath Leonard's hips with surprising strength, lifting him slightly. Leonard's head fell back against the pillow, his eyes tracing the subtle patterns in the ceiling plaster as Feldman's warm breath ghosted over his most intimate parts.

"May I?" Feldman asked, his voice catching slightly.

The question itself was a balm to Leonard's —so different from Braxton's commands although he desired those as well. 

"Yes," Leonard whispered, the word barely audible yet hanging between them like a fragile, precious thing.

Feldman's first touch was tentative—a gentle press of lips against the tender flesh of Leonard's inner thigh, followed by the warm, wet heat of his tongue tracing delicate patterns. Leonard's breath caught, his body still remembering the roughness of the communal shower, but Feldman's approach was entirely different—reverent, almost worshipful in its careful exploration.

"You're trembling," Feldman murmured, his breath warm against Leonard's sensitized skin. His palms slid upward, fingers splaying across Leonard's soft belly, thumbs tracing circles in the slight hollows beside his hipbones. "I won't hurt you. Not ever."

Leonard swallowed hard, unable to form words as Feldman's silver head lowered once more. The first touch of the older man's tongue against his arousal sent a jolt through his system—not the sharp, electric shock of Braxton's brutal claiming, but something deeper, more profound. A wave of sensation that seemed to ripple outward, warming him from within.

"My God," Feldman breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "The taste of you..."

His technique was unhurried, methodical—each stroke of his tongue deliberate, each subtle shift of pressure calculated to draw out Leonard's pleasure rather than race toward completion. Unlike the performative frenzy of the shower, this was intimate, private. When the climax came, it was a sweet release, with Fischer eagerly taking Leonardo’s cock into his mouth, his eyes gleaming with love and lust as he swallowed down the proof of their union.

They lay tangled in the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of their love making painting a picture of shared ecstasy on their flushed faces. Fischer's hand stroked the softness of Leonards’s belly with a gentle fondness, while his other hand played with the sensitive bud of his nipple, making him squirm with delight. 

He took a deep breath, the mattress shifting as he propped himself up on one elbow to look into Leonards’s eyes. "I've been with Braxton for a long time," Fischer began, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "He seduced me, just like he did with you. But over the years, I learned to navigate his whims. I find joy in the moments he allowed me indulge the different aspects of myself, to use, to be used." He traced a finger along the curve of Leonards’s jaw, his gaze earnest. "You will too, my dear. And as you do, you'll discover parts of yourself you never knew existed."

Feldman leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss, the taste of their shared pleasure still on his lips. "You’ll have your nights with Owens, Fischer, and Hobson—each one special in their own way. They’ll show you the fun and the passion of our world. And together, we’ll make this house more than just a prison of lust. It'll be the place where you find yourself—where you truly become a man."

Leonard nodded, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He knew this was only the beginning, a door opening onto a path of self-discovery paved with pleasure and pain, but with Fischer beside him, the journey didn’t seem so daunting. He leaned into the older man’s embrace, their hearts beating in sync as they whispered sweet nothings into the dark. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a flicker of hope in the depths of his soul.