Employee of the Month, Pride Parade part 3: 4/NOV

[Broody]

Friday June 12: Hostile Take Over pt 1

 

I blinked my eyes awake. Yawning and stretching I felt my arm knock over the empty wine bottle on my bedside table. I wondered dreamily why I didn’t hear it crash to the floor, then I remembered why. I sat up and pulled off my noise canceling headphones. I gazed about my apartment, which looked like it had been ransacked by the FBI.  Beside me, Alexandre snored so loudly the window panes rattled. I winced as the noise shook my hungover brain.

Great job, Jeffrey. Sleeping with the intern, you’re such a cliché. Sure he hadn’t started the job yet, but still, if Rich from HR ever recovered his dignity from yesterday’s humiliation, he’d pounce all over this shit in revenge.

I set my feet on the floor, and stood up. My fancy bedframe was in ruins, the four posts jutting at odd angles and the canopy a tattered sail. Alexandre’s gigantic mass of muscles lay in its midst like a World War II bomb that had crashed through my roof but failed to explode.

Of course, both I and Alexandre had exploded, many many times last night. Who would have thought that he’d be a versatile king with a perfect, average-sized boyfriend dick. It almost made up for him repeatedly calling me Daddy. Rude!

I picked up the phone and my face went white. How could it be 1:30 PM?? I scrolled through the multiple text messages from Hamza, the company’s Turkish-American junior accountant, who’d been about to destroy my hole before getting unceremoniously cock-blocked two days ago by an urgent message from his boss Franklin Treadfoot, TopSports’ CFO.

“You’re not at your desk.

“Where the fuck are you?

“The board is meeting. Without Mr. S.!

“It’s a palace coup! Franklin’s orchestrated an acquisition while Mr Sartorius is away in Europe. SmashBets is going eat us up like a snack.”

I thumbed a call back to him. He picked up, his deep voice gruff. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Long story,” I evaded. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’ll stall the meeting with the Trial By Combat by-law. I can take Franklin, barely. But then there’s the SmashBets CEO and two of his corporate lawyer goons. Get Banner, Luís and Trevante up to the Boardroom. Tell no one else! I don’t know who else we can trust.”

“On it!” I yelled. 

I clicked off the call and was pulling on my pants when I stopped short.

“The Trial by WHAT??”

***

The Boardroom was on the top floor of the office tower, for the use of any of the companies therein as a grand stage for the most important meetings. It was a cathedral to capitalism with high-arched ceilings with angled, criss-crossing wooden beams and floor to ceiling glass, patterned to evoke the leaded seams of stained glass windows.

Despite the cavernous space, the air was humid and heavy with roiling testosterone, as if the individual molecules of alpha male musk were fighting for dominance. The huge boardroom table had been toppled over and shoved to one side and a large wrestling mat thrown over the expensive hardwood. Six men stripped to the waist stood in a circle while two grappled on the mat before them.

I knew the TopSports board members only from their pictures in the Annual Report. They were six in total: Mr. Jan Sartorius, CEO, currently absent. Gray-haired Chief Financial Officer Franklin Treadfoot was present, and how: he was bullying Hamza about the mat with swole muscledad power. The third internal board member was Nolan Creek, also known around the office as NASCAR Nolan. His inscrutable gaze took in the scene calmly. He had an ultralean, muscled physique that seemed to me excessively developed for the task of driving a racecar. The three external board members yelled jockish encouragement to Franklin and shit-talk to Hamza. Clearly, they’d already declared their traitorous allegiance.

Wallace Steel, the SmashBets CEO, observed the match with interest, his massive arms folded over a hairy barrel chest. “Such an unusual corporate culture,” he commented to one of the two lawyers in his entourage, who was scrolling a document on an IPad. “What does he hope to accomplish?”

“According to their by-laws, a shareholder-employee can challenge an internal director to a duel of hand-to-hand combat, if he wins, he will replace Treadfoot on the board.”

“So? We still have all three external board votes. Creek is being cagey about our offer, but with Sartorius absent, it’s still at worst 3-2, even if this accountant wins.”

“Does he look like he’s winning?”

He did not. Franklin was manhandling his junior colleague with ease, barely breathing hard, while Hamza was slick with sweat.

“That all you got, boy? Always knew you were too big for your fancy britches.”

“Fuck you, Franklin!” Hamza huffed. “How could you betray S like this, now, with his mother sick?”

“Business is business, boy. That was always your problem Hamza, so emotional.” Franklin lunged for Hamza’s left leg and snatched it up, both his biceps exploding into veiny gourds as he raised it high. Hamza tried to keep his balance, but Franklin used his foot to sweep his right leg from under him, and he tumbled, twisting so his arms would break his fall. For a moment, it looked like a child’s game of wheelbarrow, with Franklin controlling Hamza’s legs with his powerful arms while Hamza pressed his torso up from the floor. In just that moment, Hamza caught sight of me as he turned his head, and saw that I was alone.

“Aw fuck, Jeffy.”

I had no time to explain. With flexibility unheard of for a man his age, Franklin raised his whole right leg straight up to the vertical. His massive foot arced downward in an axe kick that would have knocked Hamza out instantly if I hadn’t yelled: “Roll!”

Hamza dropped one arm and rolled onto his shoulder. As his torso twisted he flexed his brick-like abs hard, and the momentum altered the trajectory of Franklin’s kick so that his heel hit the floor hard at a bad angle. “Gaah!” he gasped, releasing Hamza as he grasped his own leg in pain, hopping on one foot. Hamza spiralled his legs around in a parkour move and landed upright on his feet.

You could see a second wind flow into Hamza’s lungs and he roared as he advanced on Franklin and crunched into a most-muscular that blew up his traps, delts, pecs and biceps into one huge hairy mass of adrenalized power. Franklin panicked and risked a crane kick with his good leg which Hamza batted away with an 18 inch forearm, spinning the CFO’s body in the air. Franklin landed on all fours at Hamza’s feet. Hamza struck his arms out to the side. His triceps humped into footballs while his big hands formed into claws. He plunged his arms down and grabbed a fistful of Franklin’s traps and a fistful of hamstrings. His forearms swelled another inch as he crushed the muscle until it spasmed. Franklin cried out.

“What was that, bitch? You give?”

With no answer but a heaving of breath, Hamza snatched Franklin’s mass into the air while locking a dead-eyed stare on Wallace Steel, who betrayed no emotion at this turn of events. Hamza pressed Franklin’s mass for reps as he strutted about the boardroom, his hardened gaze penetrating the bravado of the three external directors, one of whom held his hands in front of his crotch to hide his hard on.

Hamza set Franklin’s struggling form on his shoulders, now pumped to the size of basketballs, and pulled on his legs and neck sharply in a backbreaker, three times.

“DO. YOU. GIVE?”

Now bawling like a kitten, Franklin screeched: “I GIVE I GIVE I GIVE!!”

Hamza’s face grimaced with relief and he shrugged, allowing Franklin to fall to the floor. Wearily he raised his head.

“Any fucking questions?”

 

To be concluded!

[Guest]

I am desperate for more

[Guest]

Finally!!! Love it

[dredlifter]

Yes.  I hope you have big things planned for the conclusion

[Broody]

51 minutes ago, dredlifter said:

Yes.  I hope you have big things planned for the conclusion

Very big indeed!

[FallenAway]

As much as I want to read the next part, I don't want to hear about a conclusion!  Could you call it the end of season one?  So many of these guys deserve more screen time.  How about a prequel?  Or an anthology series with episodes about each guy's activities outside the office.  I would be happy to read about Luis doing his grocery shopping, or Banner doing yard work.  Maybe a few of them could go bowling and fill the place with a cloud of testosterone.  So many possibilities, Broody.  Touch football, anyone?  Please?

[Broody]

6 hours ago, FallenAway said:

As much as I want to read the next part, I don't want to hear about a conclusion!  Could you call it the end of season one? 

I won't say no to that but I did want to wrap it up so that it least it formed a coherent story and wasn't left unfinished.

6 hours ago, FallenAway said:

I would be happy to read about Luis doing his grocery shopping, or Banner doing yard work. 

LOL you really like those two huh? Well good thing for you they're back next chapter!

[Broody]

Friday June 12th: Hostile Take Over part 2 (of 3, folks, guess I still have more to tell!)

Hamza had prevailed over Franklin Treadfoot, and per the terms of the Trial by Combat corporate by-law, he took his place (and vote) on the TopSports board of directors. But the outcome of the hostile takeover by SmashBets was far from certain. I rushed to his side to whisper a message into his ear, and hoped that others couldn’t tell that it was also to prop him up after the spent adrenaline of the fight.

“The others are, uh, delayed.”

Hamza had urged me to bring reinforcements, but it… hadn’t gone as planned.

15 minutes earlier…

Banner, Luís and Trevante were riding with me in the elevator to the 40th floor boardroom. With Trevante so tall, Luís so thick, and Banner so…everything all at once, the cab of the elevator was so stuffed with man-muscle I could barely take a breath. Yet somehow my cock seemed to be receiving plenty of oxygenated blood.  I had just finished explaining the crazy situation when the elevator stopped short between the 37th and 38th floor.

“What the fuck?” said Luís, jabbing at the button with a thick index finger.

An uneasy feeling came over me. “This is no coincidence, guys! Force the doors!”

Trevante’s cresting traps and lats tore through his shirt as his strong hands pried the cab doors apart, revealing that the hall door to floor 38 was also forced open. With the elevator stuck between floors, only a third of the opening was visible, but it was enough to give me chills. A size 25 quadruple wide Doc Martens boot. A bulging calf the size of an Atlas stone. Gears ground to a stop and hydraulics hissed as they failed against the power of the interloper's other leg, pressing down on the top of the cab. 

We didn’t have to wait long to find out the giant’s identity. The emergency ceiling hatch splintered inward from a devastating blow and a cruel grinning face appeared in the fracture.

“Heeeeeere’s TOMMY!”

I screamed as the face of the intern I’d fired was replaced by a meathook of a hand lunging right for my neck. I ducked and Luis tried to grab Tommy’s arm but he got slapped against the cab side panels for his efforts. Tommy pulled his arm back and hissed into the crack:

“I told you I’d get you, Jeffy! Found a new job where my talents are appreciated.”

“You haven’t got me yet, asshole. Bet your SmashBets masters will fire you all over again when their dog comes back without his bone!”

“Fucking prissy twink!” Tommy screamed.

 The next few minutes were like a horror movie version of The Claw, that carnival arcade game. Tommy's huge hand would grab Luis or Banner or Trevante, recognize them as too big to be his prize (me) and brutally toss them aside. I flattened myself against the floor of the cab as their careening bodies smashed up the mirrors and fake-wood veneer. I tried to calm my panicked breathing. Getting trapped in an elevator was one of my biggest fears. Getting trapped in an elevator that was being pulverized by the unstoppable brawn of my office nemesis was making my brain melt. I looked away cringing as Tommy changed tactics, whipping his closed fist in a circle like a wrecking ball. All three men, battered and bruised, were knocked to the floor.

“We gotta get outta here.” Trevante huffed and spat a red-tinged gob. “We can’t fight back in this confined space. He’s gonna puree us into a fucking smoothie like a Magic Bullet.”

“Brody mopped the floor with this asshole,” Banner huffed, clearly put out.

“He had the whole lobby to move in, bro. Plus he’s a Marine,” Luís said.

“I’m Army!” Banner protested.

“Bruh. C’mon.”

Trevante shook his head. “Marine Corps vs Army, brother? Hand-to-hand?”

“Fuck you guys. And fuck hand-to-hand. Time to break out the big guns. BOOM!”

Banner flexed his left arm hard and the peak of his 23 inch biceps shredded the sleeve of his polo shirt.

“That’s what I’m talking about. HOOAH!”

His right arm blew his other sleeve right off, a volcano of muscle erupting from underneath.

Trevante and Luís slapped their bro’s biceps in admiration. “Making some points, bro! Damn huge!”

Banner stood up and sidestepped a blind swipe from Tommy. He threw himself at the shaft wall and reached low to grip the top edge of the door to floor 37.

“Fuck the Marines and their small arms. It's the Army that’s got the heavy artillery. Graaaaah!”

Banner's biceps blew up into howitzers as he curled the cab down four feet in a single wrench, forcing its screeching wheels along its track with dominating man-muscle. “Fuck yeah!” 

I looked up to see Tommy’s hands ripping more chunks out of the ceiling. Banner’s biceps surged into their freaky peaks-on-top-of-peaks as he forced the elevator further down til it was level with the floor. Then he laced his fingers together, and brought his arms up over his head. His pumped bis, tris and delts resembled the sacs of sports balls my evil gym teacher would make me stuff after class. Banner brought his hands down on the hall doors in a hammerstrike, smashing them into mangled triangles that tumbled down the hall.

“Out! Out! Out!” Luís shouted, practically throwing me through the threshold. I collapsed in front of the startled nerds of the engineering firm on floor 37. Their eyes goggled at Banner’s arms, swollen as big as their chicken chests. He pulled me to my feet as Luis and Trevante leapt through to safety.

“Where’s the stairs?” 

One of the nerds, jaw dropping, pointed dumbly straight down the hall. We only made it ten feet before we heard the crash.

“You and your jock friends can’t escape me, Jeffy!” We looked back to see Tommy's huge bulk filling the elevator’s cab as he dropped through its top. The SmashBets logo of a cartoon fist clutching dollar bills was barely recognizable as Tommy’s branded Underarmor tee stretched over the twin zeppelins of his giant pecs. Shoulders the size of beachballs deformed the cab’s weakened walls around their undentable muscle. His Clydesdale thighs stretched his gray cotton gym shorts in ways Adidas never intended, forcing his elephant’s trunk cock to project in front him like an arm put out for a handshake. I felt my dick spring to full hardness and I was drawn back towards him like he had planetary gravity. Oh my God, I thought, all this time, under those tent-like office clothes… Tommy the intern was… epically hot?

“Oh Tommy, you complete dumbass,” Luís said. “We didn’t make you take the service elevator when you worked here because we were mean, it was ‘cause…”

Tommy took one step forward but then his face went white as the cab dropped a foot, and the high-pitched sound of shearing metal filled the hall.

“That’s not good,” said an engineer.

Tommy screamed as the elevator plummeted down the shaft, disappearing from view.

“Nooooo!” I shouted.

Banner sprinted back to the shaft and looked down, then up. He grabbed the fluttering suspension cable as it went by and yanked hard, leaning back so that he could brace his feet on the doorframe. Gym-hardened calluses stripped off his hands as he yanked again, his lats exploding out of his torso til he was nearly as wide as the opening. Luis and Trevante ran back and braced themselves on either side of him to provide support as Banner forced the falling elevator to slow with sheer muscle power. Sweat bathed his face as his forearms swelled like they were nine months pregnant. Luis shouted out to me: “We got this, Jeffito, we won’t let puto die. Take the stairs, Hamz needs to know we’re stuck down here til the firemen come.”

 

Back in the boardroom, Hamza shook his head. “Banner’s a better man than me, I woulda let that dude pancake. But that’s Banner, always seeing the best in people.”

“Gentlemen.” Wallace Steele clapped his hands and raised his voice above the chatter. “Now that we’ve had our fun, let’s get to the vote, you have an offer on the table.” Having put his shirt back on, he eased his arms into his jacket, held out by his corporate lawyer lackey.

“Well now,” said Nolan Creek, known about the office as NASCAR Nolan, “I may just be a good ol’ boy from Kentucky. I didn’t go to one-a yore fancy business schools.” Nolan strode about the room, stretching his arms and flexing his lean muscles. “And goodness knows I like a little mischief,” he winked and bounced his well-formed pecs at Patrick Staines, the external board member who once again popped a stiffy.. “But it seems to me, it’s a bridge too far to be having this vote without our fearless leader, Mr Sartorius.”

Franklin Treadfoot, nursing his injured leg on the floor, spoke up. “I informed Jan of this meeting personally. That he chose to absent himself is hardly our doing.”

“Indeed,” Wallace agreed, “and if he isn’t present he cannot vote.”

“Liars!” Hamza fumed. “If Mr S had any idea what you scumbags had planned, he would have been here. You kept him in the dark.”

“While I would tend to agree with mah furry accountant friend,” Nolan said as he continued to stroll about the circle of men. “I also think that business is business. So, let's get to that vote? All in favor of accepting the terms of the proposal for SmashBets International to acquire in whole TopSports Inc, say Aye.” 

Hamza shook his head. “Goddamnit, we should have done more.”

Thomas Grimes, an external board member who was a cryptocurrency magnate, raised an arm lousy with clock tattoos and said “Aye!”

“If only we could’ve got word to Mr S, I don’t understand why we’ve heard nothing from him or his assistant.”

Zoltan Krabíc, a Serbian investment banker with a brow that could cut glass, raised a meaty arm and voted “Aye!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Hamza, you did everything you could,” I said.

There was a pause when Patrick Staines, the third external board member, said nothing. We all turned to see that that was because he couldn’t. Nolan Creek’s grapefruit sized bicep flexed into his windpipe while the rest of his muscular arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold. As he passed out, Nolan threw him to the mat. “Well now, turns out poor Patrick is also ‘absent’, but as you say, Wallace, that’s no reason to pause the vote. Nay, I say!”

“NAY MOTHERFUCKERS!” Hamza yelled.

“That’s highly illegal,” said one of Wallace’s lawyer flunkies.

“But that leaves the vote tied 2-2,” said the other.

“Goddammit, Nolan!” Wallace growled. “I would have made you a rich man.”

“I’m already a rich man, Wallace. I got fast cars, women falling all over themselves just to be near me, and a body like this?” He started posing his utterly aesthetic physique, his perfect symmetry and elegant proportions bringing tears to my eyes. Patrick Staines briefly regained consciousness, spurted in his pants to Nolan’s sublime twisting back double biceps, and passed out again. “What’s a few more dollars in the bank account? If I want that I’ll start an OnlyFans.”

Wallace grabbed each of the lawyer's arms and practically flung them at Nolan and Hamza. “Don’t just stand there! Get them!”

Hamza readily locked up with his new wrestling partner, and despite his fatigue, stood his ground. He applied a bodylock with his beefy arms, and heaved, slamming the muscley lawyer to the mat and quickly getting on top. His opponent hooked under Hamza’s arms and rolled over in a reversal.

Nolan met his legal challenger arms outstretched, inviting a test of strength. The jacked attorney had a sizable weight advantage. “I played football, skinny. That’s a real fucking sport. Try to drive your way out of this.” He locked up with Nolan and pressed forward strongly.

“Not bad, boy,” Nolan replied, and grunted as he was forced back a step. “But let me guess, you never drove any vehicle that didn’t have power steering.” Nolan twisted his body using a fraction of the core strength that regularly wrestled with a thousand horse-power engine, and the big man spun completely upside down. Nolan then wrapped his strong arms around his torso and jumped, executing a perfect Tombstone piledriver.

Hamza twisted his hips and rolled his way back on top. His opponent got underhooks in again, but this time Hamza was wise to his tactics. He flattened out, dropping his big pecs down on top of his face. He worked his arms underneath the lawyer's shoulders and pulled his mouth and nose deep into his hairy cleft. The asphyxiating attorney pounded on Hamza’s sides in panic, but he just flexed harder, knocking him out in his chest smother.

Nolan was humiliating his dazed opponent with dominating power, picking the bigger man up off the ground and whipping him back and forth in his ironclad arms. Then he squeezed him in a bearhug, pushing soft pleas, whines and wheezes out of his lips like he was a particularly submissive accordion. When he passed out Nolan dropped him to the mat like yesterday’s garbage. Hamza came over and slammed his dude on top, and then the two shook hands and turned to face Wallace Steele.

“That all ya got?” they said in unison.

“What are you doing just standing there?” Wallace yelled at the remaining two board members.

Zoltan shrugged his well formed shoulders. “I am lover, not fighter.”

“Useless!”

“I’m sorry, who is useless?” Thomas shot back in a voice like gravel, “You set up a deal like this and you don’t have the votes? Now I look like an asshole.”

Hamza sneered. “Dude you’re in crypto, that ship has sailed.”

I deep resonant familiar voice from the front of the room caused us all to turn.

“Well now, gentlemen, don’t be too hasty.” Mr Sartorius said. “There’s still my vote.”

 

To be concluded (I mean it this time, lol!) 

 

[Wrestlejock646]

59 minutes ago, Broody said:

To be concluded (I mean it this time, lol!) 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  This is too good to end! 

 

[LaDiva]

Another great chapter. Can’t wait to see how it ends