New Hire Onboarding

"WKD Enterprises, the multi-billion dollar corporation and creator of viral sensations like HandyGo, the world's #1 ranked gay dating app, and Sssh, one of the most exclusive dating sites in the world with a waiting list of over 20 million people, is preparing to go public tomorrow. Analysts are already predicting their stock prices will skyrocket, breaking records. Since its founding by Damien Wellington, the self-proclaimed "W" in WKD, twenty years ago, the company has had incredible success in the social networking space. But it wasn't until Marc Kane, COO of WKD Enterprises, came on and was instrumental in launching WKD's suite of personal smart devices, including luxury sex toys, cellphones, and personal computers, that WKD thrived, grossing over 300 billion dollars and placing them at the top of Forbes' Most Valuable Companies list. Both the tech and finance worlds are waiting in anticipation for this public offering!"

Carl flicked his finger along his phone's screen and swiped the news report away before turning off the screen altogether. Three days after Marc proposed to him and one day before WKD's IPO, he found himself in a place that had become very familiar to him. Naked, sweaty, and entangled in Marc's orange silk sheets, he tossed his phone onto the side table and kept his eyes on the door, looking in anticipation. While waiting, he brought his left hand up to his face and gazed at his smiling reflection in the silver band of his engagement ring. It was simple, austere, and ideally suited to both him and Marc.

The two were inseparable after the night that Marc proposed. They went to work together, ate lunch together, and even snuck into Marc's private executive bathroom for a quickie during long stretches when they both had no meetings.

"You should have an engagement ring," Marc said the day after proposing. He doubled over, head resting on Carl's sweaty back as his cock slid out, bringing with it a steady stream of warm cum that oozed down Carl's legs.

"Guys don't wear engagement rings," Carl quipped back as he grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped Marc's cum clean before pulling up his grey slacks.

"Yes, they do. And even if they don't," Marc responded, stashing his still semi-erect schlong back into his black boxer briefs before zipping up his fly and buttoning up his own suit pants.

"Fine, but nothing gaudy," acquiesced Carl with a playful smile. He wrapped his arms around Marc, pulled him closer, and kissed him lovingly. Suddenly, Marc's cock became hard once more.

"Okay, but we actually have to be quick this time!" said Carl, feigning annoyance. And so, at the end of their respective workdays, Marc and Carl ventured together to several jewellery stores in the city, all while discussing their days, learning more about one another, and debating the merits of lab-grown diamonds versus mined ones. Eventually, the lovebirds made it to a small jewellery shop off the beaten path. The black metal door and frosted windowpanes gave the place an air of mystery from the outside, and both men were intrigued by what they might find here.

"Lucky number 14?" said Marc jokingly as he opened the door and ushered Carl in. Once inside, a cheerful, bejewelled man greeted them and introduced himself as Papi. Papi was a handsome fellow, with a beautifully bald head, rugged facial features, and a bear build that made both men feel at ease.

"Welcome, gentlemen, to Papi's Jewellers! Welcome to my store!" said Papi, swinging his arms out to pull Carl and Marc into a hug over the glass counter. Both men were stunned at first at the sudden intimacy, but leaned in and enjoyed the warmth of this evocative man. Once they'd both regained composure and were on the other side of the counter, they set out to detail for Papi what they were looking for without giving too many clues as to what the ring would be for. Besides the dreaded "wedding tax", Marc and Carl were also hesitant to tell random strangers that the 65-year-old businessman was buying an engagement ring for his twenty-something-year-old subordinate. Regardless of their own personal comfort with their age differences or desire to shout their love from the rooftop, both men knew what was at stake if this were to come out without the proper care and discretion.

After several minutes of back and forth with Papi, and him pulling out options that elicited, at most, an "Eh, it's fine" or a "Hmm, sure, but what about this one?" from Marc, Papi disappeared into the back and came back with a dark blue velvet ring box. He placed it in front of Marc and Carl, opening it slowly to reveal, in the centre, a ring with a broader band, two small, interlocking diamonds, and a streak of onyx running along the band. Marc marvelled at the ring, having never seen something so beautiful. Carl, too, looked at the ring in awe and had to stop himself from reaching forward and grabbing the ring.

"Wow, that is..." Marc started, then stopped. He looked at Carl, then back at the ring, then back at Carl. Carl also looked at Marc. If he didn't know before, he knew then. Without thinking, Carl moved and planted a kiss on Marc's lips. Marc wrapped his arm around Carl, holding him close and letting the kiss continue. They parted lips, eyes glassy with tears, before clearing their throats and apologising to Papi.

"Gentlemen, no need to apologise or hide your love. This city has, what, 10 million people in it? And you two just so happened to find each other randomly? That's incredible!" Suddenly, Papi's words pulled Carl back to his reality, to the reason he was in this shop in the first place, to why he was engaged to Marc after knowing him for barely a fortnight. Carl's mind flashed back to that empty loft above a parking garage on the outskirts of the city.

..................................................................................................................

The loft space smelled of dust and old sweat; Carl's breath came shallow in the cold air. For three months, this exposed brick hideaway had been his refuge and his cage. He'd left college a week ago with offers that glittered with the promise of starting his life off on the right foot. Instead, he found himself orbiting a mysterious man who refused to be explained. The Driver, as Carl came to call him, moved as someone used to having people follow him: his quiet gestures that pulled attention, his silence that felt like a confession.

The two had met at one of Carl's favourite gay nightclubs, The Id. Carl was trying to drown his sorrows from being rejected by all thirty-five companies that had initially shown such strong interest in the new graduate. The music was oppressively loud, the men were the usual mixture of vapid muscle heads looking for their next hookup or fix, packs of four or five twinks shouting at one another and cutting their eyes at anyone and everyone, and older men all too familiar with the memories of not having a truly queer space to be joyful in. Then, he walked in. His jeans hugged all the right places, his black t-shirt emphasising both his broad shoulders and the slight softness layered over his muscles. While Carl flailed his arms around in sync with whatever remixed pop song the DJ was mixing, The Driver locked onto Carl's gaze. And, like a moth flying into its bright death, Carl followed him down a flight of stairs and into the club's bathroom.

There were three stalls at The Id, and no one ever used them as intended. So when Carl and The Driver entered the bathroom, the wet, repetitive sounds of sex were already as loud as the music blaring from the speakers upstairs. The Driver glanced back at Carl once before opening the free stall nonchalantly and stepping in. Carl, his heart beating through his throat and his teeth chattering with nerves, followed like a loyal puppy. Wordlessly, Carl knelt on the ground, and The Driver revealed himself to Carl. He unbuttoned his jeans and out slung a penis thicker than a can of beer. Carl's asshole clenched as his dick twitched, equally feeling the possibilities for pleasure and pain. Without hesitation, Carl wrapped his lips around The Driver's throbbing head and began swallowing his thickness. Precum oozed onto his tongue, and the taste was electric. Once his lips had fit tightly around the base of The Driver's cock and Carl felt the man's cock hitting the back of his throat, he bobbed his head up and down the shaft. Their own wet sounds joining the symphony coming from the other two booths. The Driver's moans were the only indication that Carl was performing to his liking; otherwise, he leaned against the bathroom wall, stock-still.

Carl loved how The Driver tasted and how his cock felt in his mouth, though he longed for more. As if sensing that longing, The Driver took his cock out of Carl's mouth, lifted him up off the floor and pinned him against the dividing wall. He eased his saliva-covered cock into Carl's tight hole. Inch by inch, The Driver felt it open the hole until the thickest part was enveloped completely by Carl's orifice. The Driver basked in the tightness and Carl's loud whimpers that bordered on pleasure and pain, jumping between those two frequently. The Driver reached up and held onto the top of the dividing wall for leverage, then whispered into Carl's ear.

"I need you."

His thrusts were violent, quick, profound, and overwhelming! Carl had never felt this much pleasure before, and it showed. His own cock, sandwiched between the wooden wall and his young, supple body, shot globs of cum upward onto his own stomach. He thought The Driver would give him a break like other tops had, but his assaults continued, pushing Carl into a type of mind-altering pleasure that elicited several more cumshots. The Driver thrust himself in and out of Carl for what felt like hours until the walls were dripping with Carl's cum. When it was time for his own climax, The Driver slid his cock out, turned Carl around, and lifted him up before lowering him onto his cock. It didn't take long for Carl, his back now pressed against the stall door, to cum once more. His eyes rolling into the back of his head, his body practically limp from such intense, over-stimulating pleasure that he almost didn't feel the explosive power of The Driver's cumshots into his awaiting hole. The Driver growled like a lion conquering his pride, shuddering at the sensation of his cum being deposited into Carl.

After that first night, a night that rewired him, Carl hadn't been coerced so much as surrendered to The Driver. The memory of their sexual encounter in a bathroom stall wasn't a single image but a sequence of small, overwhelming pleasures that led Carl to the cold dampness of the loft. After their session in the stalls, Carl followed The Driver to the loft, his desire for the mysterious man becoming a map that he would let lead him to an unknown world.

"I want to take down WKD Enterprises' Damien, Marc, and Will in a scandal that breaks when they go public," The Driver said once they'd arrived inside the loft, voice a low instrument in the dark.

"Why not file suit?" Carl asked, his fingers lingering over a series of photographs that sat on a small table in the middle of the loft.

"They treat people like currency," The Driver said. "When someone threatens to speak, they buy them off with promotions, only their new contracts strip away the right to sue. Nobody reads them -- they're too busy tripping off the power they now have and the insane pay cheque." His voice grew jagged on the last words, and Carl felt the flare of something private and furious.

Hearing him riled did things to Carl. Anger made The Driver vulnerable, and his vulnerability was as charming as his mysterious coldness.

"Okay. I'll help," Carl said, the pledge tasting of a thirst borne from a physical hunger awakened in him by The Driver, one that was as dangerous as it was exhilarating. Carl stepped forward, and his hand hit the small table, spreading the stack of photos across the table's surface like contraband. The images were clinical and intimate at once--too personal to be merely proof, too methodical to be only lust. In one photo, a man - who Carl would come to know as Damien - and a younger professional were fucking in a glass office. In another, a different man - this one would be revealed as Will- pressed up against a bathroom sink as the same younger professional knelt; Will's slick cum on the kneeling professional's pale skin, the same face slack with something between pleasure and shame. Carl's throat tightened; the pictures were brutal and intimate, and they made something in him ache with both heat and anger.

Carl fingered through more of the photos, and more scenes of debauchery, all featuring this younger professional with beautiful, pale skin and familiar, striking features. With every new scene he took in, he felt the same heat. Carl swallowed. "Who is he?"

"He's nobody," The Driver said, but the syllables came out thin. "Some young, dumb kid." Carl paused, feeling the dynamic between them shifting. He raised his eyes from the photos and gazed at The Driver.

"Damien's the head. A scandal with him would--" Carl's voice trailed as another sheet disclosed more of the same. The pattern was a bruise: repeated, deliberate.

"They all have to go down. Will, Damien, even Marc..." The Driver's voice cut through the room, though at the mention of the last name, his conviction seemed to falter, his voice shaky.

"This," Carl pointed at the photos, "this is you, isn't it?" His voice was soft, approachable, tender. Carl stepped closer to The Driver.

"Don't come closer," The Driver said, and the tone was less command than tremor. His hands flexed at his sides as if holding back more than distance.

Carl closed the space anyway. Every step was a decision to risk; every inch of proximity threaded questions under the skin. The Driver's face came into focus: high cheekbones, a mouth that could be both tender and sharp, eyes dark as a promise, and the fair skin depicted in darkened lighting. The overhead light in the loft caught the damp shine of something on his cheek -- a tear, the shape of grief -- and Carl realised how truly fragile and unguarded this mysterious man actually was.

"STAY BACK." The Driver's voice bounced off the loft walls, but this time it carried an edge that felt intimate rather than threatening. Carl felt it in his own chest, a mirrored hunger.

"You don't have to be afraid," Carl said. His hand rose, not a reach but an offering, and hovered until the air between them tightened, a cord pulled taut. The Driver's breath hitched. Carl smelled him clearly then: the trace sweetness of soap, the unctuous burn of cigarette smoke, the intoxicating scent of sex mixed with musk.

"Y-you--" The Driver's words stalled. He closed his eyes as if to steady something that trembled there.

Carl's fingers found the curve of The Driver's wrist and held it, lightly, as if his body were asking The Driver's body a question. The contact sent a small current up Carl's arm; he felt The Driver's muscles bunched under his palm, felt the quickening under the skin.

"You don't know me," The Driver whispered. His voice was rough, and there was a softness under the edges that made Carl's palms slick. "Why join me on this crazy scheme?"

"You need me, right?" Carl said with a smile that was both an attempt at joyful brevity and revealed how broken down his job rejections had made him. But this mysterious, sad, helpless man needed him. "I can help you."

The Driver's mouth trembled in a laugh that had no humour. For a second, the loft fell into a private fog: two bodies close, breaths falling into a private rhythm. Carl leaned until the distance between their faces was a strip of air, his heart hammering in his throat. He pressed his lips into The Driver's, the slight, fierce pressure of a demand turned into a promise. The Driver pushed him off, though the push felt unconvincing.

"No, you should leave. This is a crazy idea, and I'm a fool for roping you into this," The Driver said, his tone betraying his deeply held convictions to see this plan through.

"We shook on it, and a man's handshake means something to me," Carl breathed. His words were everything: plea, agreement, binding.

The Driver gazed into Carl's eyes, then pulled him into his grasp, holding Carl closely. The air between them hummed as if they'd already crossed something private.

"Partners?" Carl offered.

"Partners," said The Driver, the word landed like a soft vow followed immediately by a passionate kiss. For the rest of the night, and for many days and weeks that followed, Carl and The Driver surveilled the three, researched all about WKD Enterprised, prepped Carl on how to get a job at the organisation, and had sex that turned them into howling, grunting, screaming animals for hours on end. They stayed there, in that damp, abandoned loft that was part command centre and part two-man bathhouse for months, until it was time to enact their plans.

...............................................................................................................

"Baby? Babe? Hello! Carl, are you still with us?" Marc's voice cut through Carl's haze of memories and snapped him back to Papi's jewellery store.

"Sorry, I was, uh, daydreaming. I miss anything important?" Carl said, trying to shake off the memories and reclaim the lovey-dovey atmosphere with Marc.

"Yeah, Papi was just saying that this ring is made from a special sort of diamond and...sorry, Papi, what was it called?"

"The Atlantia Diamond," said Papi, who waved his hands across his face as he said the words. "It's the rarest diamond in the world. It is the purest, most beautiful diamond one could ever lay eyes on. Only three people own a piece of the Atlantia Diamond, which is, I must say, why this ring is so special. No other ring that contains a piece of the Atlantia Diamond has two stones in it. The maker, one of the three owners themselves, gave strict instructions to whoever should possess this ring."

"What were they?" asked Carl, who was leaning closer to hear Papi's every word.

"Given in love, received in love. Only true lovers should own this ring. Sadly, I've not had many lovers come in, and none as devoted and true as the two of you boys look!" Papi pulled them into another hug, this time planting an enthusiastic kiss on each man's cheek before letting them go and laughing loudly. "So, what'll it be, lovers?"

"We'll take it!" they both said in unison.