Chapter 1: Introduction
The office buzzed with the usual Monday morning hum, but today it felt different—charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. I could cut the tension with a knife. Rick, the sharp-jawed playboy, and Adam, the smug married guy with the perfect hair, were at it again, locked in a power struggle so intense it could be felt throughout the entire floor.
Their argument started, as most of their arguments did, over something trivial—a missed deadline, a botched presentation, a client who preferred one of them over the other. But it quickly escalated into a full-blown feud, with voices raised and fingers pointed.
I tried to focus on my spreadsheets, but the testosterone-fueled tension was too thick to ignore.
"You're a fucking liar, Adam!" Rick snapped, his dark eyes flashing. "I saw you sneak out early yesterday. You were never here to make that deadline."
Adam scoffed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed light brown hair. "And I saw you hitting on the new intern. Again. Maybe if you spent less time trying to get into her pants, you'd actually get some work done."
I could see the veins in Rick's neck bulging as he leaned over his cubicle wall, his dark eyes boring into Adam, who just smirked, unfazed.
"You're a fucking disgrace, Adam," Rick spat. "You think you can just waltz in here, with your perfect little life, and take what you want?"
Adam shrugged, a cocky tilt to his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rick. I just do my job. Better than you, apparently."
Their argument was interrupted by a stern voice from behind. "Gentlemen, my office. Now.
Both of you."
We turned to see Mrs. Hartley, the HR Representative, standing behind us, her arms crossed over her chest. Her stern expression brooked no argument. Rick and Adam exchanged a look, their rivalry momentarily forgotten. They followed her to her office, leaves me alone in my cubicle, my heart pounding in my chest.
Mrs. Hartley's office was a sanctuary of silence compared to the open office space. She sat behind her desk, her eyes scanning a thick folder in front of her. Rick and Adam sat in the uncomfortable guest chairs, their eyes darting between her and the folder.
Mrs. Hartley closed the folder and folded her hands on top of it. The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap. Rick shifted in his chair, his jaw tight. Adam crossed his arms, the picture of bored confidence, but his knee bounced under the desk.
"I'm going to be direct with you both," Mrs. Hartley said. Her voice was flat, practiced. "The company has implemented a new policy regarding workplace conflict. It went into effect this morning. I've already sent it out to all department heads, but given your particular history, I wanted to sit you down personally."
"Policy?" Rick said. "What does that have to do with us? He started it."
"I don't care who started it," Mrs. Hartley said. She pulled two printed pages from the folder and slid them across the desk. "That's your argument from the floor just now. Five witnesses, including a junior analyst who recorded the last thirty seconds on her phone. That's a documented violation."
Adam picked up the page and scanned it. His brow furrowed. "Violation of what? This is a new policy. You can't retroactively punish us for something that happened before it existed."
Mrs. Hartley's lips thinned. "The policy was emailed to all employees at six a.m. this morning. Your argument happened at nine forty-two. You were both on company servers, logged in, and contractually obligated to check your internal communications. You have no defense."
"What's the policy?" Rick asked, his voice dropping.
Mrs. Hartley leaned back in her chair. "Effective immediately, any two or more employees who are found to be engaged in persistent, documented workplace conflict will be required to resolve their differences through a mandatory reconciliation procedure."
"Reconciliation procedure," Adam repeated. "What, like a mediation workshop? Counseling?"
"Sexual," Mrs. Hartley said.
The word hung in the air. Rick blinked. Adam's mouth opened, then closed.
"I'm sorry, what?" Rick said.
"The policy is clear," Mrs. Hartley continued, her tone unbothered. "When interpersonal conflict between employees has been documented on three or more separate occasions, the employees in question will be required to engage in sexual intercourse with one another. The act must be recorded in full and submitted to Human Resources within seventy-two hours. The recording will be reviewed to confirm compliance, then sealed in your permanent employee files."
"You must be fucking joking," Adam said, his composure cracking for the first time. He laughed, short and disbelieving. "That's not a real policy. That's insane. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen."
Mrs. Hartley slid a third document across the desk. "It's a signed rider to your employment contract. Page forty-two. You both initialed it when the company made its last benefits update. The clause covers 'any and all measures deemed necessary to maintain workplace harmony.' Legal reviewed it. It's airtight."
Rick snatched the document and scanned it. His dark eyes flew across the text, reading faster and faster. When he got to the bottom, he let the paper fall back onto the desk.
"This can't be real," he said. "This is a joke. You're testing us. Someone's got a camera behind that mirror."
"We are not testing you," Mrs. Hartley said. "And I assure you, this is entirely real. The company believes that unresolved interpersonal friction costs money. Sexual tension between coworkers is a leading cause of that friction. The policy is designed to eliminate it at the source."
"Eliminate it," Adam echoed. "By making us fuck each other? On video? For HR?"
"Correct," Mrs. Hartley said. She opened a drawer and pulled out a high-resolution webcam, still in its packaging. She set it on the desk between them. "Company-issued. You'll use this. It plugs into any standard USB port. Full HD, with a built-in microphone for audio documentation."
Rick stared at the webcam like it was a live grenade.
"I have a wife," Adam said, his voice rising. "I have two kids. You can't make me do this."
Mrs. Hartley's expression didn't change. "Mr. Chen, you are an at-will employee. You can resign at any time, without cause, effective immediately. Your severance would be zero. Your COBRA would be out of pocket. Your family would lose their health insurance by the end of the month. That's your choice."
Adam's face went pale.
"There's another option," Mrs. Hartley continued, her gaze sliding to Rick. "If an employee refuses to comply with the reconciliation procedure, their employment is terminated for cause. This goes on their permanent record. Good luck finding comparable work at that level with a termination for cause on file. I understand you've been eyeing the senior account manager position opening up in Q3, Mr. Okafor."
Rick's hands curled into fists in his lap. His knuckles went white.
"So our options," Rick said slowly, "are either we fuck each other on camera, or we both get fired."
"Yes," Mrs. Hartley said. "That's exactly right. I'm glad we're on the same page."
"Or we quit," Adam said.
"You can quit," Mrs. Hartley agreed. "But you'd forfeit your unvested stock options, your bonus, and your retirement match for the current fiscal year. That's measured in the tens of thousands, for both of you. And the termination-for-cause clause only applies if you refuse to participate. Voluntary resignation is technically a neutral exit. But you'll have to explain to your next employer why you left a six-figure job two months before a major promotion cycle."
The office was silent. Adam stared at the wall. Rick stared at the webcam.
"Seventy-two hours," Mrs. Hartley said. She tapped her finger on her desk. "You have until Thursday, five p.m., to submit your recording. It can take place anywhere, at any time, but both parties must consent, both must be present, and both must participate. No substitutes. No proxies. The recording must clearly show both of your faces and document the full act from beginning to completion."
"Completion?" Rick repeated, his voice cracking.
"Ejaculation," Mrs. Hartley said flatly. "The policy requires evidence of male ejaculation within or during the act. That's the standard we use to confirm compliance."
Adam made a strangled sound.
Mrs. Hartley stood up. "You can use the conference room on the fourth floor. It's private, and it has a lock. I'll have IT set up the webcam and a workstation there by tomorrow morning. You'll both need to sign a consent form, but we can do that digitally at the time of submission."
She walked around her desk and opened the office door. "Gentlemen, I suggest you start working out the logistics. You have three days. And for the record," she added, a flicker of something almost like amusement crossing her stern face, "policy violations are cumulative. If you argue again after this, the next time we meet, the expectation will be a live demonstration. In my office."
She left them sitting there, the unopened webcam on the desk between them, her final words hanging in the air like a guillotine blade.
The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Rick stared at the webcam. Adam stared at the wall. Neither of them moved for a long moment.
"She's insane," Adam finally said, his voice hoarse. "That entire department is insane."
Rick picked up the webcam, turning it over in his hands. "It's not going to go away if we pretend it didn't happen."
"We can fight this. There's no way that's legal. We can get a lawyer—"
"With what money?" Rick set the webcam down with a sharp click. "You heard her. We forfeit everything if we walk. Stock options, retirement match, bonus. I've been here four years building toward the senior account manager position. I'm not throwing that away because of a bullshit HR policy."
"And I'm not throwing away my marriage because of it either," Adam shot back.
Rick laughed, short and bitter. "Your marriage. Right. Funny how you didn't mention that when you were grinding against the marketing assistant at the Christmas party last year."
Adam's face flushed. "That was nothing. She was—"
"I don't care what she was." Rick leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes boring into Adam. "I care about what happens Thursday at five p.m. Because if we don't show up with a recording, we're both gone. And we both know what happens after that."
Adam was quiet for a long moment. His knee bounced under the desk. He ran a hand through his light brown hair, messing up the perfect part.
"So that's it," he said slowly. "We actually have to do this."
"Yeah," Rick said. "We actually have to do this."
The weight of it settled between them like a physical thing. Two men who had spent the better part of a year trying to destroy each other professionally, now being asked to destroy something else entirely.
Adam's mouth worked. He looked at the door, then at the webcam, then back at Rick.
"Okay," he said, his voice unnaturally steady. "Okay. If we're doing this, I need to know something."
Rick raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Adam hesitated. The silence stretched. His fingers tapped against his knee, a nervous tic Rick had never noticed before.
"Who has to bottom?"
The question hit Rick like a slap. He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief to something darker.
"Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious," Adam said. "We're both here. We're both in this. But I'm not going to pretend I'm okay with just... taking it up the ass from my rival."
"Is that all you are? My rival?" Rick's voice was sharp with disbelief. "You realize we're about to film ourselves fucking, right? And your first question is who gets to be on top?"
"I want it clear," Adam said, his jaw set. "I'm not a bottom. I've never been a bottom. I'm not going to start now."
"You don't even know what you're talking about," Rick said. "You're married. You've probably never even touched another man's dick. And now you're telling me you've got preferences?"
"I'm telling you I'm not bending over for you." Adam's voice rose. "If we're doing this, I want it understood. I'm the one on top."
Rick stared at him. The absurdity of the conversation was starting to settle in, and with it, a strange sort of heat. This was the same man he'd been fighting with for months, the same smug bastard who had stolen his clients and undermined his presentations. And now they were negotiating positions for a sex tape.
"You really think you'd be on top?" Rick asked, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You, with your perfect hair and your perfect life and your perfect little speech about being a family man? You think you could handle me?"
"I could handle you fine," Adam shot back. "I've been handling you for months. That promotion is mine, and you know it."
"You don't know anything." Rick stood up, moving around the desk until he was looming over Adam. "You think you've got me figured out, don't you? You think because you're straight and married and have two kids, you're somehow better than me? More in control?"
"I don't think I'm better than you. I know I'm better than you."
Rick's hand shot out, grabbing Adam by the collar of his shirt and yanking him up out of the chair. They were chest to chest now, faces inches apart. Adam's breath caught, his eyes widening.
"Then prove it," Rick said, his voice low and rough. "If you're so sure you'd be on top, let's find out right now."
The air between them crackled. Adam's hands came up, grabbing Rick's wrists. For a moment they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills.
"Not here," Adam said, his voice strained. "Not in the HR office."
"The conference room. Fourth floor." Rick's grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "She said it's private. It's got a lock."
"And the webcam?" Adam glanced at the package on the desk.
Rick made a decision. He released Adam's collar, stepped back, and picked up the webcam. "We're not leaving this building until we've settled this. And I want to see your face when you realize you're wrong about who's on top."
Adam's swallow was visible. His eyes went from the webcam to Rick's face, and something shifted in his expression. His own competitiveness flared to life.
"Fine," he said, straightening his shirt. "Fine. Let's go."
They walked out of the HR office without looking back. The main office was buzzing with activity, nobody noticing as the two rivals crossed the floor toward the elevator. Rick pressed the button for the fourth floor.
Neither of them spoke. The elevator doors shut, sealing them in.
The elevator ride was silent, the soft hum of the machinery filling the space between them. Rick kept his eyes on the floor indicator, the webcam package clutched in his hand. Adam stood rigid beside him, staring at his own reflection in the polished metal doors.
The doors slid open on the fourth floor. The conference room was at the end of the hall, dark and quiet. Rick led the way, his footsteps echoing on the tile. He pushed the door open and flicked on the lights.
It was a standard conference room, long table, leather chairs, a whiteboard on the far wall. But on the table sat a cardboard box, unmarked and unassuming. Rick set the webcam down and pulled the box toward him.
Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, were two bottles of lube, a collection of silicone toys in various sizes and shapes, and a small pump bottle of something labeled "desensitizing spray." No condoms. Rick held up the box, his expression unreadable.
"No condoms," he said flatly.
Adam's face tightened. He walked around the table, peering into the box. His jaw worked as he processed the implications. "So they just expect us to...raw?"
"That's what the lube is for." Rick set the box down. He plugged the webcam into the laptop on the table, positioning it so the camera would have a clear view of the table's surface and the chairs around it. He opened the recording software and hit the test button. A red light blinked on.
"Well," Rick said, turning to face Adam, "I guess we're doing this."
Adam was still staring at the box. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders tight. He looked at the webcam, at the red blinking light, and a shudder ran through him.
"You first," Adam said, his voice rough. "Prove it. Prove you're not going to pussy out."
Rick's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm going to pussy out?"
"I think you talk a big game." Adam stepped closer, his chin lifted. "You talk about handling me, about being on top. But you're a fucking lightweight. You charm the interns and sweet-talk the clients, but when it comes down to it, you fold."
Rick's hand shot out, grabbing the front of Adam's shirt again, yanking him close. Their bodies slammed together, chest to chest. Adam's breath hitched.
"Fold?" Rick's voice was a low growl. "Let me show you something about folding."
He shoved Adam backward. Adam stumbled, his hips catching on the edge of the conference table. Before he could recover, Rick was on him, pressing him down onto the polished surface. The laptop rattled. The webcam's red light blinked steadily, recording everything.
"Get off me, you fucking—" Adam's protest was cut off as Rick's mouth slammed into his.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't affectionate. It was a power move, pure and simple, a declaration of dominance. Rick's tongue forced its way past Adam's teeth, and Adam's hands came up, grabbing at Rick's shoulders, not to push him away but to hold on.
The kiss went on for a long, brutal moment. When Rick finally pulled back, Adam was breathing hard, his light brown hair disheveled, his eyes glassy.
"You're a fucking liar," Adam said, but his voice had lost its edge.
"Am I?" Rick's hands went to Adam's belt. He unbuckled it with practiced ease, yanking the leather through the loops. "You're already getting hard, and I haven't even touched you yet."
Adam's protest died in his throat as Rick's hand closed around his cock through his slacks. In the room, the heat was immediate, a shared flush of shame and arousal that neither man could deny. Rick knelt, unhooking Adam's pants with slow, deliberate care, pulling them down and letting them pool at his ankles. The room's silence was punctuated by the rustle of fabric and Rick's low murmur of approval at what he found beneath.
"What the hell are you doing?" Adam's voice was strained.
"Shut up." Rick pressed him down flat onto the table. His hands were ruthless, stripping off Adam's white undershirt. Then he went to work on his own belt, his own shirt, until they were both bare from the waist up, skin shining in the harsh fluorescent light.
Rick loomed over him, all muscle and dark skin and controlled fury. He reached into the box, grabbed a bottle of lube, and poured a generous amount into his palm.
"This is going to hurt," Rick said matter-of-factly. "I'm not going to pretend it won't."
Adam's eyes went wide. "Wait. You're not—"
"I told you I'd prove it." Rick's voice was hard, unyielding. "You said you'd be on top. I'm showing you exactly what that means."
His slick fingers found Adam's hole without further preamble. Adam gasped, his body arching off the table as one digit pushed inside him. It was a shock, foreign and invasive, and his hands scrambled for purchase on the table's edge.
"Relax," Rick said, moving against him. "Unless you want this to be worse than it has to be."
Adam gritted his teeth. A second finger forced its way in beside the first, stretching him, burning. Rick's thumb circled his entrance, smearing lube, and Adam could feel himself trembling. His own cock was half-hard despite everything, a traitor to his own humiliation.
"You feel that?" Rick whispered, his breath hot against Adam's ear. "That's what it's like to lose. To have someone take what they want from you."
"How are you so good at this?" Adam's voice cracked. "How do you know exactly how to—"
"I've been waiting for this." Rick's fingers curled inside him, finding a spot that made Adam's vision blur. "Every time you cut me off in a meeting. Every time you stole a client. Every time you smiled at me like I was beneath you. I've been imagining what I'd do to you if I got the chance."
"Fuck."
"Yeah," Rick said. "That's the word."
He pulled his fingers out, and the absence was almost worse than the intrusion. Adam heard the sound of Rick's belt unbuckling, the zipper sliding down. He couldn't bring himself to look, but he could feel Rick's gaze on him, hot and hungry. A thick, unyielding pressure pushed against him, and Rick's body pressed down against his back, his voice a low, rough command in his ear.
"Say it," Rick's voice was rough. "Say you're not going to top me."
"N-never said—"
Rick pushed. Adam cried out, his hands slamming flat on the table as a thick cockhead forced past his entrance. The burn was immediate, a searing stretch that felt like it was splitting him in two. Rick didn't stop, pressing deeper and deeper until his hips were flush against Adam's ass.
"Fuck," Adam gasped. "Fuck, you're so fucking big—"
"That's it." Rick's hands gripped his hips. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."
He pulled out, almost all the way, and slammed back in. Adam's vision went white. The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch, the burn, the deep pulse of being filled. He'd never been touched like this, never been taken apart by another man, and he was discovering he was nothing but a screaming, needy little slut for it.
"Look at you," Rick grunted, setting a brutal pace. "You're cock drunk already. You're going to be thinking about my dick for weeks after this."
"Shut the fuck up," Adam gasped, but his hips were meeting Rick's thrusts, his body betraying him. The burn had faded into a deep, aching pleasure, and every slam of Rick's hips sent shockwaves through him.
"I wonder what your wife would think," Rick hissed, angling himself deeper. "If she could see you now, bent over a conference table, begging for your rival's cock."
"Don't talk about her—" Adam's protest was cut off by a sharp gasp as Rick hit that spot again, the one that made his hips jerk and his cock leak.
"Don't tell me what to do," Rick snarled. "I've been taking your bullshit for a year. Now you're going to take mine."
The table groaned beneath them. Adam's legs were shaking, his hands fisted in his own hair. He was being completely destroyed, and the worst part was that he didn't want it to stop.
"You like that?" Rick's fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise. "You like being my bitch?"
"Yes," Adam heard himself say, the word ripping out of him before he could think. "Fuck, yes, please—"
"Please what?"
"More." Adam heard himself say, his voice a ragged, desperate plea. "Please, please, I need more."
The sound that came out of Rick was almost a laugh, but it was soaked in something darker, something primal. He pulled back, his cock sliding out of Adam completely, and Adam cried out at the sudden emptiness.
"Turn around," Rick said. "Face the camera."
Adam's hands trembled as he pushed himself up, his body shaking. He turned, his chest heaving, his cock painfully hard and leaking. He saw the webcam, the little red light blinking, recording every second of his degradation.
"Look at you," Rick said, stepping close. "Covered in lube, desperate and hard. You're never going to look at me the same way again, are you?"
Adam shook his head, unable to speak.
"Good." Rick gripped his own cock, slick and glistening. "Now get back on that table. On your back. I want to see your face when I finish inside you."
Adam lay back, his legs spreading with a mixture of defiance and shameless need. Rick climbed over him, positioning himself between his thighs, and drove into him in one smooth, brutal stroke.
"So fucking tight," Rick groaned. "You feel better than I ever imagined."
Adam's head fell back, his mouth open, his sounds raw and needy. Rick pounded into him, relentless, the sound of skin striking skin filling the room. The webcam recorded everything, the sweat-slicked bodies, the desperation, the submission.
"I'm going to cum," Rick grunted. "I'm going to cum so deep inside you, you're going to taste it for a week."
"Do it," Adam begged, his voice broken. "Please, please, fill me up—"
Rick slammed into him one final time, a deep, grinding thrust that held as his body shuddered and his cock throbbed. Adam felt the heat flooding him, felt Rick's release pumping through him, and his own hips jerked, untouched, his orgasm ripping through him like a wave.
They lay there, tangled together, breathing ragged and harsh. The webcam's red light blinked steadily. Adam's body was sore, his thighs slick, his mind a swirl of shame and pleasure.
Rick pulled out slowly, a mess draining from Adam's stretched entrance. He reached over and stopped the recording.
"Saved," he said, his voice hoarse. "Format's compatible. We'll submit it tonight."
Adam couldn't speak. He just lay there, covered in sweat and lube, staring at the ceiling. The silence stretched between them, different now, charged with what they'd just done.
"So," Rick said finally, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Same time Thursday?"