The quarterly budget review was already running twenty minutes over when “he”showed up.
Daniel had his camera off, mic muted, pretending to listen to Henry from accounting drone on about Q3 projections. He was scrolling TikTok on his phone, half paying attention, when the Teams notification pinged.
BigDaddyBalls69 has joined the meeting.
Nobody acknowledged it at first. These things happened.
“Uh,” said Marcus from regional sales, “I think we’ve got a stray. Henry, you wanna boot him?”
Henry’s voice crackled, confused. “I’m—how do I—hold on, I’m looking for the—”
That’s when the screen changed.
One second Daniel was looking at a grid of mostly-blank avatars and a pie chart. The next second his entire monitor filled with a video feed of two men. Shirtless. Glistening. The short one was on his knees, eyes locked forward with a dazed, eager expression, while the tall one stood over him, massive, impossibly hard, one hand tangled in the short one’s hair.
The video wasn’t grainy amateur stuff. It was crisp. Color-saturated. Hypnotic spiral patterns pulsed faintly at the edges of the frame, almost subliminal, colors shifting in slow rhythmic waves.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” someone wheezed. Greg from IT.
“Kick him! Boot him!” barked someone else.
Daniel’s own finger hovered over the “leave meeting” button. He should click. He should absolutely click. But the video… the spiral patterns at the corner of the screen were drawing his gaze. A warm, heavy heat spread from his chest downward, loosening something in his stomach. He blinked slowly. The short man on screen opened his mouth, and a soft, wet, rhythmic sound filled Daniel’s headphones.
“Can someone—I can’t find the—fuck, my mouse isn’t—” Henry’s voice had gone tight, breathy.
“Don’t look at the screen. Do not look at the screen.” That was Marcus, but his voice had dropped half an octave. It sounded like he was already looking.
On screen, the spiral intensified. The colors bled into Daniel’s vision. The men were beautiful. Of course they were beautiful. Why had he never let himself just look at men being beautiful? The kneeling one’s jaw was so slack, so blissful. The tall one’s stomach muscles flexed every time he pushed deeper.
Daniel’s hand fell from his mouse. It landed on his thigh.
“We should—” Henry started, then stopped. A small, shocked gasp escaped his mic before he went silent. Then his camera flicked on.
Henry was in his home office, dress shirt unbuttoned two extra buttons, face flushed, eyes glued to something off-screen. His lips were parted. He wasn’t trying to kick anyone anymore. He was rubbing his thighs together.
One by one, cameras started popping on across the grid.
Greg the IT guy had his head tilted back, eyes glassy, one hand working furiously below the frame. The rhythmic thump thump thump of his elbow hitting his desk was barely picked up by his mic.
Marcus had his entire setup on display. He wasn’t hiding. His tie was loosened, his dress shirt untucked, and his cock was out, thick and dark, both hands wrapped around it. He was staring at the screen with a slack, stupid smile that Daniel had never seen on his face before. Not in six years of Tuesday morning stand-ups.
“Good boy,” murmured the tall man in the video, and it felt like he was speaking directly to Daniel. Directly into Daniel’s skull. “Such a good boy. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
Daniel’s brain stuttered. A distant, sober part of him screamed “this is so fucked up what is happening”, but the scream got quieter and quieter with every pulse of the spiral. When his hands moved, it wasn’t to close the laptop. It was to unzip his slacks.Something in the video needed him to touch. So he touched.
“Fuuck,” breathed a voice in the meeting. It might have been Henry. It might have been Marcus. It might have been his own voice, leaking out of his unmuted mic without permission. He couldn’t tell anymore.
The men on screen kept going. The tall one pulled out, and the kneeling one whimpered—actually whimpered like a desperate little animal—and then the tall one was slapping that huge wet cock against his face, against his lips, against his tongue that lolled out automatically to catch it.
Daniel’s hand was moving now. Stroking. Squeezing. He had his own cock out, pointing at the ceiling, already dripping. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard. Maybe never.
someone laughed. It was a breathless, horny, unhinged laugh. A new voice. Brian from supply chain. Brian’s camera showed him kneeling on his office floor, pants around his ankles, rocking his hips desperately into his own fist. “We all want it. We want to be good gooners.”
The word gooner hit Daniel’s brain like a shot of warm honey. It felt so right. He was a gooner. They were all gooners. Braindead. Blissed out. No thoughts, no shame, no quarterly projections. Just stroke. Just pleasure. Just gooner.
On screen, the kneeling man finally took the tall man’s cock back into his mouth, and the tall man began to thrust like he was fucking a hole, not a face. A soundtrack started playing underneath it all—a low, thrumming bass beat, a voice repeating the same phrase over and over, barely audible except as a pulse in Daniel’s veins.
The grid of cameras had become a gallery of desperate, lost people. Some were watching themselves in their own previews, getting off on their own degradation. Some had their faces pressed close to their screens, eyes huge, reflecting spirals. Two of them had apparently figured out how to screen-share their own webcams, and now the meeting bounced between the original porn and a split-screen of Greg stroking his small, angry-red cock while he whimpered thank you thank you thank you
Daniel’s orgasm was building—not like a normal orgasm, not like a decision he was making. It was being pulled out of him. Extracted. The video wanted it. The spiral demanded it. His hips were bucking up into his fist, his mouth hanging open stupidly, drool pooling on his chin.
“Me too,” someone was chanting. “Me too, me too, me too.”
It took Daniel a full ten seconds to realize it was him.
BigDaddyBalls69 never spoke. He didn’t need to. His video was doing all the work, and the video was gospel now, the video was God, and Daniel was just a vessel, a fleshlight with a heartbeat, and he was going to cum when the tall man on screen came, because that was the program, that was the only thing his melted brain could still understand—
On screen, the tall man’s rhythm stuttered. His head fell back. A thick, pearly stream shot across the kneeling man’s waiting tongue.
He came so hard he saw stars, actual white bursts behind his eyelids, his whole body locking up as he painted his keyboard, his desk, maybe his webcam—he didn’t care, nobody cared, the meeting was just a chorus of groans and moans and wet slapping sounds.
In the aftermath, breathing ragged, cum cooling on his shirt, Daniel should have felt horror. Humiliation. Instead he just stared at the screen—which had gone back to a gentle, pulsing spiral, the video looping silently now—and felt… peace. Perfect, empty peace.
His camera was still on. His slack, satisfied face was in the grid. Greg was licking his own fingers clean. Marcus was lounging back, soft cock still out, waving lazily at his webcam like he was at a beach bar. Henry had his head resting on his desk, a small pool of drool spreading under his cheek, one hand still down his pants.
“Same time next week?” Brian’s voice croaked through the speakers.
BigDaddyBalls69 left the meeting.
Nobody else did. They just sat there, breathing, waiting, hoping he’d come back and tell them what to do next.
Can't pass the content limit. So there's no video. Just pics
Edited: Gooner pics got banned by Tumblr….. https://imgur.com/a/R23hss1
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