Anything for Ambition (Gay Erotica Drama)

By Habu

Warning: BarbarianSpy gay erotica featuring wildly enjoyable multiple partner couplings, light bondage and a message.

Young Craig Crestar wishes to enter the world of big business, but is met by his bosses’ wishes to use him. He is told that he is to be made a king in the business world but finds himself only a servant until he decides to encase his heart in steel and make the most of an opportunity to land a monster deal in California with the randy CEO, Jonathan Binggum. In training and in working to do so, he fights the urge to come under the sway of yet another hunky boss, the former black pro footballer, CJ. Brown.

Anything for Ambition is an unabashed male-male, wall-to-wall action adventure of the lengths corporate executives will go to in providing fringe benefits to close the deal with the big client.

This is an expansion and new publisher relaunch of the eXcessica novella, Deal Closer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Apr 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781922187352

Habu

Habu is one of the pen names of a former supersonic spy jet pilot, intelligence agent, male model, movie actor, and diplomat. A wild youth in South East Asia was spent enjoying whatever sexual opportunities came his way, and much of his gay male writing is about recalling incidents from those days and inventing ones he’d perhaps have liked to experience. He now leads a very quiet and ordinary life.Check out our blog and get free stories. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated.

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WARNING: This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. Contains graphic gay male sex, reluctance, multiple partners, anal sex, nongraphic violence, and gay love all of which may be considered offensive by some readers.

All sexually active characters in this work are at least 18 years of age.

This book is copyright © 2013

Published by BarbarianSpy in 2013

Published by BarbarianSpy at Smashwords

Cover design © S Bush 2013

Cover image: Copyright: curaphotography | view portfolio

ISBN: 978-1-922187-35-2

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or article, without written permission from the author or publisher.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this book are the product of the author’s imagination and no resemblance to real people, or implication of events occurring in actual places, is intended.

Anything for Ambition

by habu

Contents

Chapter One: Feeling the Love

Chapter Two: Job Loyalty

Chapter Three: In-Flight Service

Chapter Four: Client’s Interest

Chapter Five: Pumping the Client’s Prime

Chapter Six: Doubling the Client’s Pleasure

Chapter Seven: Guess Who’s Coming for Dinner

Chapter Eight: Icing on the Deal

Chapter Nine: Secondhand Emotion

About the Author

Other Books by habu

Chapter One: Feeling the Love

Elton John was crooning on the CD player as I stood by the French-door windows and looked out into Savannah’s Chatham Square. He was singing, It’s enough to make kings and vagabonds believe the very best, and I knew that I’d never feel the same about this recording, one of the songs that Brice liked to make love to, in quite the same way ever again. Kings and vagabonds. It had always been that hard choice for me. My ambition to have position and power or the risky, almost vilified life of living openly with another man—a dominant man. If it was to be king, I must do what Brice had suggested to me after fucking me in his four-poster bed just now—the bed that he and Sharon slept in. I had sensed it coming, knowing the affair had spun to its conclusion, but I had let him lead me upstairs and had laid back on that bed and opened my legs to him so willingly because, all evidence to the contrary, I had fooled myself into believing that, having led me to this bed, Brice and I had both boldly chosen vagabond.

Or so I told myself. It was still Sharon’s bed, though. Brice and Sharon’s bed. I was still the vagabond and he still was the king.

A man had stopped in the square below and was looking up at me. That was no surprise. I was naked and tussled with just-completed sex. Superb sex. I had been fucked silly. Brice was lying in the bed, looking at me, about to demand that I return to the bed, I was sure. So, it wasn’t unusual that the man standing below would have had his attention arrested. What was surprising, though, was that he didn’t turn and hurry off. He was a prosperous-looking man. Maybe an executive, in his late forties or early fifties. Successful looking, and handsome. A rich man. I turned full to the window, laying my cheek and the palms of my hands against the window, a symbolic gesture of wanting the glass to disappear, to escape where I was. But it wouldn’t have been to escape to the man standing below me in the square. He was what I was trying to escape from. Just another Brice and all of the Brices before him. Misunderstanding, and obviously interested, the man opened his arms to me, willing me to come down onto the square, to him. But then Brice did call from the bed and I turned and walked back to him.

I had come to Savannah and started what I thought was a new life. But it was all just older, successful, and commanding men again—taking what they wanted and leaving me the vagabond.

* * * *

When I left my MBA studies and informed my faculty adviser that I was going with Welch and Standish, he raised his eyebrows and told me that this was quite a surprise.

So they really were interested, were they? They are real piranhas there, you know? he’d said. They would do anything to close the deal. Anything in the pursuit of ambition. You don’t seem like . . . I mean I don’t think you’re ready to . . .

To what, Jason? I asked, sticking my chin out. Not ready to swim with the sharks? Too sensitive, am I? To naïve? Too easily taken in? Too submissive?

My statements, flung like darts, just stuck there, quivering.

Jason Jenkins himself had taken advantage of the vulnerability in me. He had cultivated me and made me his assistant. And he had seduced me in so many ways that it was almost anticlimactic that late spring afternoon when he embraced me in his office, and kissed me, and cajoled me, and, eventually, fucked me bent over his desk, me whimpering and crying, but not stopping him, not wanting to make a fuss. Wanting to please; not wanting to inconvenience Jason in any way.

I had been there several times before. Always older, successful men, making me promises, bending me over their desks, getting their cocks inside me, pumping away, and then showing me the strings that were attached to their promises.

It’s not the Atlanta main offices, I said, as if that might make a significant difference. I’m going to the Savannah offices. Not quite the center of piranha pit, or so I’m told.

You could always . . . you know . . . stay with . . .

I placed my fingers on Jason’s lips, not wanting him to complete that sentence. Certainly not sure whether I wanted king or vagabond, but knowing that I didn’t want to be Jason’s vagabond before even having a chance to explore that choice. And being afraid that I would say yes, just because it would be the path of least resistance and