The manager of a small, forgotten factory gets a sudden visit from the son of the conglomerate that owns his plant. Not only is he taking over, it seems, but he’s insistent on maximizing profit—even to the point of reviving production on that one sweetener everyone knows is a joke.
Added: Mar 2022 6,615 words 3,183 views 3.5 stars (8 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon Story Commission.
The storage room where we kept deprecated inventory was out of the way, naturally, on the far side of the main complex and around several corners; but Jin-ho had memorized the factory plans and beat me there, so that when I hurried up he was standing motionless by the locked door, arms folded over his firm, distractingly broad chest, waiting for me.
I found the right key on the master key-ring and pushed it in, meeting some resistance from the old lock. I felt him standing close to me and I looked up at him. My heart was thumping faster, as it had already conditioned itself to do around this most erotic of men. “Why are you here?” I blurted out.
He didn’t answer. In the gloom of the back corridor the pale, muscle-hugging arms of his tailored sleeves stood out against his midnight vest and dark-gold skin, as did, strangely, the highlights of his thick-locked, almost shoulder-length hair. The contrasting tones made it feel like we were in a manhwa, one about a callous Joseon hero who’d outlived his time and his destined mate, a first love who’d died unjustly centuries before, now returned reborn to this world, unknowing and unremembering.
I wanted to touch him just to know that he was real.
Face hot, I turned away quickly and twisted the lock, opening the heavy steel door into the enclosed chill of the disused store-room, wondering what the heck was wrong with me.
We found the cache of KiSweet concentrate quickly enough, a sturdy two-hundred-gallon plastic storage crate tucked away in the back under the room’s sole window, a back rectangle high up the gray-painted cinder-block wall. Crooked lading bills from the crates long-ago journey here from New Zealand still adorned the side, scuffed and worn like the rest of the exterior from years of use.
Jin-ho flipped open the sawtooth lid and examined the contents. Inside the crate was half-filled a jumble of oblong white-paper packages the size of small throw pillows, all marked KISWEET CONCENTRATE, with smaller lettering underneath warning that it was not to be ingested in concentrate form or resold. The packages looked overstuffed, like they might burst open all over you if mishandled.
“There,” he said, as if some point had been proven. He picked up one of the packages, turning it over in his hands before holding it up to me. “Potential profit, needing only a bit of ingenuity to realize.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, picking up easily on his insinuation that ingenuity was something I woefully lacked. “As I already said, Bu Jin-ho—” I began. I didn’t get a chance to finish telling him what I had already told him, however, because at that moment the steel door slammed shut, throwing us into sudden, inky darkness. My stomach turned as I heard the lock turn loudly before heavy footsteps sped away down the corridor.
With difficulty I found my way past all the stacks and shelves and pallets to the door, cursing myself for leaving my phone behind in the office. I grabbed the knob and shook it, but the door was securely locked. I banged on it with my fist, the noise of my blows filling the room. “Hey! Hey!” I yelled out, already knowing there was no one to hear. The plant was empty. Even the night guard would have finished his rounds by now and taken his post at the gates—assuming he wasn’t the one who had, incompetently or treacherously, locked us both in here. The master key had to have come from somewhere, and my keys were still in my pocket.
Jin-ho was beside me. “Can you unlock it?” he asked, all business.
I shook my head, not that he could see it in the dark. “It doesn’t unlock from this side,” I said. “Do you have your phone?”
“No. Do you?”
I turned toward him, back to the door. My vision had adjusted enough already I could almost make his features out in the blackness. I huffed a little laugh, pushing up on tiptoes to bring our faces closer. “Looks like we’re stuck—”
The fire alarm sounded. The sound was so jarring that I started badly—I’ve never been good with loud noises—and with the cacophony of the alarm klaxon in my ears I felt like I was losing my balance. Instinctively I reached forward to grab onto something, my fingers wrapping tightly onto the top hem of his upscale vest. The act of grabbing onto it so hard had the effect of jerking him down and toward me, and with me looking up at him in alarm our faces smashed together, our lips meeting in a sudden, hard-impact, accidental kiss—just as the sprinklers started pouring a heavy, soaking deluge of lukewarm water over us.
If this were a drama the credits would rolling right now, I thought wryly, but I cast that thought aside and fell fully into the moment, closing my eyes and letting myself feel nothing but Jin-ho’s lips pressed firmly against my own.
Jin-ho grabbed my shoulders and pushed us roughly apart, though he did not let go once he had done so, holding tightly onto me as the endless water sluiced onto us from above. His eyes drilled into mine. “We have to get out of here,” he said urgently, raising his voice to be heard over the klaxon. “Now.”
I must have looked like I didn’t believe him, though the truth was I was still processing the implication of his words—that we were in real danger—and, honestly, my now-raging erection was not helping. He was squeezing my shoulders, hard. “The sprinklers are localized,” he said pointedly. “They would respond only to heat or smoke in this sector of the plant.”
I nodded. He was right. If there was an actual fire, it was probably close. “The system will immediately alert the police and fire services…” I said.
His lips tightened as the water streamed over his face. “We can’t count on that,” he said.
I held his gaze. His concern would only make sense if the system had been sabotaged. I remembered the closing and locking of the door behind me. “You think this was deliberate,” I said.
He was still holding my shoulders. “My cousin wants control of FKU Group,” he said. “I am his only rival, and he has no scruples.”
“So, what, you decided to buy time by… looking like you were slinking off to a backwater subsidiary, until everything was in place to make your move?” I wondered how much the coldness was an act, too. He didn’t seem very cold now.
His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. “Something like that,” he said, impressed. “It appears,” he added with chagrin, as if a carefully built sand castle had been leveled by the crush of an unanticipated wave, “that my cousin did not believe I had been humiliated and demoted after all.”
So he decided to remove the threat entirely while Jin-ho was away from center stage, I finished silently. Why are would-be tycoons always so dramatic? I tried to focus, despite the water and the noise, and the pleasure I felt at Jin-ho gripping tightly onto my traps. “There’s only the one door,” I said. My eyes widened. “And—”
“The window,” Jin-ho said with me.
Quickly we raced back to the back corner of the storeroom. My dress shoes slipped a few times on the wet concrete floor (at least these storerooms all have drains into the sewer system, I thought), and by the time I got there Jin-ho was already clambering up on the big plastic crate that held the KiSweet. I pulled up short. This did not seem like a good idea. “Jin-ho—” I began respectfully, though I don’t think he heard me.
He straightened, balancing his weight as close to the sides of the crate lid as he could, and reached for the latch. “It’s stuck,” he called back to me without turning. “Hand me your shirt!”
“What?!” I balked. Was he really going to try smashing through the glass? Wasn’t that only in the movies?
He glanced back at me, but when I did not respond immediately he impatiently whipped off his vest and cast it aside, then stripped off his dress shirt in record time. I could not help but imagine him doing this in my bedroom—or, perhaps sexier still, in the office we now shared between us, the wide desk providentially cleared for action. Then his torso was bare, already a landscape of rivers as the sprinkler water pelted down on us, and I gaped, overcome with awe and lust at his long, flared back, his broad, bare shoulders, the long, wet hair clinging to his neck—
He was wrapping the shirt around his hand, either for leverage on the slippery latch or to actually try to break the glass, when the lid of the plastic crate suddenly and dramatically gave way—and all at once Jin-ho was plummeting down into it with a loud, gloopy splash.
I hurried close and peered in, clutching the sides. A magnificently shirtless Jin-ho was flailing about inside, mostly immersed in a thick, greenish-brown slurry that now filled the container. Spatters of the goo were flying everywhere as he struggled unsuccessfully to find his feet amidst all the broken and waterlogged packets still lining the bottom of the thing. I felt several cold drops smack my face and arms. One hit my upper lip and the still-falling sprinkler water streamed it right into my mouth. I instantly spat it out. Processed KiSweet in its retail packets, all ready to pour into your tea or over a glistening grapefruit half, might just be the least appetizing alternative sweetener ever devised; but the concentrated form genuinely tasted like actual ass.
“Help me!” Jin-ho shouted, still struggling. He’d managed to raise himself up enough that I could grab clumsily onto his naked torso and try hauling him out bodily out of the container, which I proceeded to do with considerable expenditure of effort. Just as I got him almost free of the thing, however, I lost balance and fell backward against the wall behind me with an oof!, Jin-ho smashing awkwardly onto me a second later. As he fell on me his feet caught the top of the container and sent it toppling over, causing a massive deluge of thick, ugly slime to gush out onto the floor—fortunately away from us, not that Jin-ho wasn’t already drenched in the stuff from head to toe.
We stayed like that, Jin-ho collapsed against me, my arms around his goo-coated back, and just let our hearts pound for a while, eyes locked on each other. My lips twisted as I thought of suggesting a repeat of our earlier accidental kiss, and to my shock his did, too. “Later,” the Ice King said softly, as if he’d read my mind.
“Later,” I confirmed.
The goo had already started washing slowly down the storeroom drain, presumably to find its ultimate fate in the local water system. There went Jin-ho’s deprecated inventory, I thought, watching it go. We were just starting to work on upending the container, having decided it would make a more viable escape platform upside-down, when we heard banging on the door and the delightful klunking sound of a key turning in the old lock. “Anyone in there?” someone yelled as the door opened.
Jin-ho and I looked at each other and grinned. As we walked out of that dark, wet Armageddon side by side, both of us looking like drowned rats and him shirtless and covered in sweetener slime, I noticed Jin-ho oddly adjusting his crotch. More than once. Come to think of it, my own junk felt a little funny, too.
Jin-ho strode out of the boardroom with a blank expression that concealed, to everyone but me, the smug satisfaction of victory he was clearly exulting in. “How did I go?” I asked him anyway with a grin, joining him at his side as he headed for the elevators. Our faithful assistant, Kwang-sun, trailed close behind us, today in a subdued (for him) ensemble of cerulean and electric blue. He always talked about how he had the best job in all the company thanks to the view he got to enjoy walking behind us, though most people would have guessed it wasn’t our asses that would get all the attention.
Jin-ho gave me a look. “Don’t ask needless things, Handsome Cha,” he chastised me, though his lips quirked slightly as he said it. I smiled back at him. Today’s executive meeting was the final vote to settle the company’s inheritance entirely on Jin-ho, to the total exclusion of his scheming cousin and his even more unscrupulous father. The cousin was already in jail thanks to the testimony of the security guard, whose conscience had not been bought after all despite the shocking size of the bribe he’d been given to hand over copies of the plant keys and the fire system passwords. He was the one who’d saved us, calling the authorities from his shack by the gates the moment he saw the fire and realized what he’d done.
Admiring eyes followed us as we passed through the halls, all of them immediately dropping from our faces to below the waist in a downward flick I was becoming very familiar with. Walking with anyone else I might have basked in the attention, knowing how easily the fat, obvious bulge of my shin-length cock attracted lustful stares and whispered comments, but… well, if I was with Jin-ho I knew it wasn’t my equipment causing all those licked lips and tightened pants.
Not that anyone ever saw his junk but me. True, it was hard to miss, elegantly sheathed in specially tailored suit pants designed to accommodate his “third leg”—though the truth was, Jin-ho’s wang was considerably thicker around than either of his strong, sculpted legs, and came close to matching both of them together. And only his perpetual state of half-arousal (and the hefty bulk of his balls, which were the size of small pumpkins) kept his partly-chubbed cock from dragging on the floor everywhere he went. Only for me, though, and only in the privacy of our home did Jin-ho relax, peeling off his clothes and letting his truly monolithic tool rise hard and sensitive between us, ready to cum any time and blast for hours and hours if he wished, covering me and everything around us in his sharp, savory spunk.
It had all happened so fast—it hadn’t even taken a couple of hours before Jin-ho, driving us home after we’d promised to give our statements later to the police, had pulled over in a panic and started tearing off his pants, exposing a cock already bigger than an arm and growing as we watched. The whole process was done right before our eyes as we stared at it on the side of the road. It was then I understood that the jokes about KiSweet were not only true but fell far short of reality—though Jin-ho had to have been the first to bathe in a vat of the stuff, and in concentrated form, too!
We didn’t really talk about it but I was pretty sure he was still growing, millimeter by millimeter, like the growth-factor was in his blood now or something. Maybe it was in his cum as well; that would explain the inch or so I’d gained in my own monster in the weeks since the incident. And that wasn’t even getting into how I felt like I was just a bit buffer than I’d thought I was, or how my pants seemed to be exposing a sliver of ankle lately that they hadn’t been before.
At first I’d worried that our transformations would cause pandemonium and every kind of negative consequence—us being called freaks, Jin-ho chased out of FKU Group, that kind of thing. Strangely enough, though, our giant dicks seemed… not to be a big deal. I’d even been caught in public a few times with a sudden hard-on—I got them a lot, now, not surprising given who I get to spend all my time with, and I don’t have his perfect control over erections and orgasms. But even with a face-high boner shoving up out of my pants and exposed for all to see, all I got was grins and wanton stares. The press coverage of me accepting a managing directorship at FKU had run on dozens of websites and newscasts, and all the photos and videos showed me uncontrollably and embarrassingly erect, my exposed, towering dick seemingly lapping up the adulation while I cringed behind it with a frozen smile.
We got to the elevator, and Jin-ho and I found ourselves exchanging a long look that had me mentally clearing my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. Kwang-sun, like the stellar assistant he was, immediately picked up on this. “You two heading home to celebrate?” he asked with a knowing smile, already noodling on his tablet.
“Absolutely,” I said reverently, still staring up at Jin-ho’s surreally handsome face. Just his steady gaze kindled an unquenchable fire in me, one I saw reflected in his own dark eyes. How had I ever thought him an Ice King?
“Uh-huh. Do you need any… help?” Kwang-sun offered, his smile widening as he looked up at us suggestively.
“Absolutely not,” we both said in unison, though I could hear a hidden fondness matching my own in Jin-ho’s tone. Kwang-sun kept trying to wear us down so we’d let him come home with us, and maybe someday he’d succeed—but not today. Though I had to admit, both of us did enjoy the kind of passionate attention we tended to get these days from admirers of huge cocks, and Kwang-sun was sure to provide exactly that…
Glancing down, I noticed that Kwang-sun had a rather hefty bulge himself in his bright-blue pants. Was he packing more than he had been? Even as I thought this, I remembered that he lived fairly close to the plant. Was it possible that all of that concentrated goo had washed down the drain, and—?
The elevator dinged, and I shook my head. The idea was absurd, the stuff of urban legends and B movies. As the three of us got on the elevator I was already thinking ahead to getting home and pulling off Jin-ho’s specially-made pants and—huh. Actually, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Kwang-sun got to watch after all.