FSE

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The elevator opened with a ding as the stag ushered me along. I would never say I don't appreciate him as a sometimes-mentor but he was overly fond of surprises and mystery lessons. Still, either as client or patron, he'd never steered me wrong and there was a lot his the company that I didn't know so I followed him down the corridor for our supposed lunch meeting.

"Now I know you're expecting something bizarre from me, but don't worry, we're just gonna have lunch and talk. No lessons. Don't get it twisted, everything's a teachable moment but today, lunch is just lunch," he said quickly as he finally stopped at a door marked 'Executive Dining'. "Just keep an open mind."

A quick swipe of his access card let us in and I was hit with a strange mixture of delicious food and a strange musk that I couldn't place. A sultry looking fox smiled at us and greeted the deer leading me as he scanned the tablet at his host station. Apparently, he had seats available for us at table 12 and waved the general direction for us but went right to work at his little podium rather than lead us there. But I was keeping an open mind and just followed along since my mentor obviously knew where he was going.

Neatly-suited execs chattered absently as they ate; the quiet din of crossing conversations and clinking dinnerware gave the modest room a cozier vibe than I'd expected from a corporate dinning room. I scannned the place quickly, noting the casual table linens and the unassuming decor. If it wasn't for the clientelle I would hardly believe this was anything more than a cafeteria with a wait staff. Then I noticed the wait staff.

We reached our table before I really realized what my mind was supposed to be open to. Virile young men navigated the room nimbly, pouring drinks mostly as the lunch crowd was beginning to thin, but each of them was dressed in shirts and waistcoats cut to barely cover their chests. Clean, startched, white collars with bold red ties tucked into what had to have been satin vests. No sleeves, but white cuffs with dark cuff links. It was all very reminiscent of a chipndales show, down to the tight, bulging thongs they all wore; black with the company logo emblazoned fashionably off center on each bulge.

I couldn't speak when our server stopped beside us. He was a bit of a hulk: a strapping badger of chisled abdominals and rich, sexual scent. He welcomed he stag in a bright and cordially familiar aire and turned to me to do the same but I just stammered and stared into little box with it's outreaching rays printed on the distinct outline of his right testicle. The meaty organ was huge, at least as big as my head, and the other one matched it perfectly. They held up a fat cord of dick so big that his waistband bowed down to let me see the first two inches of its ruddy thickness. I didn't realize just how deeply I was staring until the pair of men chuckled at me.

The badger was trooper, smiling, shifting his hips forward as if to say "I don't mind" and scribbling down our order as I stumbled through it. The others seemed to hardly notice, too wrapped up in their own affairs to ogle the way I was, but the whole staff was as alarmingly handsome and well endowed as our own waiter. My mentor teased me in his charmingly unoffensive way and admitted it takes a while to get used to the eye candy but the best way to do it was to get to business. Our lunch was surprisingly productive despite my eyes wandering constantly, measuring each pair of enormous balls that passed by against the last. He helped me hone an idea I had for an in on rural markets and gave me a very constructive review before the food even arrived.

Then, I was really shocked. A vegetarian, italian style torta hit the table first, then my own plate of pork chops and baked apple. The scent was alluring; then suddenly overpowered by a wave of hot sex. Our waiter, as easily as he would have started turning a pepper mill over a salad, whipped out his cock and started jerking it. Precum spewed wildly over the swelling length, dripping down his thong and into the carafe in his free hand. It all happened with bizarre speed and in 20 seconds he was panting and groaning ready to blast. He aimed for the sandwich first, firing huge globs of pearly white semen across it's open face, drowning it in the dense, gooey batter before stag said 'when'. Then he turned it on my plate, dousing my meal in the same musky sauce. It was almost a stew before I realized that he was waiting for me to say something so I nervously waved my hands and he stepped back, aiming the remainder of the salvo down into the carafe, filling the gallon jug to the brim and leaving it on the table with his compliments.

The deer tucked into his torta immediately, cum drooling down his chin as he took the first bite. He licked his lips greedily, slurping up a heavy gob of jizz before it dripped onto his jacket and urged me to at least try it. I wouldn't have considered myself a prude then. I'd swallowed more than a few loads of cum before. But never in public and never as the largest portion of a meal. So I hesitated. I stared at the gooey plate and unthinkingly breathed in the scent of badger cream before I finally, carved the glazed pork chop and gingerly took a bite.

I was surprised by how well they went together. Obviously the kitchen went to great lengths to ensure the recipe blended well with an overpowering flood of hot, salted nut butter. Admittedly I was still mostly eating cum but the combination worked well on my palatte. The stag teased but there wasn't another word out of me until I'd cleaned my plate, stuffed and satisfied by a well cooked meal. He simply laughed and poured himself a glass of the left over spooge and sipped knowingly at it, savouring each taste like wine. It was by far the weirdest meal I'd ever had.

But as the meal wound down, I got comfortable enough to ask how this sort of thing came to be. It had to be against no end of government regulations. I had to know. The more I learned about his company the more I had to find out.

He just said. "Don't worry about it. Nobody really sees anything we don't want them to. Now then, I lied. There is a surprise with this lunch, I wanna take you out of the minor leagues. We have an eclectic interview process and you just flew through it with flying colours. So what do you think? How about a job with the Synergist Syndicate?"

This was starting to sound more and more like some bizarro secret society. Even the name rung the conspiracy-theory bell this time. So I hesitated again. Then he rattled off my salary. I've eaten in that dining room every week since.