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The Firm Handshake: Chapter 7.
By OfficeAnon

Chapter 7, Non-Compete Claws
“Sex without love is a meaningless experience, but as far as meaningless experiences go it’s pretty damn good.”
Woody Allen

It would take time for the results of that meeting to filter through to the wider reaches of the firm. Things like that could be glacially slow if paperwork got involved. It was entirely possible that all the work you had did, with all the people involved, would amount to nothing tangible. It might be that the staff members wouldn’t recall the specifics, only that you had been there at the front of it all. A lot of logical processes like this got reduced down to what emotion it evoked when recalled a week later. Did I feel happy? Use it. Did I feel sad? Throw it out.

You are not about to go home yet, you had promised yourself you would get some gym clothes. If you bought them now, you would feel obliged to use them at least once.

This would have been an unremarkable walk to the shopping centre again, except for the past few minutes since you got into the elevator you had found yourself walking side-by-side next to the droopy-faced dog from your first day. You feel the tinge of second-hand embarrassment again remembering him recoiling back at your arrival and you are having to do your best to cram the feeling back down.

It has now become even more awkward because for the past two turns on the pavement you have made a polite wave to silently acknowledge a mutual goodbye, and he’s mumbled that he’s also going that way. Something about gloves? It was hard to make him out over the usual hustle and bustle of an inner-city street.

You were so busy trying to politely split up from him without being obviously offensive that you haven’t noticed you’ve become flanked by four individuals. Two behind you, one to side next to the road and another in front. All wolves.

City streets essentially came in three broad categories: Touristy, copy-paste residential, and grey utility. Where this was taking place was grim and grey, a path that avoided traffic for a direct path, which also is an excellent place to get mugged.

You had managed to go your whole life without this happening. In your mind you imagined a fantasy of superpowers or maybe a hidden weapon and a gritty speech fit for a noir movie. Of course, you had also accepted you enjoyed having your organs and blood inside you, and you could cancel your bank cards before any major damaged occurred. You’d hand it all over, then go to the bank, then head back to the office and explain it all to someone to fix everything else.

One of them pulled something out of a pocket. It was too chunky to be a knife, too small to be a gun. But it didn’t bode well. You also now notice all four of them are wearing the same dark clothes which had a certain discount tactical look to it. The chunky device sparked angerly. Ah, a taser. Years of internet videos had repeatedly informed you those hurt and you were not about to see if that was a mass lie by big taser. As they closed in on you and your colleague, they also pulled air filters over their muzzles.

A part of you was impressed. It was only day three and you were already about to be kidnapped. Maybe it was the sex toys from yesterday that had tipped them off. You could yell, but the streets would swallow it and the city then disperse it. Reaching for your phone was out of the question.

“Hands up,” said one, voice partially muffled by the mask “and walk.”

He gestured with the taser towards the narrow alleyway. Droopy was encouraged to go as well. You decide to consider your options and consult The Committee.

Instead of your usual spot at the head of the table, your perspective found itself merely close to it instead. To one side, was the many versions of You, each frantically working at a solution. To the other were the only two metaphorical entities with more authority.

At the head of the table, featureless and feral, was a part of you that had rarely seen action and you hardly recognised these days: Instinct. It was joined by its consort, who you had used most every day of your life, Intuition, who was hanging onto its arm.

Instinct pushed three chequebooks across the table in front of you. Fight, flight and freeze. You can only ever pick one and each was priced extortionately high.

You couldn’t fight one wolf, let alone four. Your colleague did not have the physique of a secret agent and was actively quivering in his nylon spats. No help there. Fight was discarded.

Flight was also a no-starter. You were literally about to start going to a gym tomorrow supposedly. You’d get around 10 steps at best and then get tased.

Well, you were hoping you weren’t a “freeze” sort of guy when you imagined these scenarios, but reality was often disappointing. You sign the cheque and slide it back.

Intuition’s delicate hand got to it before Instinct’s grubby mitts did and wrote something on the back a small curly font. “Smile.”

You find yourself smiling, with your back straight. Yes, sure. You got kidnapped all the time, well done everybody. What a nice black van that is, is that a rental? The masks are a nice touch, matching uniforms too.

Don’t panic. Panic wasn’t an option Instinct had presented.

Two of them got in the front, the other two instructed you and the dog into the back. It was padded, which meant it was soundproof. At least you were being kidnapped comfortably. You wonder about the future. Your mind conjured the image of you chained up in some sleezy CEO’s basement straight out of a crime podcast. But you also could imagine worse so your brain changed the scenery around to be a foreign country where people disappeared. Such places that appeared at the bottom of graphs for all the wrong reasons.

They put you and the dog in handcuffs and not the fun fluffy kind.

While Instinct and Intuition were at the wheel, the rest of the committee had been working hard. They all agreed on one thing. You had to get their masks off. You had one tool, one weapon, one superpower. The committee had found a something and replayed a clip from your first day.

”Body language, confidence, words.”

A simple cloth gag was tied tightly around your mouth. The door to the van was shut, trapping you in with the wolves and the unmasked but also gagged dog.

You don’t resist, in fact you turn your head to make it easier. This was routine, everyone knows you’re a HDG carrier, so what? The van starts up and begins moving. You begin sweating because words were also starting to look like not an option.

You fix one of the wolves with a stare. He’s not looking your way, professionally acting detached from the situation. Even so, he can feel your eyes drilling into him. You don’t move your head, you intensify the look in your eyes. You’re not going for anger, you’re going for disappointment. A parent catching their child with a hand in the cookie jar. The wolf’s eyes look at you, if only for a moment. You tilt your head. Don’t make me count to three. He looks at you, and his eyes make full contact.

You aren’t seat belted down. You maintain connection with the wolf, you cannot afford to lose it or look at the other one. The gag would stop articulate speech, but you just had to make it plain and simple. You stand up against the movement of the vehicle. The low ceiling means you have to tilt your head down but that only makes you look bigger. In the same disappointed parent tone your eyes had, you firmly speak through the gag. “Take his mask off.”

The other wolf was reaching for something as you stood, probably his taser or maybe a walkie-talkie. You don’t break eye contact with the first wolf but quickly bark “Drop it.”

The second wolf hesitates, but only for a moment. With no eye contact or smell, only your body language and muffled words had any sway over him. The first wolf had a paw on the other’s mask and was now having a sort of slap fight over it. The mask didn’t come off, but it did break its seal for a moment.

“Take off your masks.” You command in a tone that defiance was unthinkable to you. They didn’t need to take them off entirely, once the seal broke again and they both took another sniff of the air, with your extra sweat on you, it was over. The gag came off.

You look around behind you, the partition between the driver and the cargo had a hatch. No doubt to check on the prisoner if needed. This is where blind luck and Intuition hoped the other two didn’t have masks on. Driving down a street with them on would be suspicious and you can’t move quickly in rush hour traffic.

“Open it.”

They both stumble to obey, the smell catching up with the other catalysts.

Droopy was sitting there in stunned silence, utterly perplexed.

The hatch was unlocked and the air mingled.

“Good boys like you deserve a little taste before the boss gets to keep me forever.”

You don’t know where they pulled over, but at least you had stopped their progress. They quickly shut the doors again as they entered. So long as they were closed, the air would only thicken with the scent. The only other issue was, that as soon as one of them was satisfied the hold you had on them all would break. All this bought you was time, but you instantly decide that was an acceptable transaction.

“Why don’t we all get a bit comfortable? Someone help me with these.” You gesture with your arms behind your back.

“Yeah, we’ll all get nice and cosy.” Said one. He lifts your shirt up and over your head, leaving it trapped between your cuffs and back. Shit. You know that it wasn’t mind control but you were hoping for more than this.

The other wolves did the same, and removed their uniform jumpers and shirts. Grey, Light Black, Brown-with-a-Black-Streak, and Two-Tone. They all had roughly the same physique, slightly scrawny with puffed up chests.

Two-tone seemed to be in charge, because he was investigating you first. You straighten your back as much as possible and move your arms up to expose your armpits to him. “The boss should get the first taste.” you say like a pirate handing out shares of plunder. The wolves nodded in agreement. One nudges another with a playful elbow in the universal language of “We’re gunna eat well tonight!”

Wolves, on the whole, are a lot bigger than dogs. It’s hard to really grasp it until you see the comparison for yourself in person. A large head is at chest level with you now. A single tongue-lick tastes the salt of your sweat running down one of your ribs.

You give the rest of them a disdainful look, “Real men don’t fuck with their pants on. Lose them. Rush hour won’t be over for a while, and I won’t tell your boss.”

They all look at each other. No-one wanted to be first, but no-one wanted to be last, either. You help them all by barking out “Now!”

Three pairs of pocket-heavy tactical trousers fall. Their leader, Two-Tone, cockily drops his last, undoing the metal belt buckle slowly in what he probably thought was an intimidating manner. It didn’t help he was just as hampered as you were by the low ceiling, so it lost much of its impact. Droopy continued to sit, fully clothed and gawking.

You take off your shoes and kick them to the far end of the van. Two shoes, three wolves. You saw immediately you were going to need to buy a new pair if you got out of this. You give Two-Tone a look of “Well, we’re waiting.” And bounced on your heels. He roughly removes your trousers and underwear and those are tossed to the side as well.

It's weird, sometimes you feel more naked with just socks on than you do entirely unclothed. The threatening wolves didn’t help much either. Size-wise, Grey had the advantage on the average selection of his comrades. You wouldn’t say that of course, you needed them all to like you. Sometimes being a top meant finding other things to compliment.

They weren’t going to take your cuffs off of you, but there was the next best thing. You motion your arms again. “Let’s move these around to the front so I can feel just how jacked you are.”

Two-tone snarled at his driver, Streaked, and the tiny key was produced from a discarded pocket, your wrists brought in front of you and re-locked, and the key put back in. At least you knew where your set was, it wasn’t a plan but it was a start.

Your comb your hands down the fluffy fur of Two-Tone’s neck and chest. You may as well enjoy yourself before being sold into slavery. Your fingers leave grooves as you rake. “Tense for me, I like a guy with a 6-pack.” You would have said you liked the texture of dropped lasagna if you thought it would keep him from driving.

You allow your hands to go lower, past the chest and onto the belly. You slowly thump your fingers along the ridges and grooves of the muscle there. It wasn’t a physique from a gym routine, it was someone who didn’t eat enough and did an active job, but it still had some positive aesthetics.

He's already erect, he had been since the first taste of your sweat. It was a pure and undiluted drug to him. This close to him you don’t raise your voice. “You want the good stuff, don’t you? A little more meaty and salty? It would be really cool of you to tell the others to come over here, make them work me up, then you could get the prize at the end.”

You have never been in an orgy before. Occasionally the idea appealed, but unlike porn movies you typically were not interested in most of the people who went to orgies in real life. Here, well, you could make it work. Shame about the circumstances.

Plus, you had to keep them all in balance. Any one of them could snap out of it if left unattended.

“You three, stop fucking his fucking shoes and get over here.” Snarled Two-Tone.

It becomes very cramped all at once and you are bowled to the padded floor. You find yourself on your back, face to face with Two-Tone next to you. Big dicked Grey and Streaked were on either leg, faces towards your groin and Light Black at the far back immediately revealed himself to have a bit of a foot fetish. Not your thing, but not an issue.

“Maybe we don’t take you to the boss, and we keep you instead, human.” Said Two-Tone, his hot breath washed over your face this close.

You reach over his head with both arms for a rudimentary shoulder hug and ignore the breath. It’s amazing what you can ignore with two wolves lapping at your junk.

The cocky attitude the leader had meant it was very easy to see his face go strange momentarily when the hug landed. People like him had upbringings with very few of them.

“Hmm, four big scary wolves to myself? Doesn’t sound so bad.” You reply, coyly.

He runs a claw down your cheek and to your chin. “Yeah, we ain’t bad. But we know you’re worth a lot of money. I need more than a little belly rub to be convinced.”

“I bet you want to know what your boss wants from me.”

“He thinks it’s worth hiring us to steal you for it.” His face is very close to your own. You pull his face closer with the hug. It’s a shame, under better circumstances you’d probably fuck each one of these guys back at the office. With a bit of food, a nice suit, and a better taste in underwear they’d polish up nicely.

You force your tongue into his mouth and you both do battle. He had the dexterity, but not the strength. At first, he dodges your own flesh, but your run your hands around the scruff of his neck to soften him up and they meet and duel. You don’t let him win at all, and you make him have to force his head away for air.

“Oh yeah, I think the boss can wait.”

He straddling you now on his knees. Behind him the two wolves working on your junk are having a lot of fun.

You can’t see it, but you can feel it. They definitely had the hots for each other. Two somewhat attractive wolves in uniform? They probably sneaked glances at each other in the showers after work. They were both working your shaft, mouths on either side. But you can feel it when their lips meet and tongues come into contact with each other. At first it was tentative, a thinly veiled excuse of contact, but now it had evolved into its own microcosm. They were probably staring into each other’s eyes, now realising they both now had feelings for each other in this heterosexual dominated industry.

You were dangerously close to cumming with all this stimulation. You had to get them off your dick.

“Tell those two to come up here. You’ll want to see this for yourself.”

There wasn’t enough space, so everyone had to shuffle around you, but it released the stimulation for a brief moment.

Foot guy continued to do his own thing, not quite confident enough yet to start whacking himself off before the boss.

Streaked and Grey knelt either side of you while you hauled yourself upright with your back against the wall.

You gesture with your handcuffs. “Closer boys.”

They shuffled closer.

“Closer.”

They shuffled again. They could see where this was going but didn’t want to seem too eager at the prospect in front of their leader. Your hands are in just the right grip that their dicks would just happen to fit.

Oh, would you look at that? Both of our genitals appear to have accidently simultaneously ended up in the highly dexterous palms of this here human! Our mistake, boss! We’re very much not gay. Well, whilst we’re here, we may as well partake in the sins of the flesh.

You begin to work them both. Even with your wrists cuffed, you can still rotate them enough to make the two members touch at the tips and rub together. You had control over their pleasure. Their boss knew this too, which is why you ask him out of all of you who gets to cum first. Obviously, being the boss, it should be him.

When he agrees you immediately let go of your grip. Their members are pulsing pre out, edged delightfully. They both look at him with pleading eyes. You can see Two-Toned likes the idea of having this power over people and you would be the key to getting it.

With them all distracted you make motions with your eyes to your colleague, who has mostly curled himself up in the corner to try and somehow fold himself out of the situation. The message was simple: Get near the door, make it look like your making room. Don’t get out. Wait.

Maybe you’d be able to convince the others to let him go and hope he’d do something to save you. Key and droopy. Two plans, it was a sort of progress.

You didn’t know a single thing about wolf-human foot fetishists. Light Black could be moments from cumming for all you knew.

You put on an air of mystery. “Last wolf to cum gets something extra special from me.”

Even you didn’t know what that was going to be, but at least it was be persuasive.

Droopy was reaching for the door. For fuck’s sake. You’d slap your forehead if your hands were free. All this scheming and planning and none of you would be climaxing before you got put in a cellar forever. You had a nickname for people like him: Foreskin. Because they tended to disappear when things got hard.

For safety, all vehicle doors like this unlock from the inside. The dog probably concluded that with all the others naked he’d get a good enough head start. He was surprisingly dexterous, despite his appearance, because he managed to pop the door open and then for some reason dove to one side and curled up again. HDG must have turned his brain to mush.

However, you immediately saw why he had done so. A vengeful mountain was parked out on the other side. Two large arms filled the van’s rear end and grabbed the two nearest wolves in each hand. With a single yank and a yelp both of them were heaved bodily from the van without much fanfare. You watch as the mountain held them aloft for a moment and then slammed both their heads together. It dropped them onto the pavement like sacks of potatoes.

Then the whole van groaned as the mountain stepped inside to get the remaining two. The wolves were certainly slowed by the gene, but even you couldn’t figure out what to do in this situation and sat there dumbfounded. The whole van dipped down under the sudden weight. Two horns shredded the fabric padding on the ceiling like a knife through rice paper and insultation fell like snow as the arms reached for their next victims.

The weight and fur were removed from you with ease. The leader, Two-Tone, scrabbled at the arm holding him. Teeth bit at the huge fingers, feet clawed at the air and scraped the arm. All to no avail. In return, he was raised high into the air and then slammed bodily onto the pavement, where he bounced once from the impact.

You couldn’t see what he did next, you assume he tried to get up, but whatever it was it had clearly been the wrong choice. The mountain struck out and kicked him in the ribs, one of which snapped with a sound like a gunshot.

At least that had been relatively quick, long-schlong Grey was still flailing above the ground in the mountain’s other fist and could only watch it all happen. For the wolf, the next second probably stretched out towards infinity. You watched as the free arm was brought back as far as it would go. Then the hand formed into a fist-like cannonball before it slammed home into the wolf’s midriff. He was dropped painfully to his knees, where he promptly vomited from the pain and impact. A hoof to the backside sent him forward into his own lunch and he didn’t get back up, opting instead to lay on the floor groaning, foetal and trembling.

“Are you decent in there?” came a familiar rumbling voice.

“Ghaid?” you ask, shoving your clothes back on.

The bull waited a moment before extracting you, scooping you into his arms from the vehicle like a child. You didn’t resist, though it was not as if you could have.

You felt smaller in his grip than you did beneath the four wolves. Maybe he wanted to shield you from the source of smell of all the blood and vomit.

“You can put me down now, Ghaid.”

There was a brief bit of reluctance, he was probably more worried than you were, but eventually he put you back on your feet and brought out your shoes for good measure. They were a bit chewed, but serviceable.

Two wolves were out cold, another one was wheezing like an old set of bellows and the final one resembled a living question mark.

“And how are you holding up, Reginald?”

Oh, so that was his name.

“I’m fine, I think. Mr Anon did most of the work. Glad I saw you through the gap.”

“You’re rather alert for someone who’s been breathing in HDG-laden sweat for the past few minutes, Reg.” you remark. It was weird, he hadn’t stumbled in the van, or fallen under the command of your voice or anything really.

“Oh, it’s nothing really. I’m asexual, I think it’s called.”

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Pub: 19 Nov 2025 12:36 UTC

Edit: 24 Nov 2025 15:03 UTC

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