Holt’s New Rules

You sit back at your desk, pulse racing, the small black remote burning in your pocket. Amy is trying - and failing - to look professional at her desk directly across from you. Her cheeks are flushed, her thighs pressed tightly together, and every few seconds her fingers twitch against the edge of her desk.

You turn the remote to level 3.

Amy’s eyes snap to yours instantly. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp as the plug in her ass begins vibrating harder, pumping more of the warm cum-whiskey mixture deeper into her bowels. You watch her shift in her seat, biting her lip so hard it turns white.

Your phone lights up.

Amy: You fucking asshole. I can feel it leaking out. It’s running down my crack.

You smirk and turn it up to level 5.

Amy’s hand flies under her desk. She’s clearly pressing her fingers against her pussy, trying to stop herself from moaning out loud in the middle of the bullpen. Rosa glances over suspiciously for a moment before going back to her knife.

You decide to escalate.

While everyone is distracted, you text her:

You: Go refill Boyle’s water bottle. With your ass.

Amy reads the text. Her eyes widen, but the look she gives you is pure feral lust. She stands up on shaky legs, grabs Boyle’s empty water bottle from his desk while he’s in the bathroom, and disappears toward the restroom.

She returns four minutes later, face flushed crimson, walking very carefully. She sets the bottle back on Boyle’s desk, now noticeably fuller.

Amy sits back down and immediately texts you.

Amy: It’s mostly your cum and Holt’s whiskey. I pushed it out into the bottle while the plug was on full blast. I had to finger my ass to get it all out. I’m disgusting.

You reward her by turning the plug to maximum.

Amy’s whole body jerks. She grips the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles go white. A tiny, choked whimper escapes her throat before she can stop it. Terry looks over, concerned.

“You okay, Santiago?”

“Fine!” she squeaks, voice way too high. “Just… cramps.”

You keep it on high for a full minute, watching her suffer beautifully. When you finally turn it off, she slumps forward, breathing like she just ran a marathon. A visible wet spot has formed on the back of her skirt.

But Amy isn’t done being filthy.

She stands up again, walks straight to Gina’s desk while Gina is filming herself for Instagram, and “accidentally” knocks over Gina’s giant iced matcha latte. While Gina dramatically complains, Amy quickly dips her fingers — still slick from her own pussy and ass — into the drink, stirs them around, then pretends to help clean up.

She even adds a thick glob of the leaking cum-whiskey mixture from between her cheeks while Gina isn’t looking.

Later, you watch Gina take a long sip through her straw and make a face.

“Ugh. Why does this taste… salty today?”

Amy has to hide her face behind a case file to keep from laughing - or cumming on the spot.

At 4:45 PM, you get a text from Holt:

Holt: My office. Both of you. Bring Gina’s matcha and what’s left of Boyle’s “enhanced” water. Do not clean yourselves.

You and Amy slip into Holt’s office again. The second the door is locked, Holt wrinkles his nose slightly at the smell of sex and depravity rolling off you both.

“Impressive,” he says dryly. “Disgusting. But impressive.”

He points at the floor in front of his desk.

“Kneel. Both of you. Open your mouths.”

As you and Amy drop to your knees side by side with your tongues out, Holt picks up Gina’s stolen matcha and Boyle’s water bottle. He pours both liquids slowly over your heads and open mouths - a filthy, sticky mixture of cum, pussy juice, ass juice, and whiskey raining down on you.

“Swallow what you can,” Holt commands calmly, filming with his phone. “The rest stays on your skin. You will both wear it under your clothes for the rest of the shift.”

Amy is shaking with arousal, licking cum off her lips like it’s ambrosia.

Holt unzips his pants, pulls out his surprisingly thick, hard cock, and slaps it across both of your faces.

“Open wider. It’s time for your next assignment.”