More than expected

“Yes,” Mia says into his chest. “More than I expected.”

Adam’s hand moves in her hair.

“Breaking her was the part. I thought I wanted to watch you fuck her. I did. But watching her drop the voice she uses on me at work — that was better. She came in as the expert. She left on the floor. I liked that more than I thought I would.”

He kisses the top of her head. They go back to sleep with Remy’s panties in the drawer.

In the evening Mia comes home late enough that Adam already has dinner on the stove. She drops her bag, kicks her shoes off, and the look on her face is not tired. It is fed.

“She was there,” she says.

Adam turns the heat down. “Tell me.”

Mia leans against the counter and does.

Remy had come in early, which was already wrong. Remy was never early. She sat down like the chair might bite her. Hair done. Makeup heavier than usual, the kind you wear when you are trying to cover a night. She walked carefully. Mia saw it from the aisle. The same hitch Mia had faked a day before, except Remy’s was real.

Mia let her sit for twenty minutes before she said anything.

Then she rolled her chair into the gap.

“Morning.”

Remy’s “morning” was small. She did not look at Mia’s mouth. She did not look at Mia’s hands. She looked at her screen like it could save her.

Mia kept her voice office-quiet.

“Sleep well?”

Remy’s throat moved. “Fine.”

“You sure? You look like you slept on a floor.”

Color hit Remy’s ears. She typed something that was not words.

Mia spent the morning in pieces. A comment when she passed behind Remy’s chair. Sit up. You were better on your knees. Said so softly the next cubicle only heard two women talking. A look at Remy’s water bottle. Swallow. You remember how. When Remy stood for coffee, Mia watched her walk and said, without looking up from her keyboard, “Careful crossing your legs in those jeans.”

At eleven they were both at the printer. Nobody else. Mia took the pages out of Remy’s hand before Remy could.

“You were quiet in standup,” Mia said. “That’s new. Usually you have notes on how I do my job.”

Remy stared at the tray. “I don’t have notes.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Mia leaned in just enough. “How’s your throat?”

Remy closed her eyes for a second. “Mia.”

“Answer me.”

“Sore.”

“And your cunt?”

Remy’s voice dropped to almost nothing. “Sore.”

“Good.”

Lunch was worse, because Mia made it ordinary. She sat across from Remy in the break room like they were colleagues. She asked about a file. She asked about a deadline. Then, when the room emptied, she said, “You left your panties in my drawer. I opened it this morning. Thought about putting them on your desk.”

Remy went white.

“I didn’t,” Mia said. “I’m not messy at work. I just wanted you to know I still have them. Trophy. Like I said.”

Remy did not eat.

In the afternoon Mia sent her a Slack that was only a period, then walked over and stood behind her chair with a hand on the backrest, professional to anyone passing.

“You don’t talk down to me in this office,” she murmured. “You don’t talk down to me in my house. You don’t talk down to me when my husband’s cock is in you. If that mouth starts again, I will remind you in a room with a door. Nod if you understand.”

Remy nodded.

“Use words.”

“I understand.”

“Who permitted it.”

Remy’s fingers froze on the keys. “You did.”

“Louder than that, but not loud.”

“You did.”

Mia patted the back of the chair like a manager pleased with a report, and went back to her desk.

By four Remy was doing whatever Mia asked without the old tilt. Print this. Move that meeting. Stay late ten minutes. She stayed. When Mia put a file on her desk and said “Good girl” so quietly it could have been nothing, Remy’s breath caught and she said nothing back.

Mia tells Adam all of it standing in their kitchen, still in her work clothes, eyes bright.

“She didn’t say one bitchy thing all day. Not one. She looked at me like I might send her to the floor again in front of the copier. I teased her every chance I got. The walk. The throat. The drawer. She took it. I think she hated that she took it. I think she was wet anyway. I didn’t check. I wanted her to sit in it.”

Adam’s hands are on her waist before she finishes.

“You liked going back to work with her like that.”

“I liked owning the next desk,” Mia says. “I liked knowing she could still feel you when she sat down. I liked that she knows the only reason she got your cock is because I handed it to her.”

He picks her up.

Mia’s legs go around him on instinct. He carries her two steps to the couch, shoves her underwear aside, and lowers her onto his cock in one heavy drop. She is already wet from the story. The stretch knocks the last of the office out of her mouth.

She sinks to the root and stays there, forehead against his, still talking while he holds her ass and starts to move.

“I want you to fuck more girls,” she says. “Not just the first of the month. Not just Lana’s little leash. I want a list. I want to pick them. I want to watch you put that cock in women who think they are better than me and I want to take it apart in front of them. I want Remy to hear about it without being invited. I want you to fill someone new while I sit there and decide when she gets to cum. I want—”

He thrusts up into her and she gasps, then keeps going, riding the words and the cock together.

“I want more. I want you used on other cunts and then back in me. I want to come home like this and get lowered onto you while I tell you who is next.”

Adam fucks up into her, and Mia holds on and keeps moaning.

After a long time, she says something out loud.