Chapter 12

A couple weeks after that night with Molly, things at work hit a weird rhythm. The boss was busier than usual—some big merger or whatever—so our "sessions" were shorter, more blowjobs than full-on fucks. I didn't mind; it gave me time to focus on actual assistant duties, like scheduling and reports. Molly and I? We hooked up maybe once a week, alternating who "had the bigger cock." Turns out, she loved getting dominated as much as dominating, but only on her terms.

One afternoon, the boss called me in. No door lock needed—this was business. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across his desk. "We have a potential new client. Big fish. Meeting's tomorrow."

"Cool. Need me to prep anything? Notes, slides?"

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Not that kind. This one's... personal. Like with George."

Ah. Another "stress relief" gig. "Got it. What's the deal?"

"His name's Victor. Mid-50s, divorced, runs a tech firm. Likes 'em young and eager. You'll meet him at his hotel suite after our dinner pitch. Impress him, seal the deal."

I nodded. "Preferences? Top, bottom?"

"Versatile, but he'll probably want to top you first. Play it by ear. And hey—wear those purple ones. He might like 'em."

The next evening, after the boss nailed the pitch over steak and whiskey, I headed to Victor's suite. He answered the door in a robe, glass of scotch in hand. Tall, salt-and-pepper hair, built like he still hit the gym but enjoyed life too much for abs. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

"You must be the 'assistant' your boss mentioned. Come in."

The suite was swanky—king bed, jacuzzi, skyline view. We small-talked over drinks; he was charming, worldly, with stories from travels I'd only dreamed of. But soon, the robe slipped open, revealing he was commando and already half-hard.

"Strip for me," he said, settling into an armchair. "Slow."

I did, starting with my shirt, revealing my smooth chest. Pants next, down to the purple undies. Victor whistled. "Nice touch. Turn around."

I spun, letting him admire. "Lose 'em," he commanded. I did, my cock springing free—already eager.

He stood, robe fully open now. His dick was thick, veiny, about 8 inches hard. "On your knees."

I knelt, taking him in hand, stroking base to tip. He groaned as I licked the head, then swallowed him down. Victor wasn't gentle—he gripped my hair and thrust, testing my limits. I gagged once but powered through, deepthroating like I'd mastered with the boss. "Fuck, kid, you're good," he grunted.

After a few minutes, he pulled out. "Bed. All fours."

I complied, ass up. He lubed up—thank god—and pressed in. Thick, but I took it, moaning as he filled me. Victor fucked like a man who knew what he wanted: hard, steady, spanking my ass red. "Tight little slut," he growled. I pushed back, meeting his thrusts, loving the fullness.

He flipped me onto my back, legs over his shoulders, and re-entered, stroking my cock as he pounded. We came together—him deep inside, me spraying across my chest. He collapsed beside me, panting. "Your boss is lucky. Tell him the deal's on."

Mission accomplished. As I dressed, Victor slipped me a wad of cash. "Tip for the service." I pocketed it—no pride issues here.