Chapter 13

The Victor deal closed faster than anyone expected. Forty-eight hours after I left his Chicago hotel suite—still feeling the faint ache in my thighs and the sticky reminder of his cum between my cheeks—the contracts were signed, the wire transfer hit, and the boss was in a mood I’d rarely seen: almost cheerful.

Friday afternoon he buzzed me into his office. The blinds were half-closed, golden late-afternoon light striping the carpet. He was already pouring two fingers of scotch into heavy tumblers.

“Sit,” he said, sliding one glass across the desk toward me. “To another one in the books.”

I took the seat opposite him, lifted the glass. “To Victor. Enthusiastic guy.”

The boss chuckled—low, satisfied. “He texted me this morning at 6:47 a.m. Said, and I quote, ‘Your boy is gifted. First refusal on the next Chicago trip. Tell him I’ll double the tip next time.’”

I raised an eyebrow, took a slow sip. The scotch burned smooth down my throat. “First refusal? That’s a new one.”

“Means if we’re ever back in town and he needs… stress relief… you’re his before anyone else gets a look-in.” He watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes sharp. “You okay with being pre-booked like that?”

I shrugged, set the glass down. “Pays the bills. He wasn’t a creep. Just… lonely, I think. Divorced, rich, powerful, but nobody to actually talk to. The sex was almost secondary.”

The boss studied me for a long beat. “You’re getting philosophical about the clients now.”

“Maybe.” I leaned back, crossed one ankle over my knee. “Or maybe I’m just figuring out where the line is between ‘this is my job’ and ‘this is starting to feel personal.’”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he stood, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of me. Two fingers under my chin—gentle, but firm—tilted my face up so I had to meet his eyes.

“There is no line,” he said quietly. “There’s what I ask. What you’re willing to do. What I pay you for. Everything else is noise.”

His thumb brushed slowly across my lower lip. I felt my pulse kick up.

“And if the noise gets louder?” I asked, voice steady even though my cock was already thickening in my slacks.

“Then we turn up the volume until it drowns everything out.” He leaned down until our mouths were barely an inch apart. “You still in, CockSlut?”

I closed the last fraction of distance and kissed the pad of his thumb, then the inside of his wrist. “Always.”

His breath hitched—just once—before he straightened, breaking the moment like it had never happened. “Good. Go home. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

I stood, adjusted myself without shame. “You sure you don’t want me to stay? I could… return the favor.”

He smirked, already turning back toward his chair. “Tempting. But I’ve got calls. Go. Fuck Molly if she texts. Or don’t. Your choice tonight.”

I paused at the door. “You’re in a generous mood.”

“I’m in a winning mood,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

I left with the taste of scotch and his thumb still lingering on my tongue.

That night Molly showed up at my door a little after nine. No knock—just the soft click of her using the spare key I’d given her “for emergencies” a few weeks earlier. I was on the couch in nothing but the purple bikini briefs the boss liked, half-watching some mindless action flick, half-scrolling my phone.

She stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and dropped her coat.

Underneath: nothing but the harness and the big dildo already strapped in place. Black leather, thick silicone cock jutting obscenely forward. She looked like sin personified.

“Boss said you earned a reward,” she announced, voice husky. “So I’m here to collect.”

I laughed, already hardening. “He’s got jokes now?”

“He’s got excellent taste.” She crossed the room in three strides, heels clicking on the hardwood. “On your knees, CockSlut. Let’s see if that shiny new deepthroat skill works on silicone too.”

I slid off the couch without hesitation, knelt in front of her. The dildo—molded directly from the boss’s cock—was inches from my face, already glistening with a light sheen of lube she must have applied on the way over.

“Look at you,” she murmured, threading her fingers through my hair. “Already drooling for it.”

“Not drooling,” I shot back, but my mouth was watering. “Just… motivated.”

She tugged my head forward. “Prove it.”

I opened wide, took the head past my lips, and sank down slowly—practicing the same tilt I’d finally mastered with the real thing. The silicone was cooler, less yielding, but the shape was identical. I relaxed my throat, breathed through my nose, and kept going until my lips kissed the leather harness and the fake balls pressed against my chin.

Molly sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck… that’s new.”

I hummed around the length—vibrations she could feel through the harness—then pulled back slow, letting my tongue drag along the underside the whole way.

“Again,” she ordered, voice rougher now. “All the way. Hold it.”

I obeyed. Down. Hold. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. My eyes watered; my lungs burned. When I finally pulled off I gasped, strings of spit connecting my lips to the glistening tip.

“Good boy,” she purred, stroking my cheek with her thumb. “Now get on the bed. Ass up. I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”

I scrambled to comply. Face down, ass presented, knees spread. She climbed behind me, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades to keep me pinned, the other guiding the thick head to my hole.

“You still open from earlier?” she asked, teasing the tip against me.

“Boss didn’t fuck me today,” I reminded her, pushing back impatiently. “Just my mouth.”

“Poor baby.” She pressed forward—slow at first, then all at once, burying the entire length in one smooth stroke.

I groaned loud enough the neighbors probably heard. “Fuck—yes—”

She didn’t give me time to adjust. Her hips snapped forward, hard, fast, relentless. The harness slapped against my ass with every thrust; the dildo dragged over my prostate on every out-stroke. I fisted the sheets, moaning into the pillow.

“Tell me,” she panted, leaning over me so her breasts pressed against my back. “Tell me how much you love being filled.”

“Love it,” I gasped. “Love your cock—fuck—don’t stop—”

She reached around, wrapped her hand around my leaking dick, and stroked in time with her thrusts. “Gonna come for me, CockSlut? Gonna make a mess all over your nice sheets while I fuck you stupid?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

I came hard, untouched except for her hand—thick ropes painting my stomach and the bed. She didn’t stop. Kept pounding through my spasms until I was whimpering, oversensitive, begging.

Only then did she pull out, flip me onto my back, and straddle my hips. The dildo—slick with lube and my own ass—bobbed between us.

“Clean it,” she ordered.

I sat up, took it into my mouth without hesitation. Tasted myself—musky, bitter, filthy. I sucked eagerly, eyes locked on hers the whole time.

When she finally pulled free she was breathing hard, cheeks flushed. She unbuckled the harness, let it fall, then crawled up my body until her dripping pussy hovered over my mouth.

“Your turn,” she whispered. “Make me come on your tongue. Then we’ll see about round two.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

We didn’t stop until after 3 a.m. When we finally collapsed—sweaty, spent, tangled in ruined sheets—she curled against my side, head on my chest.

“You’re getting dangerous,” she murmured, already half-asleep.

“How so?”

“Because I’m starting to like coming home to you.”

I kissed the top of her head. “Same.”

She was quiet for so long I thought she’d drifted off. Then, softly: “Don’t let the clients turn you into someone I don’t recognize, okay?”

I tightened my arm around her. “Promise.”

She fell asleep like that—soft breaths against my skin, one leg thrown over mine.

I lay awake a while longer, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long we could keep pretending this was still just sex.