Chapter 15

The boss’s penthouse was downtown—glass walls, minimalist furniture that screamed “I have money but no time for bullshit.” We buzzed up from the lobby, rode the private elevator in silence. Molly fidgeted with her hoodie strings; I squeezed her hand once, quick, before the doors opened.

He greeted us at the door in jeans and a crisp white shirt—casual for him, which meant something. “Come in. Food’s ready.”

The spread was catered: charcuterie, fresh salads, grilled salmon, bottles of chilled white wine. We sat at the massive dining table overlooking the lake. Small talk at first—weather, the Victor deal, how my London trip went.

“You impressed him,” the boss said to me, pouring wine. “Said you’re ‘discreet and talented.’ High praise from a man who doesn’t praise.”

I clinked glasses. “Just doing my job.”

Molly stayed quiet, picking at her salad. Finally, she set her fork down. “Okay, enough bullshit. Why are we here? You don’t do social lunches.”

The boss leaned back, swirling his wine. “Perceptive as always, Molly.” He looked between us. “I know about you two.”

My stomach dropped. Molly’s eyes flashed. “Know what, exactly?”

He smiled—thin, knowing. “That you’ve been fucking. Regularly. Since the training sessions. My place has security cams in the lobby; I’ve seen you leave together. And honestly? I don’t care. As long as it doesn’t interfere with work.”

Molly crossed her arms. “Then why bring us here? To give your blessing? Or to remind us who’s in charge?”

“A little of both.” He turned to me. “You’re valuable. More than just a CockSlut now. The clients love you; deals are closing faster. But entanglements…” His eyes flicked to Molly. “They complicate things.”

She scoffed. “Like you complicated things with me?”

The air thickened. I glanced between them—old wounds surfacing.

The boss sighed. “That was different. I ended it because it was getting personal. I don’t do personal. Neither should you two—if you want to keep this arrangement clean.”

Molly leaned forward. “Clean? You pimped him out to Victor, to George, to half the Fortune 500. That’s clean?”

“It’s business,” he said flatly. “And he’s compensated. Handsomely.”

I cut in. “What do you want from us? To stop?”

He shook his head. “No. I want you to be smart. Keep it casual. No jealousy. No drama. And…” He paused, eyes darkening. “Maybe share occasionally.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “Share? Like what—we tag-team him for your amusement?”

The boss shrugged. “Or I join. Think of it as… team-building.”

I felt heat creep up my neck. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly.” He stood, walked to the window. “You both enjoy him. I enjoy him. Why not combine forces? No pressure today. Just… consider it.”

Molly looked at me, a mix of anger and something hotter. “Your call,” she whispered.

I swallowed. “Maybe… we try it. Once.”

The boss turned back, smiling. “Excellent.”

What followed was a blur of hands, mouths, skin. We moved to his bedroom—king bed, silk sheets. Clothes shed in a trail. Molly kissed me first—fierce, possessive—while the boss watched. Then he joined, his mouth on my neck, hand sliding down my back.

“On the bed,” he ordered. “Molly—straddle his face. Let him eat you while I fuck him.”

She hesitated, then climbed on, lowering her pussy to my mouth. I licked eagerly—familiar taste, her moans vibrating through me. The boss spread my legs, lubed himself (always prepared), and pushed in—slow, claiming.

“Fuck—he’s tight today,” he grunted.

Molly rocked against my tongue. “Because he’s mine right now.”

The boss laughed, thrusting deeper. “Ours.”

I came first—from the overload, her taste, his cock hitting every spot. Molly followed, grinding down hard as she flooded my mouth. The boss pulled out last, stroking himself over us, painting our chests in thick ropes.

After, we lay tangled—me in the middle, her head on my shoulder, his arm draped over both.

“That wasn’t awful,” Molly admitted, voice soft.

The boss chuckled. “High praise.”

I stared at the ceiling. “So… this is the new normal?”

“Maybe,” he said. “If it works.”

Molly traced patterns on my chest. “As long as nobody gets hurt.”

We cleaned up, dressed, left without much more talk. In the elevator, Molly grabbed my hand.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. You?”

She squeezed. “Weirdly… yeah. But if he pushes too far…”

“We stop,” I finished.

She nodded. “Deal.”

Monday morning felt strangely normal—at first.

I walked into the office at 7:58, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, already mentally running through the day’s schedule. Molly was at her desk, typing, hair pulled back in a low knot, wearing the charcoal pencil skirt that always made her ass look criminal. She didn’t look up when I passed, but her lips curved—just a flicker.

“Morning, CockSlut,” she murmured, barely audible.

“Morning, Ice Queen,” I shot back under my breath, not breaking stride.

Inside my own little office I dropped into the chair, exhaled, and opened my laptop. The boss had already sent three emails: one confirming a 10 a.m. call with a potential new client in San Francisco, one asking me to pull last quarter’s financials for the merger file, and one single-line message timestamped 6:12 a.m.:

Wear the green pair today. And no plug. I want you open.

I stared at the last one for a long second, cock already stirring. No plug meant he planned to fuck me sometime before lunch. No plug also meant I’d be walking around all morning feeling empty, hyper-aware of my ass, waiting.

I changed in the single-stall bathroom down the hall—slipped the emerald-green bikini briefs up my legs, adjusted the thin straps so they sat high on my hips, then tucked myself carefully. The pouch was snug, almost sheer; if I got hard (and I was already halfway there) it would be obvious. Good thing my suit jacket was long enough to cover most sins.

When I got back to my desk the boss buzzed me in immediately.

He was standing at the window, back to me, hands in his pockets. The city skyline stretched behind him like a painting. He didn’t turn when I closed the door.

“Lock it,” he said.

Click.

“Jacket off. Shirt too. Leave the briefs.”

I complied—tie loosened but still around my neck, shirt unbuttoned and shrugged off, jacket draped over the arm of the couch. I stood there in nothing but the green underwear and my dress shoes, cock now fully outlined and straining.

He finally turned. Eyes dark, hungry.

“Very nice,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Turn around.”

I did—slowly—let him see the thin strip of fabric disappearing between my cheeks.

“Hands on the desk.”

I braced myself, palms flat on the polished wood. He moved behind me, pressed the full length of his clothed body against my back. I could feel how hard he already was through his slacks.

“No plug,” he whispered against my ear. “Means you’re going to feel every inch when I slide in. No warm-up. Just me.”

My breath hitched. “Yes, sir.”

His hands slid down my sides, thumbs hooking under the waistband of the briefs. He didn’t pull them down—just tugged them aside, exposing my hole.

“Spread your legs a little more.”

I did.

He reached around, palmed my cock through the fabric. “Already leaking. You like knowing I can just… take you whenever I want?”

“Fuck yes.”

A low chuckle against my neck. “Good.”

I heard his zipper, felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against me—hot, slick, already dripping. No lube bottle. He must have used spit. Or maybe just precum. The thought made me clench.

“Relax,” he ordered softly.

I tried. He pushed.

The stretch was immediate, intense—barely any give at first. I hissed, knuckles whitening on the desk. He didn’t stop. Just kept the steady pressure until the head popped past the ring, then another inch, another, until half his length was buried.

“Fuck—” I groaned.

“Too much?” he asked, but he didn’t pull back.

“No. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. One long, slow thrust and he bottomed out—balls pressed tight against me, hips flush to my ass. I moaned loud enough I was sure Molly heard it through the door.

He stayed still for a moment, letting me adjust, letting me feel every thick vein, every pulse.

“You’re so fucking tight without the plug,” he muttered, voice rough. “Like the first time.”

I pushed back, grinding against him. “Then fuck me like the first time.”

He pulled out halfway—slow—then slammed back in. Hard.

I cried out.

He did it again. And again. Soon the rhythm was brutal—deep, punishing strokes that rocked the desk, made my arms shake. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise. Every time he bottomed out his balls slapped mine; every time he withdrew I felt empty, ****.

“Tell me who owns this ass,” he growled.

“You do.”

“Louder.”

“You do—fuck—boss, you own it—”

He reached around, yanked the front of the briefs down so my cock sprang free. Wrapped his fist around it. Stroked rough, fast, matching his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Right now. While I’m balls-deep in you.”

I did—almost embarrassingly fast. Cum shot across the desk, splattered the financial printouts he’d asked for earlier. My ass clenched hard around him; he groaned, thrusts turning erratic.

“Fuck—take it—”

He buried himself to the hilt and came, flooding me. I felt every pulse, every hot spurt deep inside. He held me there, grinding, milking himself dry until we were both trembling.

When he finally pulled out I felt the wet slide of his cum leaking down my thigh. He stepped back, breathing hard.

“Stay bent over,” he said. “Don’t move.”

I heard him zip up, walk to the door, open it.

“Molly,” he called casually. “Can you come in here for a second?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

She stepped inside a moment later. I didn’t dare look back, but I could imagine her face—cool, amused, maybe a little surprised.

The boss didn’t even try to hide it. “He’s leaking. Clean him up.”

A pause. Then her heels clicked closer.

I felt her behind me—fingers spreading my cheeks gently. Then her tongue—hot, wet—licking a slow stripe from my balls up to my hole, gathering the boss’s cum as it dripped out.

I moaned, low and broken.

She hummed against me, tongue dipping inside, scooping, swallowing. “Tastes like victory,” she murmured against my skin.

The boss chuckled. “That’s enough. We’ve got the San Francisco call in twenty.”

Molly gave one last slow lick, then stood. “Yes, sir.”

She walked out without another word.

The boss came back, handed me a tissue. “Clean the desk. Then get dressed. And keep the green ones on. I like knowing you’re sitting in a wet spot all afternoon.”

I wiped up my own cum, still dazed. “You’re evil.”

“I’m effective,” he corrected, already turning back to his computer. “Now go. And tell Molly I want coffee. Black. No sugar.”

I pulled my briefs back into place—definitely wet now—then my pants, shirt, tie. By the time I walked past her desk my face was burning.

She looked up, innocent. “Coffee run?”

“Black. No sugar.”

She smiled—slow, filthy. “Coming right up. You okay? You look… flushed.”

I leaned down, voice barely a whisper. “You licked his cum out of my ass in front of him. I’m never going to be okay again.”

Her smile widened. “Good. Tonight—my place. Bring the green ones. I want to see how much is still leaking when I fuck you again.”

I straightened, adjusted my tie. “Yes, ma’am.”

She laughed softly as I walked away.

The San Francisco call went fine. I barely heard a word of it.

All I could think about was tonight.

And how much deeper this was going to get before someone finally drew a line.