Enjoy your night with Amy. Host a shindig for your workers.

The Cookout

You make out the entire ride up the elevator to Amy’s apartment. You’re barely aware of making it inside, your hands sunk deep into an ass that has only moderate depth. Your clothes are off in a flurry, tossed at random. A cat yowls behind you as one of Amy’s shoes is flung over your shoulder. The sight of a yellow cat bristling with indignation greets you as the two of you topple onto her denim sofa.

“Is this… denim?” you ponder aloud as you line up to impale her.

“It seemed kinda cool and designy at the time,” she mutters between pants. “Don’t hate.”

“No, it’s… festive.” It isn’t. It looks like the kind of thing you’d only see in a Diablo Cody movie. Who the fuck cares. It’s completely forgotten by the time you make the transition, uninvited, from Amy’s pussy to her ass.

She tenses, clenching her thighs to block access. “Whoa there, who green lit that?”

It feels like ages since a woman’s questioned anything you’ve attempted to do to them. “I want it,” you explain.

Pinned in place by your weight, Amy calmly arches an eyebrow. “You know I’m a vice president, right?”

“Junior vice president.”

She manages to look affronted. “You really want to try that tactic with me, ramming your rod up a vice president’s ass, new guy?”

God, when she puts it that way. You part her thighs with relative ease and try again. “Be gentle,” is all the more protest the junior vice president makes as you enter her.

It’s tight. Probably too tight. That only suggests inexperience, that her previous lovers were daunted by her title, that what was forbidden to other men is open season to you. So you fuck her harder. On some level, you know it’s probably dangerous, reaming a woman’s virgin ass with nothing but her cum for lubricant, especially to do so this forcefully, but you’re committed. And it feels so good, watching little Amy Marchiano with her glasses cockeyed from being fucked like a fleshlight squeezing her eyes shut as she comes and comes and comes.

You clean up in the guest bathroom, she in the master, and meet back up on the couch where she turns on a movie without a word, curling up with a happy sigh under your arm, your sweaty naked bodies sticking together as some foreign film you’ve never heard of lulls the two of you to sleep. Some time later, you awaken with your dick in Amy’s mouth. The TV is still on, though the screen is dark, its blackness backlighting the junior executive as she greedily sucks you to readiness. She’s dressed again, somehow, but it’s in this skimpy, backless top and hip-hugging pants, both black; as soon as she sees your eyes opening, her pursuit is abandoned, albeit gently.

“What time is–”

“I wanted to dance for you,” she says quietly.

You rub your eyes. Is this a dream? If it is, then the dream has lasted weeks now. Amy’s still there, though. “Dance for me? Amy, I’m plenty ready. You don’t have to…”

“I can see you’re ready,” she says with a smug laugh, then takes a slow lick along the length of you. “I can taste it, too. But I learned how to do this, and I wanted to show someone. It’s been in my head for a while now.”

“I saw you at the club. I know you can dance, hon.”

“You didn’t see me do this, Will.” Her wink should be too corny by far, but she makes it work. Probably because then Amy’s on her toes, pivoting to position her ass right in your face.

She raises her voice. “Alexa, resume playlist.”

With a smile, you fold your arms behind your head to watch the spectacle unfold. Instead, however, a loud and up-tempo tune begins mid-song. You don’t recognize it, and it’s most certainly nothing sexy. Then the lyrics begin, and some portion of your brain at last places it.

Gummi Bears!
Bouncing here and there and everywhere
High adventure that’s beyond compare
They are the Gummi Bears!

Amy’s eyes threaten to pop out of her head. “Alexa, stop! Oh my god, stop – stop, Alexa, please please stop what you’re doing!”

She finally manages the right volume and order of words to persuade the device to halt, right as a second verse begins. After a moment of massaging her temples, she regains the capacity to look you in the eyes. “Look, I can explain. It popped into my head earlier today, but only the tune, and I couldn’t remember it, so I had to hum it into this app that… You know, never mind. Take two. Alexa, play the next song.” She grumbles under her breath, “and if you fuck me again, I’m throwing you out the window.”

Hoping the sentiment applies exclusively to the Alexa, you return your hands to position and wait to see what’s in store. The second song is more what you expected. Nothing you recognize, but it’s slow, and sultry, and perfectly suited to the sexual gymnastics being performed on your person. It’s a lap dance, in your experience an especially intimate one, little more than a series of maneuvers and caresses that are functionally jacking you off only with less speed and more variety.

Not to say she isn’t skillful. Far from it. Her body is practically fluid, it’s so lithe and graceful. As she squats over your crotch, gyrating hers back and forth with so little pressure you can barely feel her grazing your skin, you take the initiative to grasp at her hips, but she slaps your hands away and gives you a hard look that says, quite simply, front room rules. So you let her work, her hair whipping over your head, scantily covered cunt grinding on your thigh, sculpted ass quivering in range of your breath. There’s no shortage of friction in the right places, and as if to prove it, with the song winding down, she lowers her hips onto your lap, sandwiching your cock into the same crevice that’s inhaled her pants, and three gradual but firm thrust of the hip later, her pants are stained, and her ego satiated. Then she pivots, throwing one leg effortlessly over your head, and rides your quivering member hard against her clit until she joins you.

“Learn that at the learning annex, did ya?” you inquire as her cheek collapses against your shoulder.

She snickers. “Not exactly.”

“So where, then? Not the sort of skill set one expects a prestigious and so very intimidating executive to possess, I have to say.”

She shifts from one cheek to the other, now looking away from you. “You know. It’s just one of those things.”

You’d only been teasing, but her reticence is a sudden reminder of all that’s gone unsaid between you. “I don’t know. One of what things?”

“I just thought you’d like it, OK? Don’t… complicate things.”

“I did like it. What’s so complicated about telling me where you learned it? That how you paid for college or something? Nothing to be embarrassed about.” You know a few moves yourself, after all, and if it never paid the bills, it’s definitely done its part seducing Avery, Ingrid, and now Amy.

But Amy stands and shakes her head. Her heretofore skittish cat rounds the corner, rubbing itself against her ankles and glaring at you possessively. “You wonder too much. Why can’t you just accept that you enjoyed it and not go poking around trying to see how the sausage gets made?”

“Does this have something to do with how you were watching me with Ingrid on that video?”

Amy sighs, bending down and scooping the cat into her arms. “You were right, Guinevere. We should’ve driven here separately.” She doesn’t glance back as she leaves the living room. “I’ll get you a cab, Will.”

---

Back home, Mo is no more forthcoming than Guinevere as you unload to him about the night’s happenings, from the creep at the restaurant to the open fucking at the club to Amy’s unbidden and far-too-professional lap dance. You still haven’t gotten around to looking into how the company recorded you having sex with one of its custodians, much less why; still, that mentioning it moved Amy from evasion to outright dismissal is unnerving, at the very least.

Sleep is slow in coming, and less restful than you’d like. Damn that Amy Marchiano! You could have had such a good thing, but she has to keep going and reminding you of how not quite right all this amazingness is. Why can’t you simply fuck a bunch of insanely hot coworkers and not get sucked into having to wonder about your good fortune?

Or can you? Maybe it really is that easy.

By the time you’ve finished breakfast, what began as shower thoughts tinged with paranoia and soon blossomed into idle fantasy has become a hard plan. You feel a little guilty, calling Jenna on her day off, but she assures you she’s perfectly happy to round up contact information for your staff, even apologizing for not having done so sooner.

“It’s fine, Jenna. We’ve only been at it a week. Can’t have everything put together yet, can we?”

“Discipline is important, sir.” Even over the phone, her voice could turn butter into concrete. “The guidelines and procedures exist for a reason, and there ought to be consequences for deviation. I’ll accept whatever disciplinary measures you deem appropriate first thing Monday morning.”

There’s a momentary sense of deja vu that you can’t quite explain, but either way, you’ve taken up enough of her weekend as it is. “Just get me the numbers, OK?”

“Already on it, sir. And I’ll send recommendations for my punishment later this afternoon. So you have time to think about what you’d like to do to me.”

The line goes dead.

You take a few minutes to do as the woman suggested, by which time the contacts have been added to your phone. The message is already composed; all that’s left is to attach recipients and press send.

After all, you’ve been the boss of your department for a week now and hardly interacted with your staff. You’ve met everyone, you’re pretty sure, but most of them only in passing. It’s short notice, but you also stress that it’s completely optional. A casual Sunday cookout at the new boss’s house. Come over, eat some food, make some chit-chat, then home in time to rest up for the week. Simplicity itself.

And if it leads to a casual hookup with Giada the… Damn. What is she? Tech support? Whatever. You’ve already run the gamut from custodian to VP, so it’s not like it could disqualify her. Anyway, fucking Giada would be fine, too.

A few folks reply, to RSVP or offer to bring a dish. You’re too busy tidying up the place and shopping for groceries to reply. Plenty of prep work, too. Slicing up fruit, arranging the charcuterie, shaping the burger patties. More egg salad, for sure, though there will probably be leftovers. Ah, well, it’s expected.

You’re feeling ready. Your new bags set is ready to entertain; speakers in place, calibrated and playlists (sans Gummi Bears theme) ready; up on the deck looking down on your yard, the grill is hot, kebabs skewered, an oscillating fan set to help keep the occasional fly from making a dive at the food. “The only fly authorized to go down here today is mine,” you quip to Mo. He doesn’t laugh. You remind him not to hump your employees. “The only one authorized to… bleh, this audience.”

The doorbell rings. Mo is on it in a flash, and there’s a spring in your step as you make your way to the door and allow in…

“Oh, hey Phil.” You hope you didn’t sound as disappointed as you feel. “What’s up, buddy?”

He clasps your hand heartily. There’s a six-pack of some tasty-looking fruity drinks in the other. They nicely match his eyesore of a Hawaiian shirt. “Not much, boss man. Hope I’m not too early?”

“Hell no, come on in. Lemme get you to the cooler. I’m starting up the grill soon, so you’re up next on door duty.”

The next guest to arrive is Melissa, let in by Phil as you start up a few ears of corn. She’s a heavyset gal comprising what is somehow the majority of Monarch’s workforce, i.e. normal-looking people. It sure doesn’t seem that way most of the time, but you suppose if you were riding a bus with five supermodels and ten regular folk, it would be the former who arrested your attention then, too. She’s followed by Justin and Dustin, who arrive together and immediately apologize for needing to duck out early; Patrik, who greets you in his thick European accent and raves about your lovely home despite having entered via the gate in the privacy fence put up by the previous owners; then Anne, filling out the two-weeks-to-retirement quota in case this all blows up. Beers are distributed, food is picked at, music is lightly swayed to. It’s a disturbingly normal employee barbecue.

Until it isn’t.

There’s a tap on your shoulder as you’re rolling over the brats. Despite months of working at Monarch, there’s still a moment when you worry your eyes might pop out of your skull at the sight of the two women standing before you. “Oh hey there, Giada!” Thank goodness you can remember her name and not just her tits. Though the blonde… you have no idea. Should you know? How could you forget–

“This is my friend Sasha,” she offers. The two smile brightly, dazzlingly. “I know you didn’t say if we could bring anybody, but… I hope that’s OK?”

You peer back and forth between them. They beam back, seeming happy to stand there and be peered upon. “Yeah, hey, the more the merrier. Can I get you ladies something?”

Giada accepts one of Phil’s drinks, while Sasha takes a beer. “I love your house, Mr. Saxon,” Giada coos. “It’s so nice. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Oh, thanks. Nice to have some people in it for a change. So, Sasha, what’s your story? Obviously you know where we work and all, but…”

“Who, me?” She pats at her chest. “I’m actually interning at Monarch myself. I just started, so I know I have a lot of work ahead of me before I’m ready, but so far I just love my internship. Everybody is so nice, and there’s so many awesome people.”

Of course she works for Monarch. You didn’t even know they had interns. How did that not come up in your IT security audit? “Glad you’re liking it. I’m pretty new myself – lots of opportunities if you work hard, and…” If the CEO randomly decides you’re one of his dudes, you finish in your head, but manage to mutter something generic about sticktoitiveness.

“Oh, I work so hard.” She nods.

Giada nods with her, almost in perfect synchronization. “She so does. Everybody says so, Mr. Saxon. Everybody. She’s like a machine.”

The two wells of giggling are practically indistinguishable. “I’m so glad to be here, Mr. Saxon. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

You wave off their thanks. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what’s with…” You gesture to their outfits. “Didn’t I say this was a casual thing? You didn’t need to get all dolled up for a Sunday barbecue.”

Giada frowns, looking herself over as if worried she’s somehow offended you. Sasha does the same, except for where her friend tugs at the gaps in her top to make sure her nipples are covered. “Is this OK? Your invite said we could wear whatever we wanted, so I thought–”

“We thought–”

“Yeah, we thought, wouldn’t it be nice to wear something cute?”

“Do you think we look cute, Mr. Saxon?”

“I think you look _so _cute.”

“I think you look so cute!”

They turn back to you, suddenly silent. “You look great, girls,” you say, and their smiles return double strength.

“Aw, thanks, Mr. Saxon!”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Saxon!”

You nod. It’s dizzying, like having a conversation with someone with two heads and one brain. “Well make yourselves at home. Brats’ll be done soon, but there’s plenty to eat down there already.”

“It smells really good,” Giada says after a sniff.

Sasha inhaled deeply. “So good.”

In unison, the girls each pat one of your arms, then make their way down the stairs to the patio’s lower level, where the rest of the guests are congregating. “He’s really hot,” murmurs Sasha just loud enough to be audible.

“I told you,” Giada replies.

You resume cooking. Something tells you that you could go down there and take them to your bedroom and fuck them without any foreplay whatsoever, but with coworkers here, that prospect feels awkward in a way that even nailing Amy on the floor of that dance club didn’t. For now, you grill. Cooper arrives with a taco salad his wife sent with him. Kaiden, sure to be another favorite of the big man upstairs, announces his arrival with a “whatup, brahs?!” and whoop of self-congratulation, evidently for having managed to find the place.

It’s pleasant, weirdly, watching your people make small-talk and hang out. Not enough to make you want to host this kind of thing regularly, but if you can make your eyes (and ears) forget Giada and Sasha sunny presence, it’s a mostly normal day in the midst of your sex-crazed recent days. Justin and Dustin play Patrik and Melissa at bags. They’re all terrible at it, but nobody cares. The drinks are cold enough, the day warm enough.

After about an hour, a brief rain drives the group inside. It doesn’t look gloomy enough to last, you hope as you head in behind them. As people settle into the living room, the doorbell rings once more, and this time you motion for Phil to let you get it.

“Mia? What on earth are you doing here?”

She tries to squeeze past you, but you block her. “I heard this was where all the cool kids were today. Like an open thing, right?”

“I’m having some of my staff over. My staff. How did you even hear about this?”

She shrugs. “I hear things. Come on, don’t be like that. I brought brownies.” You’d assumed she only had her arms behind her back to thrust her tits in your face, but indeed, she produces a tupperware container. When the door doesn’t open wider, she pops the lid, revealing a tray of brownies so perfectly assembled they can only be store bought.

“I’m not trying to invite the whole company, Mia. Sorry. Maybe whoever runs the archives can hold a barbecue for you guys.”

Her free hand takes hold of the hem of your shirt, tugging insistently. “Don’t be like that, babe. Let me in, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

You remember Amy – the old Amy – saying something about Mia and her tendency to ingratiate herself hard. The words stretched across her half shirt are proving accurate enough, certainly. Just as you’re about to dismiss her once again, though, Cooper appears beside you. “Hey, who we got here?”

“Hi, cutie. I’m Mia.” She releases your shirt and extends a hand, the back of it raised.

“Mia, hi. Cooper, IT tech. Work in Will’s department.”

“I guessed that you might.” She holds out her container to him, and he accepts it. “I brought brownies, Coop.”

His cheeks flush with pleasure at hearing a nickname come from this thoroughly tattooed vixen. “They taste great.” He winces. “I mean, they look great.” He glances at the now-closed lid. “I mean, I’m sure they’ll look great. And taste. Oh, never mind. I’m going to put one in my mouth before I sound any dumber. Oh and geez, let’s get you in out of the rain, huh?”

She takes Cooper’s hand and lets him drag her past you into the house. “Mind if I join you?”

Cooper does not. You’re not sure how to feel about the barbecue crasher, but there’s no longer anything to be done for it. Mia turns to flash a smile at you, though the droplets forming on the underside of her half-exposed tits is more than thanks enough for letting her presence slide.

Sure enough, the rain lets up soon, and the group heads back outside. Mia has latched herself onto Cooper, though her eyes are on you more than him. Except waiting for you in the back yard are still two more women. Monarch women. The blonde you recognize from your staff, though you’re embarrassed to realize you can’t recall her name. The other you’ve never seen except for her resemblance to every other gorgeous airbrushed model in every advertisement you’ve ever seen.

“Mr. Sexon,” the blonde greets you, but then her eyes go wide, mortified. “Saxon! Sorry. Oh my gosh. I had something in my throat. Frick frick frick! I’m so embarrassed.”

“And not the thing she wishes she had in her throat,” offers the dark-haired one in a full-volume murmur. “Heyo!”

The blonde one elbows her, exasperated. “Oh my gawd would you shut up, Missy!” She turns back to you, a vision of contrition. “I am so sorry. Let me try that again? Good afternoon, Mr. Saxon.”

She exhales with relief at having gotten it right this time. “Good afternoon. Wondered if you were going to make it. Glad you did.” You’d sort of forgotten she existed, actually, but now that she’s here, you are indeed glad.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it! And I hope it’s OK, but I brought my sister, Missy.”

“Her single sister,” Missy clarifies, flirtation broadcasted in her smile as she takes your hand.

Missy’s sister rolls her eyes. “Subtle, Missy. Though maybe you’re beginning to see _why _she’s single.”

The woman looks like she could summon a husband out of thin air with a crook of her finger, but then again, so do what’s now most of the women here.

“So what division do you work for, Missy?”

“What division?”

“At Monarch, I mean.”

“Oh. No, I don’t work there, sorry to say.”

“Really?” It’s almost strange that women that hot could exist outside of Monarch. “Well, glad you came in any event.” It’s probably hypocritical to welcome her considering your attempt at keeping Mia out, but the decision is made. Speaking of, you see Mia swaggering over, Cooper trailing along in her wake like he wishes she’d wanted him to.

“Hello there, pretty lady. I’m Missy. Can I just say, I love your ink.” One hand grazes the flowers along the blonde’s shoulder, the other along the seashells along Missy’s forearm. “Where’d you get it done?”

Rather than being put off by this total stranger’s forwardness, the women both smile graciously. Missy, in fact, reciprocates, the arm Mia’s not touching probing the tattoo beneath Mia’s breasts. “Same place you got yours, I’ll wager,” she replies with an bemusedly arched brow. Not to be outdone, Missy’s sister runs her fingers along the hexagonal grid on Mia’s neck. All you can think is that if this continues for ten more seconds, they’ll start fucking right here in your yard.

“Mr. Saxon! Come _play _with us!”

It takes a **** of will to redirect your attention, but you’re not sorry you did. Giada and Sasha are standing by the bags apparatus, waving you over with enough vigor that you’re surprised Giada’s tits don’t burst free. Melissa is with them, though she’s practically invisible, lost in their glow. Behind you, you can hear appreciative murmurs as the girls compare and fondle one another’s ink.

Oh, what the hell. The next couple hours are frittered away tossing bean bags towards holes in the company of two very impressed work friends (“oh my gosh, Mr. Saxon, you got it in my hole again!” “that sounded so bad!”), two openly flirtatious sisters (“one of these times I’m gonna bend over to pick up these bean bags and just stay that way until he does something” “Missy! he’ll hear you!”), and one obnoxious but consistent sycophant, who wastes no opportunity to kneel at your feet to gather your bags for you.

Games end. Taco salad is eaten. (It’s really tasty.) Anne and Melissa, Phil and Patrik head home, the last with a knowing wink and pat on the shoulder before helping a thoroughly drunk Kaiden home. Justin and Dustin make it a while longer, the two plainly trying to make progress chatting up Missy and Missy’s sister. Missy fixes a long look at you over Dustin’s shoulder, one brow lightly arched as if to question whether you mean to let this slide. Scrapping with subordinates for first go at her seems more than tacky, however, so you look away. A few minutes after, the sisters disappear into your house with the boys. A few more minutes later, the girls swagger back out as you hear a car starting out by the street. (Wasn’t Missy wearing white earlier, and her sister black?)

By dusk it’s down to the seven of you seated in a circle around the patio sipping strawberry margaritas. Cooper, well past whatever loyalty his wife’s admittedly tasty taco salad may have bought him, eyes Mia like a wolf. Giada and Sasha cross their legs in unison, the gap aimed right at you; Missy and Missy’s sister flounce into their seat, the hunger in their eyes not dulled by whatever mess they made in your house; Mia perches sideways on Cooper’s lap, the voluptuous underside of her tit brushing time and again against his cheek while she disregards him for you. Mo sleeps in a sideways heap by the back door, dreaming of more scraps of grilled hot dog.

It’s Cooper, however, who finally says it. “So, Will, are we gonna do this or what?”

Five girls sit up straighter, all eyes riveted on you. What exactly is he asking? Some kind of… orgy? From any of the girls, that would be the only way you could interpret the volcano of sexual energy erupting around the rim of the patio. Cooper, though? Skinny, dweeby Cooper, rocking his socks and sandals combo? Cooper, with his wife waiting at home?

But also, Cooper, who brought the tasty taco salad.

“Mia? Take Cooper inside and show him a good time.”

Rather than be affronted, her smile slowly broadens, confirming you did not misread things. If that’s what it takes to impress you, whoring herself out to your staff… “Come on, Coop. Let’s get you wet, babe.” She takes him by the hand and leads him behind her as he gives a little whoop of excitement. The other four women giggle nervously as you look – OK, as you ogle – between them. Thinking. Weighing.

“You throw the funnest parties, Mr. Saxon,” Giada says after a time.

“I’m having such a fun time,” agrees Sasha.

“I dunno, I’ve only had low to middling fun so far,” Missy adds coyly. “Four, maybe five inches of fun. Definitely not enough.”

“Four or five…! Sir, I swear she is not always like this. Missy, I am totally going to kill you when we get out of here tonight.”

“You mean if we get out of here tonight.”

Sasha considers. “I mean… I wouldn’t say no to some more fun. If, you know, anybody wanted to have some…”

“Yeah,” adds Missy’s sister, “I wouldn’t want to humbug or anything. If… like she said. Someone wanted to… have fun.”

“I would really, really like some fun right now,” Missy concurs.

Giada tilts her head, studying you, imploring you. “Can you think of anything… fun? Mr. Saxon?”

Your head shakes. “I swear, it used to feel like you girls made me work for it.”

“Do you want to work for it?” asks Missy.

“I like working for you,” says Giada.

The faint noise of Cooper crying out in shrill release leaks from the house. Everyone waits. After a moment, Cooper leans his head out from the sliding door. “Thanks for that, boss man. I’m gonna head out.”

“Don’t forget your taco salad.”

“Keep it. My wife won’t care.”

“What an understanding lady.”

Cooper grins bashfully, glances back over his shoulder at what can only be Mia. “Eh, she knows stuff like that doesn’t count.”

“Very understanding.”

“See ya tomorrow, Will.”

With a brief wave to the crowd, he leaves. A moment later, Mia sways out, in the midst of tugging her half of a shirt down to cover half of her tits. “I did him good, Will. Just like you said.”

“Um, I think you still have some of his… you know…? On your face…?” Missy’s sister points out, pointing shyly.

Mia winces, then drags a finger through a paler pool on her pale cheek, delivering it promptly between her ruby lips and sucking it clean. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Ten sets of thirsty eyes return to you.

You let out a long-held sigh. “Strip, girls.”

Reactions vary. Mia’s eye’s glitter greedily as she gets to work on the buttons of her skimpy denim cutoffs. Sasha jumps up triumphantly. Giada is close behind, quickly asking her friend to help her remove her intricate top. Missy’s top being pulled off over her head muffles an utterance of “about time.” Her sister gives her an exasperated look as she discards her skirt.

“Hey, you were wearing my top,” Missy’s sister observes.

“It fit nice, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Thief.”

“Slut.”

“You guys are _so _funny.”

“I was just going to say that!”

“I can’t believe my baby sister shaves her pussy.”

“I can’t believe you’re looking, Missy!”

“Sex feels so much better with my pussy shaved.”

“Oh my gawd, that tattoo on your hip looks so hot.”

“Aw, thanks! Are those real?”

“Are any of these real?”

A peal of giggles. Meanwhile, Mia’s taken advantage of their distraction to busy herself removing your pants, wasting no time getting your cock between her lips. “God, thanks. Anything to wash the taste of Coop out of my mouth, right?”

You take a handful of hair and push her back down. That shuts her up.

“Oh man, looks like we’re late to the party!”

“Missy, don’t be greedy.”

“She looks _really _hot going down on him like that.”

“He looks even hotter fucking her face like that.”

Giada and Sasha each take one side of you, the former attempting some twisted form of dominance over the other by guiding your lips to hers while the latter has to settle for pressing her cunt into your palm. You’re not looking to make out, though. This is a show. You turn away from Giada, forcing her to content herself with sucking on your neck, rubbing her flawless body against your side. Missy watches Mia intently, scanning for an opening, any means of getting her out of her path to your dick, while her sister stands by awkwardly, unsure how to proceed.

You have a remedy for that. “You two, make out.”

“With my sister? Mr. Saxon, don’t you think that’s kind of…”

“Kind of hot as fuck,” Missy finishes, pulling her sister’s lips to hers. Tongues – both of them – are out in moments as resistance is shattered. Her finger’s, almost talons, sink deep into the soft, copper ass of your subordinate. She whimpers as her inclination to hesitate is destroyed, replaced by a rapidly growing need. Missy watches you over her shoulder, making sure you appreciate the spectacle of the siblings’ four fat tits pressed together at your command.

Mo’s eyes slowly open, watching you patiently, already forgiving you for disrupting his slumber.

“Sasha. Giada. Get down there and help her.” Mia gasps for air as you release her, just the opening your underling and her lunch buddy needed as they drop to their knees and thrust their questing tongues into the foray. They share your cock back and forth as casually as if it were an ordinary day, sharing a cup of yogurt in the break room or their gripes about their workloads. Today, their workload is purple-red and glistens in the solar-powered garden lights.

You wonder for a moment how much your neighbors would pay you right this moment to tear down your privacy fence.

You come. Mia, Sasha and Giada share it back and forth, Mia especially keen to show you how delighted she is to be allowed to gargle executive spunk. Some of the girls come, too, you think. Missy’s sister certainly sounds like she is, gasping and squealing on the end of Missy’s excitedly wiggling tongue. Giada acts like she did, at least, though how she could come just from a mouthful of your jizz, you have no idea. Maybe she was playing with herself while she blew you. Maybe they were playing with each other. Who knows.

“Would you hold still up there? Hard to eat your little box when you keep squirming around on me, sis.”

“Oh my god, Missy, I can barely stand up when you… oh frick, frick, frick! That’s so unfair…”

“Those girls are such little lezzie sluts.”

“They’re crazy hot like that, though.”

“So are you glad you let me in yet or what, Will?”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that you invited the whole department today except for your secretary. Damn. Jenna would have made quite an addition, even in this company.

You help Mia to her feet. She pranced around your yard three quarters naked all day, but what a difference a quarter makes. Without clothes in the way, her body is an entire canvas of tattoos, some of them images, much of it a grid of hexagons that gives her a look like she’s a creation in a video game or something. Maybe she is.

“Store bought brownies, huh.”

“What can I say? I can suck a basketball through a coffee straw, but I can’t cook for shit.”

You can’t help but give her a laugh, but you follow it with a pinch on the ass, driving her into the house ahead of you. “Come on, you girls promised me a good time now, didn’t you? Everybody inside. Tits down, asses up. Shake a leg, ladies!” You clap at them as they hustle inside, giggling in anticipation.

You feel good about yourself for having the presence of mind to hold the door for Mo.

By the time he shambles inside, the girls are lined up on the living room floor, each of them on hands and knees with their butts in the air, chins on the ground, awaiting your pleasure. From their asses, Mia with her array of tattoos is the only one you can even tell apart. Add the hair, and you’re still at a 50/50 guess as to which blonde and which brunette you’d be sticking it in. You don’t care.

As you bottom out in whichever Monarch slut happens to have positioned herself at the left, you can’t help but wonder what any of this is, or where it’s going. Maybe you should find out, but every day it feels easier and easier to sit back and ride it out, avail yourself of the next willing, waiting pussy. The girls are beside themselves with how lucky they are, competing to see who can be most eager to please you, moaning and giggling and begging for a few more thrusts before you move on down the line. It’s hard to remember why things shouldn’t be exactly this way.

The weekend closes in a sweaty, cummy pile of bodies scattered around your bed, most of them still doggedly half-fucking in their sleep. All in all, the day was a major success in networking.

Decision time! Voting is open to EVERYONE, patrons or no!
“Mia” modeled by Bee Phillips.
“Missy” modeled by Valerie Cossette.
“Missy’s sister” modeled by Laurence Bedard.
“Giada” modeled by Alicia Parr.

Your options:

• Take up Jenna on her request for a proper punishment.
• Make it up to Jenna for not inviting her.
• Cooper seemed grateful. Maybe you can get him to tell you more about what’s going on around here.
• Missy’s sister seemed weak. You might be able to pressure her into giving something up.
• Mia is clearly **** to ingratiate herself and works in the records room. Maybe you can put that to use.
• Missy was the only non-Monarch girl there today. Maybe she has a useful outsider’s perspective, could comment on any changes she’s seen in her sister since working there.
• You can only assume Giada and Sasha would be so happy to answer some of your questions. Besides, Giada’s been in the department longer than you; maybe she can dig something up in the network.
• Find a fresh hot babe and fuck her. Why fight it?