The boss calls

My phone rings, and they look over. James looks shocked to see me, while Sarah looks smugly satisfied, which isn’t the usual facial expression for someone sporting a butt plug.

I answer the phone while running upstairs to get away from Sarah’s fuck noises.

It's Joe, my boss. He wants to talk details ahead of a meeting with his own boss. Shit, I was going to try and get in early today in case he wanted to go over this... He complains about the phone connection and hangs up, dialing in on Zoom on my laptop. Since he wants to ask me questions while he reads through the report, I click off my video so that I can get dressed. He asks the occasional question, but they’re easy ones and mainly reflect he hasn’t read the report. I consider my earlier theory, that he was cute but dumb, and he must have got the job because he slept with somebody.

As my boss reads, and I wait for another easy question, I can still hear them down there, and it’s... distracting. My hand creeps under my shirt as if it had a mind of its own, and I begin to tease my tits. It's not like my boss can tell. In fact, the situation is kinda hot. I pull off my top and pluck at my nipples as I watch my boss read to himself, with lips moving, and listen to Sarah and James from downstairs.

Sarah and I have had something of an arms race for months. As in, who can act the sluttiest. I didn't mean to start it. I was dating this guy, and we were all watching tv. No big deal. The guy and I were off to one side, snuggling on the couch, under a blanket. Sarah was lying on the floor in front of us. The movie was boring, so I squeezed his dick. I knew the guy was soon to be history, and I was feeling a little sentimental. Not really about him, because he was tedious and small minded, but I had already started grieving the loss of his cock. It wasn’t a perfect cock. His was fairly small, with a bend to the right, but it usually smelled nice—like the soap I’d used at summer camp—and was extremely reliable. A squeeze or two, and he got a hard on. A few minutes of effort, and he’d come. And when I blew him, his size made it a cinch to get my mouth to his pubes, which made me feel pornish without the usual gagging. And then he’d be so appreciative that he’d get me off as well. Okay, the guy was 23, so it’s not like I was some sort of sexual magician.

So, anyway, I was feeling that it’d be nice to give him a little present before the breakup, which he wouldn’t see coming. But my intended blowjob wasn’t meant only as an act of Christian charity—I knew I’d miss his little dick with its predictability and soapy smell; I was fond of it, and I think I already mentioned that the movie was slow. So, anyway, I’d prolonged the sex by blowing him only during commercials (the movie was bad, but not so bad I wanted to miss the plot), and so it wouldn’t have been all that tough for Sarah to notice my head bobbing away at the guy’s midsection, even if I was covered by the blanket and making an earnest effort to keep audible slurping to a discrete minimum. So, the next night, the same guy’s over, and I’m trying to explain how it wasn’t him, it was me, blah, blah, as if I’d actually dump someone because they were too awesome and I’m just not ready for someone so awesome. Just as I think I have him going with my story of psychological woe, Sarah wanders by us, topless, supposedly oblivious, on her way to the kitchen for a glass of wine. Her timing was as bad as her sluttiness. He’d literally had tears in his eyes while he tried to explain that he wasn’t all that awesome and I wasn’t all that terrible, a narrative line that was very soon to get him whisked out the door so that I could grab a beer and watch the news. Then—blam—his eyes go dry as they ogle a brand new set of boobs. We’re silent, and I notice the erection of a small tent in his pants. Sarah then walks back by, turns to see us, feigns horror, slaps her hands on her boobs and runs off, wine slopping out of her glass. It was almost like I could see and hear the grinding machinery of his mind wondering if he could wheedle me into break-up sex. I’d glanced at my watch, made a quick calculation, and said we could go back to my room for 7 minutes if he cleaned up the wine she spilled. He was quick, of course, but not so quick that I didn’t miss the beginning of my show, which pissed me off. When I’d yelled at Sarah that she’d made me miss the beginning of my show, she’d pointed out that if I was going to fuck anybody with a nearby hard on, I’d need to remember to set the recorder.

The next weekend, I amped things up by giving another blowjob with her in the room. Different guy, different movie, and this time, I kept my eyes open and was making some hard eye contact with Sarah while the guy blew his load into my throat.

Thinking about that blowjob, I felt my breath quicken, and so I turned off my audio—last thing I wanted was for Mr. Pretty Boy to hear me panting. I looked up, and he was maybe halfway through the report. I thought back to the new cock which I’d entered into the slut contest. Much bigger and straighter, and so impressive to Sarah’s glazed eyes, but the guy himself was only okay. Too much hair, too sweaty, a bit of a gut, twice as old as my 23 year old, but worst of all, he was a micromanager. As soon as I’d popped his head into my mouth, his meaty hands had grabbed my neck and basically co-opted my oral creativity. Annoying. I’ve sucked a lot of cock in my day, and my grades have tended to be excellent (amazing, awesome) accompanied by religious commentary (ie, lots of “Oh My Gods”, “ Jesuses,” ”Christs”). With that sort of cv, I just don’t need to be **** to go a little slower or go a little faster. I’m like, dude, I can read your frickin’ mind, and I’m motivated, so let me do my thing. The best part was that he was lying back, eyes closed, while I showed my stuff to Sarah, whose hand looked like it was typing ninety miles per minute under her gauzy cotton dress. Nevertheless, I was wet then, and I’m wet now, as I recalled sucking him off while Sarah watched.

She’d responded by starting to leave her bedroom door open whenever James came over—since our rooms were adjacent, I’d not been able to avoid the shrieks and their writhing around in the dark. Sarah was being so loudly graphic that James was constantly telling her to shut up, which made her shout about how he’d need to **** something down her throat if he was going to keep her quiet. Last night, she’d made a point of leaving the lights on and being really loud. This morning, I’d left my own door partially open and begun to masturbate under a sheet when I heard them moving around in the hall. With my eyes partially open, I was able to see them in the hall, watching, while my sheet drifted to my hips, until I came with fury. And that’s probably why I’d forgotten the bra this morning, I was running a little late.

And then, a few minutes later. I’d seen them doing sexual gymnastics in public. Wearing a butt plug in the kitchen while getting loudly fucked may not have been expressly forbidden n our lease, but it definitely kicked things up a notch in our competition. I was at least quiet. As I recalled our slut contest, I’d propped my feet up on my desk, so I could get the leverage to jam the fingers of my left hand into my slit with eyes shut,

My boss had quit talking. Silence. I could see him looking expectantly into the zoom video, and—shit—I was staring back at my red faced self, with one hand on a nipple, and another down my pants.