The entire Sunflower Realty building was built around Erin's office. It was glass-fronted, more like a stateroom, and through the windows she could see the lobby, all of the reception area, the large meeting room, and the break room.
The IT offices were down a hallway and out of her sight - thankfully - so it was a forty-five second walk from Mark's office to hers. And during that forty-five seconds, Mark did more thinking than he ever had in his life. It wasn't just a walk, after all. It was a rehearsal, a brainstorming session, and a strategy meeting, all in one.
So, I guess you enjoyed that as much as I did.
No. Too obvious, too straightforward. Like something out of a porno movie.
You wanted to see me?
Too limp. Too likely to provoke a repeat of what she'd already demonstrated - that, technically, she wanted him to be in charge.
How about "You wanted to see me?", with a smirk? A playful acknowledgement of what had occurred - while maintaining the boss/employee pretext.
Mark thought about it, then shook his head. Erin was not interested in the boss/employee 'pretext'. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.
Should we talk about the other night?
Mark made the sound of a game-show failure buzzer with his mouth. That escapist fantasyland had never been given voice - part of the thrill of it had been that they didn't need to talk for the most part. He'd instinctively known what she wanted, how she wanted him to act, what she was willing to do, how she wanted to be treated… and he'd been able to sense when it was over, and her 'boss' switch was turned back on.
However he chose to handle their meeting, it couldn't involve requiring explicit explanations from her. That would just be weak. Still, though-
"I still want to know what the fuck is going on," he muttered to himself, passing the washrooms that warked the halfway point between IT and the records room, and Erin's office. He would have to infer those answers, not outright ask for them.
This is a clear case of sexual harassment.
Mark chuckled. He wouldn't say that… but it was also very true. He was her employee. She could fire him. They had met outside of work, as two civilians. That was still problematic, but considering how much he'd enjoyed it, Mark was willing to hand-wave any ethical concerns. Now… at work? That was different. He had always been professional. He had never participated in any of the crude jokes the other IT guys had whispered in the break room. He had made a point, in fact, of not sexually harassing Erin. Prior to the appearance of 'Eevie', he would have said their relationship was as cold as a dead fish.
So now what? Should he put a stop to it?
That question put a stop to him - at the water cooler placed just at the end of the hall, in an alcove that was also filled with realty trade magazines and two chairs. It was placed just before he would come into view of Erin's office.
He realized that if she did anything inappropriate at work, Erin could be in a lot of trouble. And if it came to that, and he reported her to HR, it would be a total mess of epic proportions. Her reputation would be ruined. A subtle look of revelation came onto his face as the discovery of consequence dawned on him:
Erin trusted him.
Mark took a sip of water from a cone-shaped cup and crumpled it. Did he trust her?
Maybe he did. He at least respected her. A young career woman with a body that would be the envy of any porn actress. Behind that freckled exterior she had grind and she had hustle. He thought about the realtor who had been shitcanned out of the company after she overheard him talking about grabbing her tits, while making baby suckling noises. Had he been the first to do that?
Of course not. Every man who had ever seen her, himself included, had dreamed of fucking her, and sucking her tits, and pumping backshots into her thick, round ass. He had not been the first. But Erin started out as a secretary, then a realtor, then a manager… and then CEO.
She waited until she was CEO to act. Because she had correctly calculated that if she reported all the horny dudes giving the side-eye while she was fetching coffee or selling houses, it would have given others an excuse to hold her down. To say she was 'a problem'. No, she had bided her time. And when she did take action, she did it against an annoying asshole that nobody really liked anyway. Ben Ziedrich, the man in question, was the sort of guy who would grope your wife's breast at the Christmas party and then claim it was an accident.
"Don't go into this assuming she's stupid," he muttered. "She can read between the lines as much as you."
He prepared to move his feet again. One thing that was clear from her message was that it had been sent by 'Eevie', not Erin. So, this wasn't just a meeting about the network, or email accounts, or whatever old Zelda Berryline was complaining about next.
Mark began walking. He rounded the corner, looking sharp in his usual work attire - powder blue shirt, apple watch, slacks, tie. He saw Erin at her large mahogany desk, behind her computer. The blinds were not drawn on this day. She had removed her facemask. Almost as soon as he saw her, she saw him.
He had perhaps ten seconds to decide what to do. What to say. How to handle what was to come. No phrase or greeting or question seemed to have the effect he desired - to show thoughtfulness, competence, and understanding of the stakes. To not look too vulnerable, or stupid. Like an animal being led around by his dick. But also to not be too vulgar, too uncareful.
His hand grasped the knob of the door. And as he turned it… Mark finally figured out what he was going to do.
Mark closed the blinds.
It was the first thing he did after entering Erin's office. He did not greet her, nor she him - he did not make any statement of ultimatum of any kind. He did not even approach her desk, as he would have on any other day, waiting to be harangued about the next ridiculous IT task.
Instead, he traveled along the front of the office, where the large windows were, and closed the custom zebra blinds, not uttering a word as he activated the first, then the second, then the third. Each time, he saw the slits narrow and the outside world disappear - the reception area, the lobby, the entrance, and a few people moving around in the break area and meeting room. Of these, he thought the receptionist, Sheila - who baked delicious banana cookies and loved to gossip - would be the most likely to notice him. But she never turned around. And to everyone else, it would seem completely innocent. They would assume that Erin has ordered him to do it, probably as prelude to a tongue lashing.
Speaking of which, he had little to fear from prying ears. Erin's office was basically soundproof. Mark knew that because on a few occasions when she had yelled at people in her office with him nearby, he had noticed her gesticulations before he'd heard a hint of shouting. Sheila, she of the banana cookies, had told him that there was no way to eavesdrop - one could, she said, polish the window with their ear and still get only unintelligible swells of muted noise. Mark thought probably she knew this from trying it herself.
He closed the blinds on the third of the large windows, then circled back to his point of entry and twisted shut the smaller blind on the door's window. Only then did he spare Erin a glance. He knew his maneuver had had an effect - but now he would learn what kind.
If it was confusion, boredom, eye-rolling, or worse yet, red-faced rage, then he had severely miscalculated. But as far as taking control of the room went, it was his best plan. And luckily, her response was none of those.
Erin was biting her bottom lip gently. Her face was slightly flushed, and her freckles were standing out even more than usual. She even looked a little nervous. It even seemed difficult for her to meet his gaze.
You subby bitch , Mark thought, not unkindly. He didn't even have to slide a hand between her legs to know that she was absolutely creaming herself from a man walking into her office, closing her blinds without asking for permission - indeed, making a point of not asking - to hide what might transpire from the outside world.
He realized he had done her a kindness. He had removed the need to say anything, any potential awkwardness. The parallel between the now-isolated office, and the hotel room from the prior day, was not lost on him. He had shown her he understood . And when he came to stand in front of her desk, now in a position of dominance instead of uncertainty, she offered him a nervous smile that felt like acknowledgement of that understanding.
Now he would hear the reason that she'd wanted him to come to her office, and signed the note 'Eevie'. Or so he thought. But instead of a conversation or business meeting, they simply shared a moment, staring at each other. His crotch was right at her eye-level across the desk, and her gorgeous, electric blue eyes - that Caribbean Island beach promo shot blue - flitted from his face to his crotch and back again.
After ten seconds, Mark was about to perhaps venture a question… but as he considered it, Erin got out of her chair. She didn't stand up from it. She slid out of it, out of sight, and he heard the soft patter of her hands and knees on the plush carpet. When Mark began to circle around the desk, coming to the other side (the back of the office was a solid wall - no windows to fear there) he found her crawling to meet him.
Well, he couldn't stop himself. His cock gave a twitch and the flow of blood unlimbered it from a tight package in his boxer-briefs to a column, which, given time, would only rise like a rocket. Seeing Erin on her all fours, her dainty hands supporting the weight of her busty upper body, her huge boobs struggling in her blouse against the gravity that desperately wanted to pull them directly to the floor, a hardon was coming… and there was no way to stop it. She was just so goddamn hot, and the puppy dog submissiveness amplified it a thousandfold.
She rose up her knees, hands politely kept in front of her, and knee-walked back and to the side a couple of shuffles. Whenever she framed her breasts like this with her upper arms, they always looked even more enormous, and today was no exception. But in staring at her absolutely massive tits, Mark initially missed what she had wanted to show him.
Her chair.
The boss' chair.
Ergonomic. High-backed. 360 degree swivel. Oak frame. Environmentally-friendly cowhide leather seat. Wood armrests, adjustable height. Mark knew exactly what it cost because he had helped to order it. Seven-thousand dollars. The chair in his windowless office had cost $59.99 from Wal-Mart.
She cocked her head toward it… and then bowed down, averting her eyes, pressing her breasts to the carpet, as if making an offering, a pose of utter subjugation. The message she was sending him was loud and clear. You're the boss… so please sit here. Sir. And they had played a very tit-for-tat game of dominance and submission, without saying a word.
Mark walked past her, turned, and sat down. The chair sagged a bit under his weight, and the leather gave a satisfying creak. "Crawl over here," he said, liking the way his voice sounded, taking the silly-but-satisfying liberty of imagining himself as a king and she as his concubine. Her instant obedience only added to the fantasy. She was dressed in her usual business attire, but there was no hiding the body floating beneath her blouse and skirt. The expensive wool wrapped around her hips looked ready to break a clasp just from the sheer amount of hips and ass beneath. Her silk blouse (silver, he now noted, not white) sagged down under the weight of what looked like two watermelons concealed within. Dark, sheer pantyhose completed the look, along with that fiery orange hair, pinned back. Her shoes were under the desk.
"Take my shoes off," he ordered her. "Massage my feet." He had no reason to be self-conscious of that part of his body - like the rest of him, his feet were well-kept. He studied Erin's face for any hesitation, and there was none. Instead, he saw a blushing desire to serve, as if the act itself, and the submission it represented, excited her. Before he knew it, she was prostrating herself and lovingly pulling off his brown, plain-toe Oxfords. She placed them obediently in a row, under the desk, and then lifted one of his sock-clad feet up, nestling it against her chest.
It was then Mark learned that among her many executive talents, Erin gave a great foot massage. The combination of her rotating thumbs putting pressure on the ball of his foot, and the spongy, marshmallow softness of her boobs, was like nothing else. He allowed himself a satisfied sigh. "Good girl," he said, and she instinctively leaned forward to let him caress her head with his big hand and rub a thumb on her forehead. He was pleased, and in turn, she was pleased because he was pleased. She was almost hungry to be of use.
Mark glanced at the clock on Erin's PC. He'd only entered the office a couple of minutes ago… they had time. Thinking back through the situation, it was safe - or at least, as safe as one could make it in an office. The office was soundproofed, the blinds were drawn, nobody had seen him enter. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feeling of being serviced by her.
"Take your tits out," he said, not opening his eyes yet. "Use them to rub my feet." He heard the perfect 'click…click…click' of blouse buttons, and then the feeling of soft, enveloping boobflesh wrapping around his foot returned, more intense than before. He even felt her puffy, inverted nipples rubbing against his mid-sole. Oh yes, he very much could get used to this. He couldn't keep his eyes shut for long, though, no matter how relaxing it was. He wanted to see her dutifully performing the act. He wanted to make that pale, freckled complexion redden under his gaze.
And so it was. First one foot, then the other, her blouse hanging open and her bra pulled up so that it wrapped around just below her collarbone, showing off her mammoth breasts. "Am I doing a good job, sir?" she asked, in a hesitant, submissive voice that was very unlike her usual tone at the office.
"Very," Mark said. "Come get your reward." He extended his hand. She leaned her face into it. He cupped her chin, rubbed a thumb on her cheek, and made her mewl and moan as she nuzzled his palm like a cat. At the end, he gave her face an affectionate little slap, turning her head a bit. A calculated move that paid off as she hissed in a soft breath and nibbled her lip
"Do you like it when I slap your face?" he asked.
"Yes sir."
Mark smiled. Erin swallowed and dropped her eyes slightly. "Sir…"
Mark cocked an eyebrow.
"M-may I suck your cock, sir?" She looked desperately at his crotch, showing how (wonderfully!) ashamed she was about the big package there and how much she desired it. She was doing them both a favor, Mark realized. Mark had started a slow burn, and Erin's message - not waiting to be told this time, but volunteering, was information about how quick - and how intense - she expected the encounter to be.
Still, Mark had been a fly on the wall in enough meetings to realize something that was true in realty as it was in life - you never take the first offer.
"You can say it better than that," he told her.
She moaned and blushed even more deeply. (Her complexion was, in this regard, the gift that kept on giving.) "Sir… may I… choke on your dick?" she tried. She both looked mortified about saying it, and clearly enjoyed it. But Mark decided she had more potential in her. He was in the mood to push his luck. He reached out a hand, took a grasp, and pulled her toward him, drawing a squeak.
His words poured like smoke into her ear. She whimpered… and then he released her to try again. Once more, with feeling. This time, her voice had a desperate edge to it. It wasn't an innocent, simpering ask, but a need :
"Sir… Master… please come to my office every day, fuck my face, and cum down my throat. I am a whore who is always available for your use. Please, feed me your cum, sir. You can even cum on my face and I'll walk around in front of everyone… without washing it off-"
Mark's hardon surged. Some of the words were his suggestions, but the last part had been an ad lib. And though he wouldn't expect her to actually do it, for many reasons, hearing her say she was willing to do it was dick-achingly hot.
"Good," he said, unable to hold back any more. Erin was driving him wild with her submissiveness, and he wanted the blowjob she was promising. He settled into the chair, widening his thighs a little, and beckoned her forward. Already anticipating the removal of his belt, the hot breath on his penis, and the firm but amusingly dainty grip of her small pale hands on his large cock. (Nothing like some nice, small hands, he mused, to make an already lucky man look even luckier.)
So, it could be said that Mark, despite the circumstances, was feeling calm enough. The first time he and Erin had met - when each of them had surprised the other - his heart had nearly exploded out of his chest. This time, though the high-wire act was taking place in a more dangerous place, in an office instead of a private hotel room - much of the danger seemed muted.
Erin unbuckled his belt. Reached into his boxers. Hauled out his mostly hard, throbbing meat, which jutted up in front of her trembling mouth in a gentle curve. She started kissing and slurping his knob, not wasting any time. Mark found himself enjoying it… and thinking again about that time he had been found masturbating at home, as a teenager, by his unexpectedly arriving mother. Being discovered at work - a professional and personal disaster - would be even worse.
His cock was in heaven - it was the time to enjoy Erin tonguing his pisshole and licking his balls while he groped one pillowy breast with a free hand and controlled her head with the other. It was no time to be worried, or for his hackles to be up. And yet-
What did I forget?
Step into the room.
See nobody outside.
Shut blinds on windows.
Shut blinds on office door.
What step had he missed? Erin swallowed half of his cock and started to bob up and down with her mouth. He looked down to see her elongated, plump-lipped suckface as she held the bottom half of his shaft firmly and slurped on the top half. But he couldn't get the memory out of his head.
Why?
Back then, he was sitting in a computer chair, just like now. His mother had opened the door. He had broken the sound barrier taking his hand off his dick, closing browser tabs, and covering himself. They had both maintained the pretense that he hadn't been doing what he was doing. She made a face-saving remark and left. A week later, a locksmith-
A chill went down Mark's spine. He had meant to lock the door . He had meant to punctuate his 'ownership' of her office by circling back and locking the door at the end. But he had instead turned to see her horny expression… and forgotten.
He turned his head to glance over his shoulder and back toward the door. He saw a barely perceptible change in the light - the subtle effect of someone, on the other side of the blinds, standing in front of the window and disrupting the slivers of illumination from the hallway. Erin did not have a personal secretary. There was no intercom. Sheila, who also covered the main reception desk, would inform Erin of visitors personally.
And then, a split second before the knob started to turn, Mark realized he was completely - no, royally - fucked.
The knob rattled and then turned. The door started to swing open, inward, shielding them for the barest of split seconds. Erin, who had his big, throbbing dick in her mouth, had no time to communicate or really do anything at all. In his own panic he barely felt her disentangle and move. He swiveled the chair back toward the desk as fast as he could, then pulled himself up to it.
"Miss Erin?" Sheila announced, carrying a folder of papers under one arm and a plate of banana cookies in the other. Whatever she meant to say next caught in her throat, since it was Erin she expected to see at the desk, and certainly not Mark.
"Hi, Sheila," Mark managed. "I'm just looking into some trouble with Erin's internet connection-"
"Oh!" Sheila chirped, in a way that seemed patented by nosy 49-year-old receptionists. "I see. Well, they couriered over these plans for the new office, and I wanted to make sure Miss Erin received them personally."
Don't come over here.
Don't come over here.
Don't come over here.
Don't come over here.
Mark's mind recited the plea like a repeating error message. But of course Sheila had to walk over to the desk, because she had her plate of banana cookies, and she couldn't every well just drop them on the floor. In a panic, Mark watched her approach. He realized he had no idea where Erin was; if she was just crouching on the far side of the chair, and Sheila walked right up the desk, they were screwed.
He spared a glance down and to his opposite side, away from Sheila. She was not there. It was a tickling grip on the cuff of his slacks that revealed where she had gone. Erin had folded her petite-but-busty body into the alcove beneath the desk, which would normally be occupied by the desk owner's legs, shoes, and maybe a wastebasket.
Mark scrambled to look busy. He very quickly typed 'msconfig' into the DOS prompt on Erin's machine, opening a window with a lot of technical-looking network diagnostic information - the same technique used by scammers to distract victims while remote accessing their PCs and draining their bank accounts.
He clicked his mouse importantly, surveyed the screen as if solving the world's most nefarious computer issue, and even reached to jiggle one of the monitor cables. Ladies and gentlemen, the Academy Award for Best Actor goes to Mark Holder, for "IT Guy Who Is Working And Doesn't Want To Be Bothered".
Sheila put the cookies on the desk and stood in front of it. "Thanks, Sheila," Mark said, making a point of not making eye contact. Rather, he looked vexed, he looked troubled, he looked like he had just discovered the modern-day equivalent of the Y2K bug. But he was punished for being affable and always friendly to Sheila in the past - because she absolutely did not want to leave without bending his ear a little.
"So, have you heard anything about what the company group event will be?" Sheila asked, sliding the plate of banana cookies in his direction.
"I heard maybe a charity fun run again," Mark managed, his brain working on autopilot. "You could ask Erin when she gets back-"
Sheila sighed and settled her hip against the desk, crossing her arms. She appeared to be settling in. That was not good. "Ugh, since when is running fun?" she groused, in a manner exactly typical of her age and secretarial, cookie-producing girth.
Mark tried to ignore her. He furrowed his brow as if he had encountered some problem on Erin's PC that only his amazing technical support skills could handle. Sorry, Sheila - I have a crucial IT problem here. The entire internet is going to explode if I don't concentrate on this and only this, to the exclusion of all else, for the next indefinite period of time. Your presence here is jeopardizing the entire network. So, if you could just find your way out the door-
He could feel Erin's presence brushing against his loose pant legs - his trousers were still unbuttoned, his cock still hanging out of his pants. His heart continued to beat like the Energizer Bunny.
"Are you okay, Mark?" Sheila asked. "Your face is flushed. Erin is sick too - there's a bug going around."
"I'm okay," Mark said, thickly. "Just a hectic morning." The understatement of the year. He begged all that was holy that she would find that satisfactory and leave. He felt like he was going to explode. It was like being in some sort of torture chamber.
But there was another nudge of the plate on the desk. Another expectant eyebrow. The pyramidal pile of banana cookies, cellophane pulled open just a smidge, inviting him to partake. "Well, I know the cure," Sheila said, and winked. "Come on, it's just what the doctor ordered."
I will murder you , Mark thought, with madcap desperation. It will be the first cookie-related murder within city limits .
He forced a smile to his face that was so fake, he was sure the jig was up. He reached out a trembling hand to take a cookie. If he was going to get rid of Sheila… it seemed this was the only way. He would have to take his medicine.
His hand closed around one. Gripped it. Pulled it from the plate… and then hissed out a quick breath as his wind caught in his throat.
Something was nuzzling against his penis. Something soft. Something that felt like plump lips, and maybe the tickle of a few wisps of auburn hair. Then, softness became wetness as a kiss was planted. Then a hand encircled his shaft.
No, he thought desperately. She wouldn't dare! No sane person would! She's not that crazy!
"Fuck!" Mask hissed under his breath, involuntarily as he felt his hardening cock slide into something warm and wet and massaging. He glanced up at Sheila and saw a look of concern on her face - she had noticed. He rubbed his thigh. "Muscle cramp," he bullshitted, grinning helplessly. "Played too much pickleball last night." He winced as the unseen force beneath the desk absolutely inhaled the entire length of his shaft. Erin was deep-throating him and even sliding her tongue all over his balls!
He took a big bite of the banana cookie, trying to give his face something - anything - to do besides turn cross-eyed from the ball-draining, silent suckjob he was receiving. Erin was giving him all of her throat. His cock was big - especially when something this unexpectedly nasty was driving it to new heights of erection - and she was choking down every inch!
"Feels good," he told Sheila, with a mouthful of cookie. then realized what he'd said, swallowed his chew, and corrected himself. "The texture, I mean. Nice and… soft."
Erin was absolutely skewering herself on his pipe. Her plump, perfect lips were pressing softly on his pubis and balls while her mouth made the perfect sucksleeve. She was moving up and down the shaft, slowly and firmly, not fast enough to make any noise. Mark felt a bead of sweat run down his temple. Erin was turning up the heat on her blowjob. Licking his balls. There were even almost inaudible little gagging noises while she pummeled her throat with it. He cleared his throat to cover up the noise.
"You know," he told Sheila, "maybe you're right. I might be a bit under the weather. I think I'll finish up here and… maybe take the morning off."
Sheila put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, you poor thing." Then, instead of leaving, she leaned over and put the back of her head on his forehead, eyes widening with alarm. "Oh my! You're burning up!"
Mark offered a weak smile as his heart nearly exploded. She was leaning forward. He immediately pulled his chair so close to the desk that not even the smallest sliver of space existed between his midsection and the edge. He again stifled a fake cough into his first to cover up some subtle sucking sounds. He wasn't sure if Sheila could hear, but he didn't want to take any chances.
Now forced back further into her hidey-hole, he tried to maintain a straight face as Erin started to sloppily, breathily, wetly lick his hanging balls. Applying enough suction to yank them out and downward. He could feel the way her plump, full lips were battening on them, pulling his scrotum taut. He could swear she was making increasingly louder noises as time went on, forcing him to compensate.
Oh, you brat. You fucking brat. I'm going to get you for this. We're probably both going to be fired and the targets of a civil suit, but I will make it my mission to get my revenge.
"Yeah… I guess I do have a little cough," Mark lied. "I guess maybe I'll go home now. One of the other guys can handle the network issue-"
Sheila nodded with understanding. "I have some echinacea in my purse," she suggested. "You can have it, if you want." Then, Mark seemed to slide down in his chair, slumping in his seat. It was not intentional… he'd been pulled with a firm grip… and his pants and boxers yanked down his legs. Now, all that covered his midsection was his untucked dress shirt.
"N-no," he said. "You don't have to do that-"
His eyes widened. Now that more of his lower body was beneath the desk and his boxers pulled down, he felt Erin's probing tongue tickle his balls… slide down his taint… and poke wetly into his asshole!
" Oh, you fucking bitch ," he whimpered, stifling his voice with his closed fist and then acting innocent when Sheila raised her eyebrow.
"What did you say, Mark-"
He gave a wincing smile. "This… pulled muscle in my leg," he explained. "It… hurts like a bitch." Now, Erin was rimming his ass, massaging his balls, and jacking his prick - which now seemed to rock hard he felt it ready to stab through the underside of his desk. Though he was basically agnostic, Mark offered a prayer to any deities who might be listening:
Please, please, please, please, please get Sheila out of here. I don't care how you do it.
His hands clenched and unclenched as he used every ounce of willpower he had to contain the groans, hisses and other noises of pleasure that were threatening at every turn to spring forth from his mouth. And, mercifully, after what seemed like an eternity - the gods finally answered.
"Well, I should get out and cover the front desk," Sheila said. "You enjoy those cookies. And I hope you feel better, Mark."
"Thanks, Sheila," Mark said. Erin pulled her swirling tongue out of his asshole, yanked down on his cock and poked the tip into his dickhole. Mark made a coughing wheeze. Sheila spared him one last concerned look as she walked across the room toward the door, opened it, and said: "Don't rush back - take a sick day if you need to. We don't want the whole office getting the flu!"
She offered one last smile. Mark struggled to turn his face into something resembling one. And then, more than five minutes after it had started - and it felt closer to an hour - Mark's nightmare was over. Sheila left, and closed the door behind her. The blinds were all still closed. All still in place.
As soon as he was certain he could sense leaving, and not, perhaps, polishing the outer surface of the window with her gossip-mongering ear, he pushed himself back from the desk and hauled his pants and boxers up over his spit-soaked penis, spraying some droplets from his bobbing member as he did so.
He did not think about Erin. Not yet. He would deal with her after. First, Mark rose and fast-walked over to the door… and did what he'd planned to do earlier. He turned the lock. No one could burst in now, without knocking first.
Only then did he turn back… to see Erin standing behind her desk, her tits still out, her blouse open. Spittle was smeared on the corner of her mouth, and she was looking at him with the brattiest, most cat-caught-the-canary look in the history of human expression.
It seemed to say: So, you thought you were being slick with that closing-the-blinds routine, did you? It's going to take something a little more advanced than that to give me my thrills.
The petulant look hit a switch somewhere inside Mark. There was plenty of thinking to do about Erin's daring actions and what they might mean for her expectations and his possible future job security… but now was not the time. His cock was hard as a rock and jutting out like a big, ebony sabre from his crotch, over the waistband of his boxers. He moved toward her quickly, legs scissoring almost robotically. Like The Terminator.
The Brat Terminator.
She must have seen in his eyes the punishment that was coming, because he saw in her face in the seconds beforehand both a horny, trembling blush - and a very satisfying look of fear and respect.
"You crazy bitch," he seethed, and wrapped his hands around that gorgeous, pale, swan-like neck. He spun her around and held her in front of him, facing away, and hooked an arm around her throat so he could whisper viciously into her ear. "You fucking big-titted slut. You just couldn't do without it, could you, you little brat? You think you can get away with that?"
"I'm s-sorry, sir-"
He gave her a smack in the mouth. Soft. Just an attention-getter with a cupped palm and some limber, extended fingers. Not even enough to make a sharp sound - but god it felt good to light her up… and shut her up.
"I make the rules," he seethed into her ear. "Not you. I should make you walk naked through the office. I should make you dress like a fucking slut in front of everyone. We'll see how you like getting hung out to dry." His cock, erect and extending from his groin at a ninety-degree angle, was poking at her skirt-clad ass. Frustrated, he swiped a hand down, unclasped it… and tore it off. Even as she was gasping in response to that, he took hold of her pantyhose and ripped them down over her pale, thick ass, which was every bit as majestic as always.
Now his cock had a place to go. Between her thighs. Right up against her pussy. He let it go where his rising erection wanted, gliding through the soft skin of her undercarriage and then emerging from the front, with her hot, wet, heavy labia on top, separated like a hot dog bun. Instantly he felt the sizzling, lubricated syrup of her pussy trickling over his meat pipe as if drizzled on pancakes. She moaned at the stimulation and threw her head back against his neck. And mad or not, he'd never complain about a faceful of that fiery, perfumed hair.
"You're a brat, aren't you?" He tightened his arm around her neck. Not enough to hurt her, of course - but enough to make his point.
"Yes, sir," she said. He was slowly thrusting his hips now - sliding his long, heavy meat through the tight, lubricated channel of her pussy and thighs. The chance of being discovered had been terrifying , but it has also been a thrill. More than that, it had been her idea. To start sucking his dick and rimming his ass while under the desk. She had pushed him out of the plane with no parachute, and left it up to him to sink or swim. That she was horny enough (and mischievous enough!) to do that had left him with a massive hardon that needed attention.
"You act like this responsible leader but you're actually a horny, bratty little bitch, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir!"
He tightened the crook of his elbow around her throat more, hearing her breath wheeze out satisfyingly. And all the while he could feel her wetness dripping on his dick. Pumping his dick between her thighs was like sliding a steaming hot ear of corn over a pat of melting butter - impossibly slick. Her thigh added the perfect amount of pressure.
"Everyone is so intimidated by you. But you're nothing but a sawed-off little slut who is 50% tits, 49% ass and 1% brains. Isn't that right?" Mark went on, his voice growing more authoritative.
"Yes!"
"Yes what? " Mark asked, sharply.
"Yes, I'm a little slut who wants dick!" Erin burst out, moaning as he thrust his cock harder through her folds. He squeezed her thighs harder around it. Viciously, Mark released her throat and bent her over the desk. There was a jostle as a pot of pens overturned and the keyboard slid on the mahogany. He put a guiding hand on his dick, took aim at her pink slit - and then realized she wasn't just hot, she was molten. Despite his side, he slid in effortlessly . The sound became like the storied macaroni in a pot - a churning, wet, sloppy mess. If anything she was even more excited than she'd been in their first encounter in the hotel room.
He raised his hand and brought it down on her ass-cheek as he fucked her over the desk.
Got to get it in while I can, Mark thought. I'm here for a good time, not a long time. The foreplay had been so pulse-pounding, they were both ready for it. And with Erin's bomb-ass pussy milking him, sucking on him, squeezing him… there was no way he was going to last more than a minute or two. He had practical reasons, too - they were still, in spite of it all, at work. They both had jobs to do. Hell, there was an all-hands meeting in less than an hour… and it was likely some cleanup would be needed.
SLAP! He brought his hand down and made her bite off a cry of pleasure. "Fucking apologize," he growled. "Apologize for being such a brat!"
"I'm sorry!"
SLAP! He made her pale flesh bounce and quake again, in between the already beautiful back shots that were making her cheeks jiggle. "Apologize for being such a slutty, big-titted bitch!"
"I'm sorry, sir!"
He was bottoming out inside her, she was taking the whole thing despite her small size. He reached down, cupped the back of her head in his palm… and then forced it down against the desk. He didn't want to press it into the keyboard, nor her mouse pad. But there was something else that would spare her cheek the abrasion of unforgiving wood - her face mask. It was black, looked slightly cushioned, and certainly not the disposable cheap kind they were handing out during the pandemic. He shoved Erin's face against it.
"Beg me to fuck you," he ordered. "Beg me to fuck you every day!"
"Plleeeease!" Erin mewled, and he could tell from her voice that she was on the edge of a big orgasm, which it would be his pleasure to watch her try to control, so as not to be heard even through the soundproofed glass. "Please, let me suck your dick, and swallow your cum, first thing every day! I'll be your office whore, sir! Please use me as a dick sleeve!"
"You're a stupid whore with huge tits and a fat ass," he snarled, and god it felt good to say that to her after that sneaky look she'd given him. "I should pimp your ass out around this place!"
"Nnnnnghghg! Yes sir!" she warbled, and he didn't need to look at her face to know her eyes were rolling back. "You own me! Do anything you want to me… ahhh!" Her timing was spot on, as Mark was about to cum as well… and he stopped holding back and let himself release inside of her. They writhed together for a moment - a pale, petite woman and her melanated, powerful counterpart - and then, on the spur of the moment, Mark pulled out, halfway through.
Why? He wanted to unload on her face, that was why. At that moment, he'd never wanted anything more. He wanted to punish her bratty, smirking look by gluing her nostrils shut and see her quivering, cumming body shake while her face was covered in thick ropes of his cum. And he really wanted to watch her walk through the office with cum on her face. Hiding it from prying eyes. Making excuses that she's been eating ice cream, something stupid like that.
He wanted to absolutely plaster his huge-breasted, round-assed female boss. The American Dream. But at the last second, when he grabbed her hair and started to force her down to her knees to jerk a heavy load onto her, ruin her makeup, fill her mouth, and mark his territory… some instinct directed him to a different outcome.
It was not precisely a thought - mid-orgasm was not a good place for thoughts. It was more like the danger instinct an animal might feel when a situation was about to escalate beyond what it had intended.
Get a grip, Mark. Erin is not going to wear your cum at the office. That would be the end of both of your careers. This is not a fantasy - it is real life. You said she trusted you. If you order her to do something like that, or expect her to do that - the trust will be broken. Remember, she's not actually a submissive little lamb - she's a bitch on wheels who is playing a game of sexual chicken. And woe betide you if you take liberties.
He thought about how she had started sucking his dick with Sheila in the room, the unfairness of that, the presumption of that. Was that really any different?
It is different. In the end, Sheila couldn't see what was going on. She trusted you to handle it, and you did. She's expecting you to be smart, Mark. Not stupid. So be smart.
Like a desperate soldier changing the trajectory of a mortar shell because there was a man on the firing range, he bypassed blowing on her face… and instead puffed out some satisfied, heavy breaths as he pumped his spurting prick past Erin and to the right - letting the last heavy, thick spurts of his semen splatter her face mask. When he was done, and milking out the last drops, it looked like a pile of cold cream.
He looked down at Erin, still wielding his cock. She looked at the mask and looked at him. He thought he sensed something from her, a psychic message - an excitement and approval, where could have been disappointment if he'd acted differently. A facial would have meant inconvenience, reapplying makeup, a penance done in private that no one would ever see.
An order to 'wear his cum' on her face would have forced the BDSM illusion to a halt - because it couldn't be done without exposing them and damaging her career.
Except… now she could. Mark had found a way to aggressively return her serve - the daring under-desk blowjob - that would make her like the submissive, owned bitch she was. And no one would be the wiser.
He used two hands to lift the mask, taking care not to let the cum slide off - it was just beginning to soak in. It was a thick mask, covering the mouth and nose, and opaque enough that a stain would not show on the other side.
"Put it on," he ordered, offering it to her. She made a beautiful blushing, lip-biting face… and lifted her trembling, pipestem arms up to accept it. Her breasts hung beautifully, exposed and plump and heavy, as she did so. He looked at her steadily and watched as she maintained eye contact with him… and slipped the mark over both ears.
Immediately, Erin's eyes rolled slightly and he saw the material of the mask tremble a little as she inhaled through her nose. She moaned. The large deposit of cum was centered exactly where her upper lip would be, filling both her mouth and nose with the scent of his semen.
"I want you to wear that to the all-hands meeting," Mark said. He was confident he was making the right choice.
"Yes, sir," Erin moaned, and her eyelids fluttered. She was breathing and saturating herself with the cum from the bottom of his balls. Her voice was muffled. Mark reached down, pressed on the mask, and smeared it around her mouth and nose a little, making sure the coverage was complete.
"Do you like that?"
She nodded meekly. Mark finished hitching up his pants and started to buckle his belt - he considered this the sign that their business was concluded. He had some cleaning to do himself - there was a spare shirt in his office, and since he'd been sweating under Sheila's endless conversation, he certainly needed it. He beckoned Erin up to do the same. He noticed that some of his cum was also leaking out of her pussy and into the crotch of her pantyhose and underwear, which she slid up to nestle back in their proper positions.
She would be wearing him in two places - both invisible. Mark, you sly dog , he thought to himself. You pulled it off. They passed no more words that morning in the office, but they did share a touch - a nuzzling, rub of her hair and neck, like a favored pet - and then a final glance as she paused at the door and looked back to see her seated back at her desk, picking up her spilled pens, returning all to order, so that no one would ever suspect what had occurred.
In this glance, Mark sensed not necessarily submissiveness, but admiration… the look of respect a duelist might give to a particularly talented foe. Mark found that his own feelings were similar. For so long, she had been his boss - demanding, unreasonable in IT matters, and untouchable. Now… he was starting to see all the qualities that had made her such an effective manager and CEO.
A capacity for risk. An eye for talent. A competitive streak. There was no denying it. It was safe to say… he was really starting to like her - in the honest way someone might like another human who had led them on a great adventure that they never expected.
Also , he thought. Her tits are fucking enormous and she's hot as fuck. God damn. A chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped out the door.
Mark was not able to work much when he returned to his office. He could only contemplate the situation he was in, and how crazy it was. It was playing with fire - one wrong move, and it would get around the office that they were fooling around. It would be a disaster. Erin would have to resign. And as for him? There would be no way he could stay at Sunflower, even though he had personally designed much of their network and most of their IT solutions. The thought of his subordinates saying dumb shit in the break room about how he was only hired because Erin 'loved black dick' made him nauseous, considering he was more qualified than any of them. He would quit before he put up with that shit.
'He's a DEI hire… Dick Erin In The Ass!' he could imagine Ira cackling, the same intern who had fucked up the file upload on the drone footage for virtual tours just that morning, and was generally unqualified to do anything setup office computers and mop the bathroom.
So yes. The stakes were high. And yet, it was a thrill. In the same way that walking a tightrope might be. He had matched her energy. The ball was in her court again, and he was proud of himself for doing that. He could not delude himself into believing there wasn't risk - but nor could he tell himself he wasn't enjoying it… and looking forward to where it might go. The woman was a freak… but a young black man acting as a dom-for-hire for women of means as a side hustle, he was a bit of a freak himself.
"Don't be stupid," he whispered to himself, and opened his email. Zelda Berryline. Zelda Berryline. More Zelda Berryline. He rolled his eyes. Sunflower advertised itself as a solution and support system for independent realtors - they would provide personal assistance, business resources, and custom-tailored web tools to help realtors make more sales, and in turn, take a portion of their commissions. But some customers were just not worth it. These new emails were from just this morning . Mark began to respect Erin more for pawning off Zelda onto him - Zelda had been personally emailing her and she'd shut that shit down quick .
Instead of spending mental energy on the yammering, tiresome old biddy, who specialized in selling marked-up shitboxes to middle-to-upper class people who could barely afford them, his mind drifted back to Erin's ass. Big. Pale. Round. Impossibly bubbly. It was one of those asses where you could see the spherical shape of each cheek… and they were so large they were always rubbing against each other. Much more fun to contemplate.
It was only because he wanted to recheck his second email to read back through 'Eevie's' messages that he realized there was a new one in his Inbox at DreamDoms. Eevie again. His heart skipped a beat, he opened it immediately. 10:04 AM. She had sent it only fifteen minutes or so after he had left her office… and Mark wasn't sure what to expect.
A begrudging note of respect?
A letter saying she had really enjoyed it… but maybe they should be more cautious in the future, since that had nearly gotten caught?
A further invitation back to the office… with some even more debauched plans in store?
Maybe even something with a hint of the admiration he had felt for her, at the conclusion of their meeting… which he hoped was mutual?
It was none of the above. Indeed, there was no subject line, and no text. Just a URL that he didn't recognize, and a string of letters and numbers - Eevie10246 .
Mark was on his phone - he did not do 'side business' on work computers - and he followed the link. After doing so… he spent five seconds simply staring at the screen in awe.
"No fucking way," he said, in a low voice. "No… fucking… way."
BuzzSense , the website trumpeted, while displaying a bright pink sex toy, tapered in the middle with a larger bulb on one end, and smaller one on the other. Filling the gap between you! Remote and discreet G-spot stimulation! Download our control app and pleasure your partner all day! Toy sync from anywhere!
Mark sat numbly and read the whole page. There were remote control egg vibrators. Bluetooth butt plugs. He actually had some experience with these - some of his sex worker friends - the ones who had tried to recruit him as a cam performer - used them. But in the context of Erin - who was terrible with technology and probably couldn't figure out the proper use of a QR code, let alone a remote vibrator - it was astonishing.
Numbly, he hit the bottom to download the free control app on his phone. He already sensed what he would see when he opened it - a field to enter a code, and send signals to the paired device. That's what Eevie10246 was for.
Erin had just sent him the keys to her sex toy! And just when was he supposed to use them? And how? That was for him to figure out. The all-hands meeting was fast approaching… and Mark suspected she was crazy enough to have the toy inserted during it. How very Erin of her. The brat could not be defeated, he could only hope to deal with it.
No, you are not done domming, he imagined her saying . I want to be dommed more. More, more, more!
Mark felt his cock twitch. It was sore from pounding Erin's pussy and busting an absolutely enormous nut barely twenty minutes prior, but that didn't stop it from tenting his pants up. What was the deal? Was it a submissive entreaty, rewarding him with further authority over her because of his morning performance? A show of additional trust? A reminder that the game was only over when she said it was over?
All three?
One thing was for certain - it wasn't his idea to receive the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. It was hers. She was still in control, still topping from the bottom, still being a brat.
At the meeting, they would both discover how far Mark was willing to go.
Mark arrived at the all-hands meeting early. He wasn't yet sure what he was going to do - and he wanted time to decide. It would depend on Erin's behavior, and the tenor of the meeting. First of all, he really had no idea if she would even be wearing the toy, or her message had been some loose invitation to try it out at a later date. It would be quite embarrassing to trigger a fifteen-second intense vibe, only to hear a distant rattle from her desk drawer.
Mark also wasn't sure to what extent the buzzing of the toy might be audible. In his experience, they were fairly silent once inserted - but he'd only seen BuzzSense toys in use by cam models… never in an otherwise silent meeting room.
Third, it usually wasn't cool to just take out his phone during a meeting and start fooling around with it. All of these factors combined meant that the other attendees - who included the office manager, head of new business, realtor liaison, Sheila, and others - might sense that something weird was going on.
Gradually, they began to file in. Sheila was first, and commented that he looked 'much better' than he had earlier that morning. Mark explained that he took some aspirin. He didn't add that it helped that he was no longer having his dick sucked, ass licked and balls fondled from under the desk.
Next there was the office manager, Joe, who was the oldest man among them and also the most boring. Mark had to go through him to order things like chairs, supplies, desks, and so on. He tried not to talk to him otherwise. The Head of New Business he liked much more. He was named Keanu but liked to be called Kai, a big, tanned Hawaiian who was expert at signing independent realtors up to the Sunflower family. Mark was on a committee with him to decide on the company weekend outing. He liked Kai, who had a background in culinary and event planning ,and had tentatively thought about asking him about holding a company luau - something he was aware the man actually did from time to time - roast pig and all.
They had not formalized it yet because he thought it might come off as strange - asking a Hawaiian to organize a luau was in some ways the equivalent of someone asking him, a black man, to organize a basketball tournament. With that said, he thought Kai - who loved parties and beaches and pork - would soon suggest the idea himself, thereby removing any possible cultural sensitivity issues.
The only other attendee of the meeting was Jessice, who was in charge of realtor retention and outreach. This usually meant listening to their complaints. Usually she did a good job - but special cases like Zelda Berryhill - who insisted on calling Erin directly or talking to IT directly, were beyond her ability to control.
Mark fiddled in his seat and felt in the pocket of his slacks for his cellphone. There were various presets on the BuzzSense app. One second, two seconds, five seconds… even prerecorded patterns which would ramp up or down as he programmed them. While experimenting, he had already made one - a thirty second 'Maximum Burst' which he had simply named: "HIT ER' HARD'. It was just one button press away.
As he contemplated this, Erin walked into the room. She looked businesslike and serious as ever, moving with purpose, her heels clacking as she moved to her spot at the head of the table - which happened to be one seat over from him, since he had the edge seat on one side. As everyone watched silently, she pulled back her chair, sat down in it, rolled it forward, and folded her arms on the table.
And yes. She was wearing the mask, secured snugly over her mouth and nose. She glanced at Mark and seemed to take an inhale of the cum that was plastering the inside. He thought he sensed a blush rising around her eyes. He couldn't help but get the beginnings of a hardon at this display. It was so vulgar, to see her enjoying the scent of his maleness, wearing the evidence of his orgasm against her face and mouth… and he couldn't deny he enjoyed the freakiness of it… and the fact that it was a secret they both shared. His hand slid into his pocket casually. One press of his thumb and he could activate the toy… but not yet. He would wait to pull the trigger until the situation was right.
"Sorry about the mask - I'm feeling under the weather today," Erin started. "My nose is all stuffed up." She glanced at Mark again, silently adding ' with your cum! ' to the end of her sentence. His cock twitched again as her bratty eyes and cheshire freckles danced.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sheila replied. "There must be something going around! Mark had a touch of something this morning."
Yeah, there was something going around, Mark thought. Her tongue - going around my ass.
"I'm fine, really," he said, waving a hand.
The meeting began in earnest - with new business, and the status of old business. Kai, in his short-sleeved yellow shirt that showed off his muscular forearms, reported the details of several new signups. He was fifty, a former rugby player, and still looked like he could suit up and crush on the pitch, salt-and-pepper goatee and all.
Mark listened, though it wasn't really his area. He and Erin exchanged glances a couple times each minute, sometimes just with their eyes, sometimes tilting their heads. Once, she took a huge sniff of the facemask… and her eyes fluttered a little. She played it off as a stifled cough and throat clearing.
"Sorry," she said. "This flu…"
She looked at Mark steadily, again sending a silent message that was perhaps fifty-percent his hopeful imagination. Thank you for letting me milk the thick, nasty cum out of your huge dick and wear it in front of everyone, sir. The smell is so strong and it's making me want to suck your cock again… my head is swimming from the scent of your sperm… I love it so much.
And then - as Kai was wrapping up his report, she gave a meaningful glance down - but not at his cock. No, she was looking at his pocket. Where his phone was, before dropping a subtle grin -he could see her facial muscles move and form it, even through the mask) and turning her head back to the proceedings.
Next was Jessica, to address ongoing business. She started with sales and earnings - standard - and Mark was waiting for her to mention Zelda Berryline. He had an answer prepared about how he'd handled her IT problem personally. When Zelda's name came up, though, he wasn't even able to get a word out. Erin answered first.
"Regarding the Berryline account, I have a matter to address," Erin said, and turned to look at Mark. "The matter should not have gotten to a point in which it had to be escalated to me. Mark may have handled the issue, eventually -"
Mark's brow furrowed. He not only had handled it the same day he heard about it - the same morning, in fact - but it had only been that slow because he had been busy blowing Erin's back out! He could already see it on Erin's face… that bratty, taunting look. She was acting up again… and in a way that she knew was sure to push his buttons - blaming IT for problems!
"Mark, your personally handling the Berrymore complaint creates an improper expectation," Erin went on. "You should have reported back to Jessica, so she could be the contact point on the account issue. Her job is to deal with customers. Yours is to fix IT problems."
You told me to fucking handle it immediately and you didn't say shit about involving Jessica, Mark thought, viciously. Erin was really making him hot under the collar. He realized with astonishment that she was actually just fucking with him . He had thought he brattiness knew no bounds… but being read the riot act in front of the other staff?!
"It really would help if I was the contact point for all complaint resolutions," Jessica added. "Even those involving IT. Zelda Berryline is our biggest account, and if she thinks she doesn't have to follow the rules, it diminishes my position as her account manager. She was even calling Erin personally."
And whose fucking fault is that? You're the fucking account manager!
"She has a point, Mark. It's… proper that you understand your position in this company," Erin added… and now there could be no doubt. She was absolutely fucking with him, using Jessica's concern as her excuse. "I think it's important - for us as an organization, and to our customers - to have a clear understanding… of who is in charge of what."
She leaned toward him slightly. "And who is in charge of who."
His hand flew on its own. He fished in his pocket and slammed his finger down. He knew what was on the screen - a big 'Activate' button for his "HIT ER' HARD' custom vibe program - which would deliver thirty seconds of intense stimulation. Three quivering, buzzing, G-Spot-rattling seconds. He did not care about the consequences. This brat, his sawed off, petite, pale stack of boobs-and-ass had earned every bit of those thirty seconds.
If she'd wanted to goad him… he supposed he was goaded.
It was not loud enough for anyone to casually detect - but still louder than he would have liked. There was a very, very faint buzzing - almost indistinguishable from the overhead lights and air conditioning, but audible if one knew what to listen for, like a phone on vibrate, buzzing several rooms away.
By far the most satisfying part was Erin immediately shutting up, biting her lip, and seething a helpless breath into her cum soaked mask. She immediately mewled and then put her hand to her hip and pelvis as if experiencing a cramp or sudden pain - she had to play it off somehow - but Mark knew the truth. The horny, taunting bitch was getting her wet pussy shaken up by a powerful egg vibrator.
"Sorry," Erin gasped, and then doubled over slightly, as if afflicted by indigestion. A look of pleasure crept onto her face but she erased it almost instantly, replacing it with struggle. He took a closer look and saw that her thighs were pressed together so hard she was quivering.
"Are you okay, boss?" he asked, innocently, about halfway through the thirty second mark.
Erin said something with a vowel in it - a sound only made while in intense pain, or intense pleasure. This sound was unusual enough that several people took notice of Erin's distress - though Mark was sure they assumed it was due to Erin's illness and some possible flu-related symptoms. Her face looked flushed around the eyes, and she let out a gasp. Mark knew the mask was saving her in two ways - not only could no one see that she was huffing a big load of his cum with every breath, but it was hiding what he knew as a whorish, moaning mouth that was gaping open with ecstasy.
Erin slumped into her seat and gave one last shudder, clutching her arms around her body - even making her blouse-stretching breasts squish a little. It was like watching someone try to subdue an unstable substance that was ready to blow. After a few more seconds, she stopped twitching.
I just watched her cum , Mark realized. My domineering boss just creamed her brains out in front of all of her key staff.
"I'm… fine," Erin said, trying to fix her posture and gather herself. "I just had a cramp." This seemed to satisfy everyone, though Mark wondered what Sheila thought, after experiencing multiple people with unexplained 'cramps' throughout the day. Her face, luckily, suggested nothing as amiss - just the usual obsequious secretarial concern for the women she was well-paid to indulge.
Keep it up, Erin, Mark thought. Maybe she'll offer you some echinacea. Or a banana cookie.
He found he had mixed feelings about the experience. He had buzzed her good and hard, that was true, and her reaction, like a cute, big-boobed, thick-assed bomb trying to stop itself from exploding, had been satisfying to watch. In the end, though… Mark was only doing what she'd essentially manipulated him into doing. She felt like being topped and teased and engaging in a bit of semi-public play, and he'd obliged her. An on-call dom who happened to be her employee - a useful pet to have.
"I'll give my update now," Mark spoke up. It seemed like he was sparing Erin the labor of having to conduct the meeting while ill, but what he really wanted was to take control. More than anything, he knew that part of the game was taking the full force of Erin's punches, and responding with a few of his own. If she simply had to come up with all the lewd and sexy ideas herself, she would lose interest in him. He could see that coming a mile away. The 'BuzzSense' toy had been one of her punches - even if she had been on the receiving end of it.
It's time to show her who she's dealing with.
"As for the Zelda Berryline issue, it's already being handled just as you've suggested," Mark said, smoothly. "Though the point has been made that since Zelda brings in the largest amount of business, a direct line to Erin, used responsibly, might be useful for retention reasons. So she feels special."
Erin's eyes perked up as she realized this would require her to talk to the boring, complaining old bat again in the future. "I never-"
Mark thumbed his phone and gave her a three-second blast of full-power BuzzSense. "Hnnnmnnff!" Erin wheezed, and slumped knock-kneed into her chair again.
"Since this directive comes from the top," Mark went on, "I assume it's okay, Jessica?"
She nodded, and Mark glanced over at Erin, smirking ever-so-slightly, as if to say, 'Now who's being a brat?' Considering how much of his time she'd wasted with IT related nonsense, it seemed like the perfect revenge. But he wasn't done.
"Moving on to other things - I wanted to touch base about the company activity this year. After discussing a few ideas, Kai was good enough to lend his expertise to something that's close to home for him. So we're going to make this one special - the Sunflower Realty Charity Bikini Luau!"
Kai had not precisely consented to this, so Mark watched his reaction closely, and was glad to see his face pull into a smile. He leaned over the table and offered a fist-bump to Mark. "Awesome, brother," he said, and laughed when Mark fist-bumped him back. "Yeah, you know. Don't leave the aloha hanging. We're going to do it up right!"
"It's going to be a beach party, we're going to make some contributions to some local organizations, so it should be a great place to bring new business. As for the party itself, I'll be following Kai's lead. We're going to have dancers, some traditional games, and Kai assures me that he's roasted an actual pig before… and it's going to be delicious."
Everyone laughed. "You know it, brother," said Kai. Erin wasn't laughing, though - she had a tense look on her face. Because of her complexion, she and the sun were not on friendly terms.. And that wasn't all…
"We've chosen the weekend of July 24th, and the weather is expected to be excellent," Mark went on. "So make sure to bring your best bikini. It was Erin's idea to have a bikini theme, so she'll be out there, leading the charge. Don't worry though - any style of swimsuit is permitted."
Something small and cushioned whacked against his leg. It took him a second to realize that Erin had just kicked him under the table, though with her tiny feet and the relatively short distance, she hadn't been able to generate much force. Mark again gave her the subtlest of subtle troublemaking smirks.
Of course, Erin had said nothing of the sort and had no idea a luau was even being considered. And even if she had… under no circumstances would she have allowed any description that involved the word 'bikini'. Nobody at the office had ever seen her wearing anything close to a swimsuit - not even a modest one-piece. Mark knew just the effect that news of her impending bikini would cause, too - every swinging dick in the office was going to be finding excuses to attend the event just to gawk.
Ain't no fun when the rabbit has the gun , Mark thought, examining Erin's reaction. She was struggling to keep a straight face with difficulty. She had been happy to make him squirm and lie and bullshit Sheila while she was sucking his dick and balls below the desk - and assign him the thankless task of being Zelda Berryline's personal IT support, while needling him about it. But now things were a little out of her control, and Mark thought he knew exactly how she felt, because he had been made to feel that way himself lately.
She was excited at what she'd been maneuvering into doing. She had butterflies in her stomach that he'd dared to take such a liberty - and what it meant for her to submit to it. She was already anticipating the dehumanizing titillation of having to obey it…
…but she was also extremely pissed off. And there would be hell to pay.
Now, Mark flashed her a smile and clapped his hands. "Let's thank Erin for being a good sport about this," he said, and led a short but earnest round of applause. He didn't have to specify why wearing a swimsuit qualified as her being a 'good sport'. It was obvious. Erin blushed around the eyes and sheepishly acknowledged the fanfare… but she was still glaring at Mark whenever she could.
Yeah, they know why it's such a sacrifice for you to agree to wear a bikini , Mark beamed into her brain through his eyes. Most of them probably didn't realize you could fit your fat fuck-juggs into a swimsuit. They probably assumed those milk bags would fall out of your bikini top anyway… to say nothing of your massive ass turning any bikini bottom into an instant thong. They don't even make a large-coverage bikini bottom wide enough to contain that dump truck. Your huge inverted nipples will show clearly through whatever you wear, regardless. You'll attract horny dudes playing pocket pool in their trunks from across the whole beach. They'll want to watch your indecent body bulging out of your suit. They'll be lining up by the dozens. Can't wait to see how much business we get from male realtors wanting to join up just so they can see your fat bubble butt, you pimped out bitch!
He couldn't say it. But it was cathartic to think. And Erin in turn sent her own message with those blazing aquamarine eyes:
Yes, sir.
And then, along with a smile of her own that was detectable even through the mask:
I'm going to get you for this.
He had no doubt she would. He welcomed her to try. Mark, right then, was only concerned with his ability to stay ahead of the game… and give enough of his own back that he could conceivably feel like a dom.
There were six weeks until the luau . And as one of the organizers, he thought he might have some swimsuit suggestions for Erin.
She might have to try some bathing suits on , Mark thought, his thumb hovering over the BuzzSense button. To make sure she finds the right 'fit' .
It was going to be an exciting six weeks, indeed.