Demanding Boss

by Celia Crown

  My cock sits heavily in her pulsing walls, resting while she drenches every inch of me. Her stomach tightens, and my heart pushes blood into my swelling shaft.

  It’s obscene the way I am taking advantage of her willing pussy to steal her virginity. It’s filthy how her tiny cunt stretches tightly over my fat cock as she struggles to accommodate the girth.

  How trusting of her to not lock the bedroom door, I muse silently.

  Her confidence created circumstances beyond my control so I can evade her awareness.

  So wet and so tight. I had doubts about whether she could take me, but admit I was wrong.

  My little girl is a perfect fit for me, and not just in the carnal sense. The way she lives is perfect, allowing me to pull strings and make her dance to a tune that’ll satisfy my need for dominance.

  Her cum slobbers around my cock as I softly grind against her quivering walls.

  My cock is being smothered by her juicy cunt, and her slippery hole slurps at the base of my shaft for virile cum.

  The constant friction and luscious squelching noises rapidly chip away at my coherency again.

  Hiking her thighs higher over my hips, my cock naturally sinks deeper into her spongy walls. Putting my hands beside her head, it allows my hips to rise while my knees dig into the Egyptian silk.

  I keep the rolling thrusts gentle and soft. The thrill of being caught and her eyes widening in distress tempt me to pound her puffy pussy with vigor.

  I want her to catch me, to experience my debauchery firsthand while I make her reluctantly cum on my cock.

  A grin flashes across my face.

  “Tempting,” I rasp, enticed.

  Her broken cries end my sense of detachment; they are sounds of approval that justify my inappropriate actions.

  A forceful slurp of her small hole forgives my cock for breaching her drenched cunt.

  She’ll forgive me if she finds out. I can make it up to her and love her a little harder than she can handle to chase away any doubt in her mind.

  What we’re doing is not wrong. We are supposed to be together; this is not an immoral act.

  I own her. Her supple body, her glass heart, and her untamed thoughts—they’re mine to do with as I please.

  She agreed to be mine the second she accepted my offer. I hope she’s not thinking about changing her mind. That door of regret has been closed for a long time now.

  “Fuck,” I choke heavily with a shuddering thrust.

  Her cunt is drooling in a sign of the sensual release I’ve been seeking.

  “Come on, little girl,” I sneer impatiently, my hips slapping her thighs while I fuck her willing pussy more vigorously.

  “Don’t disappoint me.”

  I bump the tip of my leaking cock against the swollen, spongy spot deep in her glossy hole. She squeezes tightly, and my cock is locked between her undulating hot walls as I stifle a groan at the rush of scorching juices.

  My eyes fly open as I painfully sink my teeth in my cheek.

  Tormenting consequences dawn on me, but it’s too late.

  My fat cock thickens, stretching her reddened hole and tugging mindlessly on her walls to make more room. A faint mewl from her parted lips brings a filthy burst of cum through my bulbous tip.

  Cum oozes past the tight fit, thick globs spurting from the snug hole as it drips sinfully on the soaked bed.

  Emmy groans and turns to her side. My cum-stained cock slips from her swollen hole as copious creaminess pour out in torrents.

  Disappointment fills me when the creaminess leaves the snug, gaping hole. She’s a frothy mess, and my cock coated with stringy cum has placed her mark on me.

  I can’t leave her like this, no matter how tempting it is. She can’t wake up dripping with cum, her virginity stolen, and her pussy defiled.

  I guess I’ll have to fuck the cum out of her.

  A low growl hums in approval as I grab her hips and flip her over. I deliberately lift her ass and don’t shy away from a messy lick to taste the inexplicably satisfying result of our release.

  I truly am a foul man.

  She moans into the pillow with her ass wiggling in discomfort.

  I hush her with a swift thrust between the hot undulating walls coiling around my hard cock. A splash of stickiness hits my thigh, but I focus on using her sweet cunt as my fuck-toy at the expense of her blissful state of oblivion.

  Exhilaration reaches my spine, mocking the limits I set.

  I’m too deep in this now, and I’m balls-deep in my little girl’s tainted pussy. There will never be a more corrupt moment than this one.

  Might as well make it worth my while.

  On my knees with my hands grasping her waist, I pound her filthy pussy with abandon—because I can and because I want to risk it.

  I want to take the chance that she will find out I am a monster. The fear in her eyes would be delightful to witness. But it’s her tears of pain that would release the beast in me.

  I fuck her with enthusiasm, roughly pummeling her gushing walls. Stringy white cum drools down my tight balls as another coiling in my stomach quickly unravels.

  Pulling my thickening cock from her puffy hole, I clumsily aim the spurting cum down at the bed.

  Without my support, Emmy drops on top of the wet mess.

  “Fuck,” I hiss tiredly.

  She would inevitably have been covered in cum anyway.

  Chapter Seven

  Emmy

  I indulged myself by staying in Vasari’s bed for too long this morning. I was having trouble waking up, and my muscles were aching badly.

  For the first time, I felt I should call in sick today. But then I remembered that I am living with Vasari now.

  It would be disrespectful to call in sick since he just saw me yesterday, and I felt fine at that point.

  So I dragged myself into work, and it wasn’t too bad. My energy was low, though.

  Diana has noticed and asks, “Do you have sleep paralysis?”

  I roll my neck as I wait for the bartender to make a cocktail. “No.”

  “You don’t sound confident,” she jibes nosily.

  I don’t recall ever waking up and feeling like a boulder was weighing me down. Vasari’s luxurious bed is like a deadly weapon.

  I must remind myself not to get used to it.

  I plan on moving to another room so he can have his back. He is the owner of the house, after all, and shouldn’t be sleeping in a guest room.

  I shouldn’t even be at his house anymore. I should be in my condo with my feet propped up on the couch and a heated blanket on my lap.

  I have to get home and throw out all the perishable food that has gone to waste before the neighbors complain about me.

  “Emmy?” Diana slaps my back roughly to snap me out of my thoughts. “Do you have sleep paralysis?”

  What’s it going to take for her to believe I don’t have that illness?

  I shake my head and accept the drink from the bartender. “I’m a heavy sleeper; I don’t know.”

  She wiggles her defined eyebrows and winks suggestively. “So, if someone, let’s say a big, buff socialite, was on top of you...”

  He’s not a socialite. Vasari hates social gatherings; he barely tolerates meeting investors at a social setting of their choosing.

  “He’s not like that,” I defend him over the music. “He’s helping me out until the incident gets resolved.”

  Diana snorts tastelessly. “You say one thing, but I hear something else.”

  “What do you hear, wise one?” I humor her as I wait for the last drink.

  Diana sets a light orange cocktail on a white napkin. “He’s playing a supportive role.”

  I’d love to hear her absurd reasoning. Mr. Vasari is acting like a good boss who cares about my safety.

  “You’re dependent on him because he’s paying your bills and putting a roof over your head,” Diana remarks cheekily.

  I tut, offended, “What you’re describing is a par
t-time sugar daddy.”

  Diana shrugs with a grin as I scowl at her. “If it quacks like a duck.”

  “You’re a quack,” I push back defiantly.

  “I’m a swan.” She chuckles, her long fingers wiggling under her chin.

  “Sure, Miss Ugly Duckling.” I pick up the tray and smirk at her.

  She gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her exposed cleavage.

  “Wow, you are hurting me,” she complains through a grin. “I’m going to run into the arms of my boo-thang and cry into his hunky chest.”

  I grimace in embarrassment at her expression.

  Diana grew up around people who use unusual forms of endearment. I still can’t get used to the strange names she uses for her boyfriend.

  They aren’t insulting, just somewhat silly.

  “Big question, though,” she wonders loudly. “Do you sleep with him? You can’t expect him to sleep on the floor.”

  She whips her head to me, glowing interest in her eyes. “Are you sleeping under him?”

  I sputter frantically, “He’s not in the room at all.”

  “Wow,” she echoes. “That’s so rude of you to kick the homeowner out of his bedroom.”

  “Damn,” she continues in the same breath. “That’s cold.”

  The rumor about us living together did not start with me. It doesn’t seem like anyone else knows, but Diana has figured it out to some extent.

  “He offered.” I try to defend myself, but she shakes her head slowly at every word.

  “You could’ve declined,” she points out as if I hadn’t thought of that.

  “You try saying ‘no’ to him,” I suggest with a roll of my eyes.

  “I’d like to keep my job,” she says while lifting her tray of colorful cocktails.

  “I do, too,” I quip as I match her movements with my tray.

  I’m working on the dance floor tonight. Two related employees had called in for a family emergency, so we’re a bit overwhelmed on a Saturday night.

  Despite being busy and on my feet all night, Vasari never lets me forget that he has eyes on me. When my skin burns intensely for a short time, I know he’s watching me again from his office.

  I find myself feeling a lot safer on the dance floor, knowing that he’s watching. The bouncers are helpful when inebriated people mouth-breathe on me. But it doesn’t feel like the total protection Vasari provides.

  “Hey, booty,” a man’s slurring voice mumbles.

  Just when I thought Diana’s strange nicknames were the worst.

  Catcallers use many names, but “booty” is a first for me.

  “Can I get some of y’all—” the man mutters as he burps, “Y’all—the hee-haw!”

  I bite my tongue to avoid laughing. Working at a nightclub exposes me more to humor than to disturbing occurrences.

  There are eyes everywhere in the club, so the chance of something terrible happening is rare. Bouncers stand by the walls, overseeing the floor with keen eyes. They are also posted near the doors to ensure the safety of intoxicated guests.

  A bouncer is assigned to be near each bathroom. The worst things can happen in a flash, and the bouncer prevents more damage when he’s nearby.

  That still doesn’t discourage people from having a sexual “quickie.”

  I set the drinks on the table and walk away from the booth without responding to the slurring man. I don’t want him vomiting on me; I prefer to work the rest of my shift without smelling nasty.

  “Oh, Emmy!” someone calls over the roaring music. “Nice timing!”

  I turn and wince when a flash of light hits my eyes. The sweating woman rushes to me with mascara smeared under her eyes.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  She snaps her fingers. “Rum, neat. For Mr. Vasari.”

  I nod quickly. As I turn back to the bar, she stops me with a hand on my elbow. A gasp escapes my throat as I groan loudly with the rising tempo of the music.

  “Can we trade shifts tomorrow?” she asks in a commanding tone. “I want to take my girlfriend on a date, and it’s the only day off she has that matches mine.”

  She doesn’t have the day off tomorrow. Weekends are our busiest time, and Vasari doesn’t allow anyone to take those two days off unless it’s for an emergency.

  “I’ll tell our boss that I fell down the stairs, and I’ll even go to the emergency room,” she says with a satisfied smile.

  Does she think Vasari is stupid?

  I would rather not have his anger directed at me. I remember what he said to me, and this is my chance to stop being too nice.

  Also, her argument doesn’t make sense. She’s asking for a shift change before she has even had the accident.

  I’m not going along with her stupidity.

  “I can’t,” I decline. “I have something planned for tomorrow night.”

  I don’t, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  She frowns, and her blotchy makeup cracks.

  “You have to,” she drones on petulantly. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend. Everyone here knows you just stay home.”

  I didn’t know people were gossiping about me before Mr. Vasari started taking an active role in my life.

  “I’m not changing my shift,” I say sternly. “Excuse me. I have somewhere to be.”

  I grip the empty tray and pull my arm away from her sharp nails. Burning red lines run down my arm, but don’t break the skin.

  I make it to the bar and order Vasari’s drink, only to have another person hindering my efficiency.

  A man leans over the bar. He’s not drunk, and he’s not ordering a drink. His clothes stand out because they aren’t the typical party attire. I’ve seen camo pants in the club, but not often.

  He’s young, barely old enough to enter the club legally. When he grins, something treacherous flares at the corner of his lips.

  Vasari makes me feel apprehensive without making my flight response go haywire. Vasari does not make me fear for my life.

  But this man makes me feel very unsettled.

  That goes for a lot of people in the club who can’t handle their liquor. But the sudden appearance of this man in my personal space must have heightened my security awareness.

  “Rum, neat,” the bartender repeats the order.

  I turn away from the stranger and nod at the bartender. I nearly trip as I hurry away, but I refuse to turn around because I can feel him staring after me.

  I climb the stairs and shake off the jittery sensation. There is a definite downside to working at a nightclub. I have it better than the women who usually work on the dance floor, though.

  Dreadful drunks are hassling them constantly.

  Rapping my knuckles on the door, I wait for his answer. Glancing at the healed cuts on the back of my hand, I notice that the scabs are gone, the redness is fading, and evidence of what happened is practically gone.

  With his permission, I open the door while balancing the tray in my other hand. His office smells of dark liquor, suiting his image of an irritable powerful man.

  “Your drink, sir,” I mumble as I quickly set the glass down.

  One mystery in the club is his strange routine of ordering drinks when he has a cabinet of expensive liquor sitting in his office.

  The tray hits the floor when he wraps his big hand around my wrist, yanking me harshly to his chest.

  “Who was that?” he demands roughly.

  His hand cups my jaw, stroking the skin as he wraps his fingers around my throat. He presses his lips to my temple as I shakily meet his stormy eyes reflected in the window.

  “What did he want?” he questions persistently.

  I swallow thickly, and his hand tightens around my neck as he leans against my back. Peering down through the window, I search for the man in the sea of dancing limbs.

  He seems to have disappeared; he wasn’t in the mood to party.

  “I didn’t talk to him,” I whisper delicately.

  He clinches my nec
k as he growls against my spine. Lifting my chin, Vasari grazes my cheek with a lingering kiss.

  “He frightens you,” he observes.

  I shudder in response; that man was disturbing, and I never want to see him again.

  “I will ban him from all of my clubs,” Vasari mutters in a low voice. “You won’t see him again.”

  Earlier in our relationship, I would not have understood if he did something like this to protect me.

  But now, I am grateful for his decision.

  “I’ll take you home,” he offers, leaving no room for argument.

  My shift is over anyway. I’m looking forward to showering, relaxing in his bed, and sleeping off the jittery sensation in my stomach.

  “I can take a cab,” I whisper brokenly. “You have to—”

  “The assistant manager can take care of the club,” he objects. “I’m not leaving you alone at home.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Not tonight,” he murmurs against my cheek. “I have a gut feeling about that man.”

  My lips tremble. “A gut feeling? I thought you did things based on experience.”

  “My gut comes from experience,” he chides me with a huff.

  I tap the back of his hand as the bangle bracelet on my wrist slides down. A yelp turns into a whine as he unexpectedly squeezes the bracelet against my arm.

  I want to think it was an accident, but he inhales deeply above my hair, and I know he did it on purpose.

  He hums indifferently as his other hand settles at my hip. “I wouldn’t have wasted so much time on you if you were disposable.”

  “That isn’t reassuring,” I whisper boldly.

  “I will never get tired of you,” he comforts me with eerie resolve. “Is that reassuring enough for you, little girl?”

  Yes, it is. No, it’s not.

  My heart believes that is what I need, but my mind comes up with a logical concern. Words can be meaningless reasons to hope, but his actions will show me the truth.

  No one can be certain of what the future holds.

  “Come,” he says with a rich chuckle. “We’re going home.”

  His grip loosens while his lips peck my cheek once more. His big hand wraps around my wrist, pulling me away from the window.