Office B*tch

Alex's jaw ached from the endless rotations, his knees raw from the crawling, throat tight from the forced service. The second round had blurred into a haze—sucking, gagging, cleaning his own leaks from the floor like some broken animal. His body was a wreck: erection still rigid, dripping incessantly, a constant reminder of the confusion gnawing at him. Why did the degradation keep him hard? He didn't want their cocks in his mouth, didn't want the taste lingering on his tong

Alex slid off the table, his body trembling from the relentless edging, muscles weak and mind fogged with exhaustion. The overload had pushed him to limits he didn't know existed—his prostate sensitive, his erection aching with denied release, precum still dribbling in thin trails down his shaft. He collapsed to his knees on the cool floor, gasping. The bosses gave no reprieve. They returned to their chairs, forming that familiar semicircle, legs spread wide, bulges evident t

Alex barely had time to catch his breath before the bosses manoeuvred him onto the conference table, the cold obsidian surface biting into his back. His legs were hoisted high, knees bent toward his chest, thighs spread wide by strong hands—Caleb and Theo gripping one each, pinning him open like a specimen. The position left everything exposed: his reddened ass, twitching entrance, and erection curving desperately toward his abs, still leaking from the prior intrusions. Confu

Alex panted, sliding off Elliot's lap, his body slick with sweat and unresolved tension. The grinding had left him on a knife's edge—his erection straining, leaking in steady dribbles, every nerve ending alight with a confusion he couldn't shake. Why did the teasing make him want more when his mind screamed to stop? The bosses' touches lingered like ghosts, his entrance twitching emptily, begging against his will. They guided him to the edge of the obsidian conference table,

Alex slid off Caleb's lap, his body a live wire of confusion and unmet need. His ass cheeks glowed with heat from the spankings, each step sending fresh stings through him, but it was the persistent throb between his legs that muddled his thoughts the most. He didn't understand it—the way the pain twisted into something else, making him leak like that. He wanted it to stop, all of it, but his erection refused to wilt, standing proud and desperate in the face of his denial. Th

Alex's ass burned, the reddened skin a throbbing reminder of his self-inflicted punishment. He straightened slowly, legs still spread wide, his erection aching in the open air—harder than before, despite the confusion churning in his mind. Why did the slaps make it worse? He didn't like the sting, didn't want the heat spreading forward like that. But there it was, leaking steadily, his body ignoring every protest. The bosses shifted in their chairs, no longer content with dis

Alex's legs trembled as he stood there, fully exposed, his erection a traitorous flag of confusion in the sterile glow of the office lights. The bosses lounged in their chairs, a wall of composed suits and knowing smirks, their distance making every second stretch into eternity. He wanted to bolt, to grab his clothes and run, but the weight of their expectations pinned him in place. His mind raced—why wasn't this over? Why was his body still responding like this? Elliot leane

The room seemed to shrink around Alex, the bosses' chairs forming a semicircle of judgment. He stood there in his black boxer briefs, the fabric taut against his skin, every ridge and curve of his athletic build on shameless display. His heart pounded, a chaotic mix of fear and confusion swirling in his chest. What the hell was happening? This wasn't him—he didn't want any of this. But his body... it was reacting in ways that didn't make sense, a warmth building where it shou

Alex's hands hovered at the open edges of his shirt, the air in the room thick with expectation. He could feel the weight of their stares—five pairs of eyes, unblinking, appraising. Elliot's command still echoed in his mind, but no one moved to enforce it further. They didn't need to. The silence was its own pressure. "Stand up," Elliot said, his tone measured, almost bored. He shifted in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, the picture of relaxed authority. The other

Alex had always been the golden boy of the trading floor. Twenty-six, broad-shouldered, gym-carved arms that strained just enough against the tailored sleeves of his Tom Ford shirts, a jawline that made junior analysts whisper when he walked past. He closed deals with easy charm and moved money like it was breathing. Until three weeks ago. The mistakes started small—mis-keyed tickets, forgotten follow-ups, a swapped decimal that cost a client seven figures before anyone caugh