In Good Hands

“Charlie!,” Anna called out. “Can you come here?”

You walked hastily, each step of your snappy leather soles clicking against the tile. You relished in how it echoed in the corridors: clack, clack, clack. You threw your foot down with purpose in every step, just so your footsteps could be heard.

You didn’t do it for Anna. You did it for you and your loathing.

“Purpose” goes out of the window when Anna calls for you. Because the one job you are paid to do — to make sure no harm comes to “daddy’s little girl” or some shit — is the least of your daily routine.

Your shoes click right outside Anna’s door. You make a sharp, decisively grumped exhale, and open the door with the restraint of grenade pin.

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied.

“Can you pick up my dinner delivery at the ground floor?,” said Anna, eyes still focused and flitting between her desktop screens.

“Right away, ma’am.”

You closed the door with the same restraint, and marched your way to the elevator. And when its metal doors clunked shut, you let out a guttural, exasperated groan. It shook the walls of the metal box, and felt like every expelled ounce of frustration clung to its stainless aluminum walls.

30, 29, 28. The floors whizzed by as your ears popped. Your shoulders loosened up, you stretched your neck. You felt a weight on your chest left behind back at floor 16, 15, 14. You held your breath at 3, 2, 1.

When the elevator dinged at the ground floor, you smiled. “Fancy seeing you here,” the concierge girl winked at you. You pumped your eyebrows at her, beaming with energy.

You waved hi to a janitor. A young lady dropped a pen, and you grabbed it for her before she could balance the tray of coffee in her other hand. This was your element: the people that made this soulless machine churn day in and day out.

And when you got to the door, you were greeted by a greater, bigger smile.

“Hey,” the boy raised his hand, calling you by your real name.

“My brother, good to see you again,” you dapped him up, and bumped shoulders.

“It’s got the usual,” he remarked. “Hey, the restaurant asked to pass on their apologies for the delay. They still had to rush buy some cod for her order or something.”

“I’ll try,” you chuckled, giving him a brief hug. “Hey, I’ll see you around okay? Thanks again.”

You waved past the concierge again, snuck into a service elevator at the back, and enjoyed as the creaky, rumbling hunk-of-junk took double the time to struggle its way up.

And then, the joy left your face.

Anna was not a horrible boss. The five other guys in her security detail — evidently, Alpha, Bravo, Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot — would harp on you continuing to defend that hill. Her actual secretary, Louise, only now signing away at her third ream of documentation, might scream at you for remarking such insensitivities. But really, she wasn’t as nightmarish as your collective grumblings would communicate at a glance.

What Anna was was ruthless. Late report from a regional manager? Leadership transition plan due by the end of the month. Coffee stain on a financial report from sales? Espresso machine replaced with traditional plastic coffee pot. Her punishment may be calculatedly gentle, but a hammer is a hammer whether it’s made of steel or rubber, and Anna put it down at the drop of a feather. And being the young, lowkey nepotistic CEO she was, it wasn’t any doubt she commanded both fear and resentment.

While you yourself feared her wrath, the pressure was most frustrating on you because you were, of the six of you, assigned to “tail” Anna. Originally you six were on rotation, but at her request you were assigned to her alone. Her reason? “Charlie” was most human and easiest to remember after Alpha tried introducing himself with his hard-to-pronounce Turkish name. 

That meant you were her errands boy. Not her secretary Louise, busy at her own clerical work, not any of the maids she had in her gigantic suite unit, but you. Food deliveries, purchases, short courier work — at least she had sense not to make you do things that kept you away for long, but these things are never included in a job order in the first place.

So no, Anna was not a terror. But she was so closed off to compromise she might have done a better job as an immigration officer. Lo and behold, daddy’s media enterprise needed new top-level management, and she was its new monarch. Here you were.

You knocked on the door and brought in the plastic bag to her office, dropping it at the tiny round table in the corner and preparing it for her to eat.

She typed away, still looking left, then right, then left at her desktop. Clicking, clacking, and nothing else filled the room.

“You may leave, Charlie,” she replied coldly.

“Ma’am, your—”

“I’m not hungry right now. They took so long I’ve lost my appetite,” she continued. “Whose fault was it? Was it the delivery boy?”

“No. The restaurant extended their apologies.”

“Louise,” she clicked on an intercom, “please look for new seafood restaurants nearby, 20 minutes away max. We’re blacklisting this one.”

She clicked a few more times on her computer, and then a bit more, then stood up to move to the table. When she sat down and took her first bite, you could feel the weight on her shoulders slam into the floor below yours.

Anna was ruthlessly demanding, and frustratingly stubborn, but a child of complacency she was not. She worked hard, perhaps a bit too hard in her own eyes that everyone was obligated to work as hard as her. The only ill of her manners was her uncaring bluntness, and that you were on its receiving end nine requests out of ten.

“You may leave, Charlie,” she urged, more annoyance her voice and fish in her mouth.

You left immediately, stood outside the door, and sighed.

Just another day at the office.

“But dad, I have that week-long coverage with the Asia-Pacific office in Singapore,” she whined.

“And last I checked, Singapore’s crime rate was lower than Johannesburg,” the older man replied sternly. “Look, you can survive a week in Singapore with… who was it? Charlie? Because we really need the rest of your detail.”

“Please, dad, at least one more,” she begged.

“Anna, we’re speaking about me and your mother,” he emphasized. “I won’t take any further comments on this. Good luck in Singapore, okay? You’ll do great.”

“I know I will,” she scoffed, “but if I get mugged, it’s on you, dad.”

“Anna, don’t—”

A beep and an angry click. Anna threw the landline phone down with a thud, and groaned into her hands. And you stood there, quietly processing just how fucked you were.

Solo detail for Anna? Again, not a nightmare, but an inconvenience of inconceivable proportions. She was right: Singapore may have its iron fist laws, but Singapore was statistically more densely populated. Foreseeable crime is a lot easier to handle than unpredictable crowds.

But the real risk here was Anna herself. Part of the uncompromising attitude was a refusal to blend in. Louboutin shoes, Maison Margiela perfume, Issey Miyake bags — her insistence on aesthetic meant she practically waved around a flag that read out “old money” across its field.

And on commerce-heavy trips like these, Anna’s shopping runs were unbearable. Add that all together and this was going to be the hardest job you’ve done in her name — again, not for her.

She rested her head on the table, quietly taking it in with you, stood with your back to her door. You were stuck there since you walked in the conversation.

“What do you want, Charlie?,” Anna groaned.

“Nothing, ma’am.”

“Then get out,” she sighed, softly throwing in a “please” at the end.

And you did, sighing again outside her door, as you did every single day, in and out.

This was going to be a long week.

Anna wore a sunhat the practical size of an umbrella and turtleshell shades so big it covered half her face, and a newly-bought Jisulife fan that roared like a jet engine to stave off the relentless tropical heat.

You? Full three piece suit, secretly drenching your shirt with an ice bucket’s amount of sweat as you held on to tiny bags of Chow Sang Sang and MO&Co. And secretly seething still that Anna refused to use a personal chauffeur in your Orchard Road shopping run on the grounds of wasting time in traffic.

“Goodness, it’s sweltering,” she shook her head, and you held back your death stare before she could turn around. “Charlie, maybe we should go back to the hotel? But it’s not 3PM yet. Room’s still not available.”

“You can wait at the café beside the hotel, ma’am,” you grunted. “Or perhaps the traffic now is bad enough that we’d get there in time while we cool off in the car.”

She gave it thought, sweat beading down her smooth forehead. “You’re right. Call him over.”

While waiting for the van, you took Anna’s hat and replaced it with a much wider umbrella, finally shielding you from the elements. Anna offered you the last sip of her water bottle.

“You’re gonna get dehydrated,” she insisted as you tried to reject it, pushing it into your hand. “I’m too small to bring you to the hospital.”

A little while longer, and she continued asking you questions. “Do you have to wear the suit?”

“Agency policy, ma’am.”

“Really?,” she asked. “Even if your one and only witness is me?”

“Then it’s more a matter of personal dignity, ma’am,” you rebutted. “I get really sweaty.”

She handed you the Jisulife fan she bought earlier, again pushing it into your hands harder than you could reject it. “I’ll have Louise buy some more. They’re really strong.”

After the van finally arrived and ferried you to the hotel — 3:02, as predicted — you finally settled in your room. Peace and quiet.

TANAKA-SAN

Dinner at 6:30PM.

For now.

Perhaps mealtime was the one thing Anna was surprisingly considerate about. Part of her planning always included the question “Where can Charlie eat around here?,” and if that question had a dissatisfying answer she’d demand another option. And thankfully she hadn’t resorted to asking you to eat with her — that was Louise’s job — but she always found a way to get you food.

Today? Hawker-style white chicken near the hotel in Chinatown, while Anna ate at a luxury restaurant on the other side of the block. You scarfed it down as quickly as you could so that you could return to Anna.

TANAKA-SAN

Have you eaten?

CHARLIE

Yes ma’am

TANAKA-SAN

Come back soon. Something’s up

You downed your still hot tea in two gulps and ran. The moment you turned the corner, you understood the situation.

A small crowd of people in cameras formed, not the worst but enough to be a nuisance. As you stepped closer, you heard “Tanaka-san,” a few times, and you knew it was for Anna.

You headed to the back discreetly, went through the employee entrance, and stood in front of Anna, her side previously open to the doorway. With you blocking the way, the camera flashes died down.

The three of you knew the protocol: you guided Anna out the side, Louise would stay behind and settle bills (and takeout if the food was good enough), and you’d escort Anna to a designated pick-up. But today you were alone, and that was increasingly difficult to figure out how to do while keeping her hidden.

You had an idea.

“I’m sorry, Tanaka-san, I’m gonna have to do this,” you warned. You wrapped an arm around her and walked out the other end of an alleyway, slowly walking all around the block to land back at the hawkers you were at previously, or at least around them.

You dragged her with urgency, trying to ignore the very blatant overstep in manhandling her through the crowds. Her perfume almost blinded you, but you looked onward with resolve.

And then you looked down at Anna.

Being the youngest in her detail also made you the closest to her age. That also meant, obviously, her attractiveness was also attached to her proximity in age. All this to say, in simpler terms, she was really fucking pretty, and you were lucky to be her detail (sometimes).

In this moment, she looked at you with fear — doe-eyed, nose-scrunched, heart-stopping fear — and right now, you had to protect her.

“Charlie—”

“It’s not safe yet, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, but—,” she forced her shoulders through your arm, “at least let me breathe.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

A block away and the crowds were cleared.

“It’s clear,” you let go of Anna. “Sorry about that, ma’am.”

“I-I’m fine,” she sighed. “Where’s the fucking driver?”

“A minute out, ma’am.”

“Good.”

In the car, after picking up Louise, the two caught their breaths and debriefed. Anna had just published an investigative work two weeks ago, and the media trail ever since then had been ruthless, questioning her of ghostwriting and ethical standards.

“I get it, I’m not Maria Ressa or Dmitriy Muratov,” she huffed. “But journalism and media is my thing. What’s so foreign about me publishing so randomly?”

“Ma’am, it was your first,” Louise explained. “It’s probably just unexpected of you, and that’s a good thing.”

“Ha! That’ll show them,” she smirked. “That I’m not incapable.”

She got that right.

You walked out of the van, slower than usual as the adrenaline rush had left your bones. Anna looked more drained than distraught; Louise was busy monitoring social media.

You know you shouldn’t have been complacent until you stepped into the lobby, but the sweat and the exhaustion and the long day flooded into your chest all at once. It wasn’t a justification for neglect, but it was reason regardless.

But when the hand reached for Anna’s shoulder, you didn’t think; you just did. You pushed her away from the general direction of the threat, with enough force that the hotel doors swung open to catch her fall. You’ll have to apologize for that later.

And before you, a crazed fan asking for an autograph, who tried to tap her on the shoulder, and instead got an armlock from you.

“Ow ow ow ow! Okay! Sorry! Please let me go!” And you did, leaving his marker and book behind.

You fell to the ground, Anna still on the ground meters away from you. You ran to her, but Louise stopped you.

“Hotel called police. I’ll escort her up. Just hand this,” she rushed, leaving a hastily scribbled number on a torn off page. A lawyer, probably.

What have you done?

You weren’t going to get deported. It took nearly an hour to get the police not to file affray charges, but thank heavens for expensive legal services (and Louise’s quick thinking).

You stood outside your door, very much resigned and ready to hit the sack. But you felt the need to check on Anna; you played back the face of fear she made in your arms, and it drove you to drag your feet to her door.

Deep breath in, and a knock.

“Who is it?”

“Charlie.”

Locks clicked. She opened the door now wearing a pearl-colored nightgown that sat well on her petite frame.

Her face expressed a mix of worry and confusion. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, ma’am. Just wanted to check in on you. And report that we’re in the clear.”

“O-okay,” she replied, opening the door. You tried to wave off, but she held your wrist firmly and pulled you in.

You stood together in the doorway, quietly. Her face was still conflicted, like she was thinking about something and couldn’t find the words to say. You stood in respect.

She gingerly reached for your hand, and held it in hers.

“Thank you for protecting me tonight, Charlie,” she replied softly, her voice strangely tender and unsure.

“It’s my job, ma’am.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But I’m sorry.”

Pain. You weren’t sure why you felt it, but your chest pained. Pained at the humble words, at the meekness of her voice. 

“Nothing to apologize for, ma’am.”

And Anna hugged you.

Your arms hovered, unsure if it wanted to fall onto her. You did so slowly, trying not to land a hand improperly, but she pushed herself away in a flash.

“Sorry about that,” she looked away. “I’m just—”

The phone rang, and she walked to the bed and sat by its edge. Under the warm lights her porcelain skin looked hard and sculpted, a marble statue alive.

“Dearest, the hotel staff told us about what happened,” her dad spoke through the phone. “Are you okay?”

“How did you— yes, dad, I’m fine,” Anna scoffed.

“Are you hurt? Have a check-up if—”

“It wasn’t physical, dad,” she cut him off. “Charlie pushed me away in time.”

“Do we need to replace Charlie?,” he groaned. “This was obviously—”

Before you could even get your blood to boil, Anna snarled at her father.

“Absolutely not!,” she began. “Charlie was literally the only one who understood the risks and took care of me properly!,” she pushed, her voice now seething, shaking with frustration.

And in that instant, the simmering in you cooled.

“I told you I would need more security! But no! Charlie made up for my needs! He does not need to be replaced, okay? He is my bodyguard! Mine!,” her voice breaking at the possessives.

“Okay, okay, I apologize for the—”

“Ugh! I’m sorry, dad, I’m physically fine, but really stressed, and this isn’t helping,” she hissed. “Sorry for shouting. But I’m going to hang up now.”

Click.

The room fell silent, which seemed to be a trend with you these past few hours.

Anna huffed and puffed in her place. You slowly walked back to the door, turning around to open it gently.

“Don’t go,” she barked, facing away from your line of sight. You stood in the doorway still, quietly standing.

Were you angry? No. Were you seething? No. In fact, not a single bit of loathing stayed with you.

You felt concern.

“T-Tanaka-san—”

“Anna,” she humphed. “Call me Anna, from now on.”

“Tanaka-san—”

“That’s an order, or something,” she repeated. “Just– please.” Her voice slowly descended into a tone of fragility, crackling at its highest tones.

You walked closer, slowly, until you saw her in full view again. She was faced fully away from you, her jet black hair draped over the pure white sheets.

She sniffled.

You walked up to her and crouched beside the bed, down on one knee. Up close, you could hear and see her body trembling with a whole hailstorm of emotions.

“Ta— um… Anna.”

Her sniffling got stronger. You laid a hand on her shoulder, and she broke down.

She looked at you, eyes red, snot pouring out of her nose, lips trembling as she struggled to say something.

You sat beside her on the bed, removed your blazer, and wrapped an arm around her small frame, enveloped entirely by your grasp. You let her rest her face on your chest.

A lot of tension felt like it was released. Like it spilt all over the floor, a gigantic pool of it by your feet, she wept and wept into your chest.

You felt soft.

Years of deep-seated disappointments seemed to disappear in an instant. Yes, Anna had high standards and little patience, but deep down she knew what — who — she valued. And that she defended you, perhaps the first time to your knowledge, meant something.

You looked down at her, her features bloated by her own distress, and you wiped the strands of hair strewn on her face. She was beautiful even when she wept. And she stared at you, a whole expiatory speech hidden in the twinkling of her eyes: sincerest sorries, fearful explanations, profuse thanks. Instead, she stayed quiet, like her tears drowned out her capacity to uncharacteristically say it.

You let your hand go. She pulled it back to her cheek. You slid it down her jaw, thumb wiping the tears on her cheekbone. She pressed her face into it, harder.

You didn’t think. You just acted.

“Y-you have beautiful eyes, ma’am.” She blinked slowly, her chest rising and falling in your arms.

“You’re very gentle,” she replied, holding your chin between her thumb and pointer fingers.

You leaned in and kissed your boss.

Slow and drawn out. Just one. Then Anna leaned back in, pushing her lips harder into yours. A hand of hers wrapped around the back of your head, pulling you into the bed. You climbed on top of her, elbows dipping into the bed. You ran your arms around her back, through the loose straps of her nightgown, running your hands all over her smooth back. Every inch of her skin molded to your grasp, allowing you to feel the calluses and ridges of your worn palms.

She wrapped her legs around yours, kneeling into the bed. She almost hung upside down on you, begging for your entire weight to rest onto her. She clung like she had no intent of letting go, and barely did until you laid down onto the bed, turning you both to your sides.

All the while, her lips sank into you over and over, each one a message you could only assume she had never told you, until she actually did as you dragged your lips and tongue on her bony neck and jaw.

“F-fuck, you’re so hot,” she muttered. “You’re hot when you’re defensive, so hot when you hold me in your arms. You’re so hot when you’re sweaty and tired.” Each word did numbers on your confidence and inhibitions.

One swipe of her gown and she was fully naked for you, arms and legs fully splayed on the bed, eyes begging still for more of you, to dive in and take all of her.

You hesitated. Already you had broken enough protocols to warrant a performance review by your agency. Already you overstepped so many bounds within earshot of Louise.

Anna reached out and grabbed your shirt, stretching the buttonholes open and undoing the top half caught in her grasp.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “Claim your reward.”

There was this unacknowledged confidence in her pose, body modeled in full view for your gaze. She was so dainty, so alluringly sure that she was the object of desire and your ravaging her was your heart’s yearning.

Which wasn’t wrong, but still indicative of the cheeky self-centeredness of her own brand. But who’s complaining when she’s giving you a pass?

You unbuttoned your shirt and took off your pants slowly, taking your time, watching Anna wait for you. You were so sure she would quip at your speed, or your smugness; instead, she laid silently, watching her lips tremble as you freed your manhood. Being a bodyguard didn’t require toned fitness, but Anna stared at you like you were a living David yourself — and she, a living Venus.

“Say it again,” you taunted. “That you’re mine.”

She smirked. “I’m not yours, silly. I belong to no one.” She got up, walked to you and stood right in front of you, until her breasts pressed against your chest and your slowly hardening member pressed against her tiny abdomen. “You, on the other hand, are my bodyguard. Mine,” she repeated her earlier declaration. “Don’t get it mixed up.”

“Sorry, Tanaka-san,” you pushed one last time. In response, she grabbed you by your shaft, not squeezing tightly but still holding you very threateningly.

“Again.”

“Sorry, Anna.”

“Better,” she smiled, pulling you gently by your groin to the bed.

She pulled you to lie down, rubbed some liquid on her hands, and started rubbing you down, spreading the slippery compound all over your skin, warm to the touch. She felt your chest in circles, then the ridges of your arms, thumbs running down the fat and muscle and bone.

“I hate this, you know,” she chuckled. “I hate that you make me feel this way. Like I’m so needy. So incapable of controlling myself.” She looked you dead in the eyes. “But you’re mine now. You’ve always been mine. I’ll make sure I have you.” Her lips curled.

You should have been afraid. But the rawness of it all, the unfettered and uncensored side of hot young superior literally baring it all, had you erect.

Anna reveled as your length grew.

“I know your name isn’t Charlie,” she hissed, hands moving toward your shaft, wrapping all ten fingers around you. “But it’s my name for you. And it’ll be your name with me.”

She started stroking, twisting her hands with every upstroke. She rubbed her thumbs against your frenulum, making circles around the ridges until it tickled. You smiled in pleasure, trying not to give away too much of your enjoyment.

“I love how your cock feels in my hands,” she smirked. “So fucking big. Gonna stretch me out so wide. And it’s all mine,” she said, a light giggle at her last word.

She moved a hand to your balls, oiling it up and massaging them. She could tell how long it had been since you’d rubbed one out, and she was pleased with how much she got to work with tonight.

“I know you hate this job,” she chuckled, mouth falling into a scowl. “I know I’m a lot. I know you have to deal with me every single day.” She spat on your tip, the hot glob rapidly cooling. “So I want you to fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me the way I deserve to be.”

She stuck her tongue out and hovered her gaping mouth over your tip, making a full gesture of sinking to your cock and taking you in. You could feel the edges of her maw rub your girth, filling her tiny mouth wide.

She bobbed her head while stroking you with both clasped hands underneath, never taking you all the way to the back of her throat. But with the drool spilling out and the tightness of her grip, it felt unreal how in command she was of your reactions — and how uncontrollable you were for her by your sheer size against her.

Still she kept at it, hands and mouth stroking you. She hummed until your tip vibrated, kept her grasp firm until each knuckle massaged your length just the right way. You were hers alright — every ounce, every inch, every pound of you belonged to her and her alone, especially in this moment with no one else to see.

She spat, dribble oozing and foaming at the edges of her mouth, until she let go of you and stroked at full speed, hands still clasped together.

“Ohhh, shit, Anna,” you mumbled. She leaned over, your tip grazing the middle of her tits as she stroked.

“Say my name.”

“Anna.”

“Again,” she commanded. “I’m gonna make you remember my name.”

“Anna, Anna, fuck!”

You gritted your teeth and shut your eyes, waiting for release, but it never came. Anna stopped stroking entirely, waddling on her knees to align herself right over you. Your tip hit her folds as you bucked, edged almost painfully.

“You cum when and where I tell you to, Charlie,” she grinned, aligning her core over you and sitting slowly. God, she was tight: tight enough that as it pressed against the sides of your length it felt like you were going to rip her open, tight enough that you swore she’d tear up in pain.

She didn’t. She teared up, mouth twitching, but she smiled the whole way.

“Hold me.”

You placed your hands on her hips, thumbs resting on her tight abdomen. You felt them: hard. Toned. All those light night hours at the gym when you begged for her to wrap up sooner yielded this sculpted masterpiece.

She leaned back on your shins and gyrated her hips, and you were undone.

It was magical. She moved so slowly it should never have felt like anything. And yet with how tight her grip and how deep the rolling of her hips was, you groaned and laughed uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck, Anna, fuck,” you moaned.

“Like that, baby, keep saying my name,” she giggled.

“Yes, Anna, fuck yes, fuck.”

She ground you hard a few times. “Use your words, Charlie.”

“F-fuck, can’t—”

She leaned over and started twerking her hips up and down your length. Her abs and her legs did all the work while she towered her tiny frame over your chest. She was so tiny she could barely reach your face, yet she loomed over you, in full control of every synapse and nerve in below your neck.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, you’re so big, yes!,” she squealed. She bounced on you until each contact of skin clapped throughout the room. She rode you, not stopping once, even when her legs and her abdomen crumpled from pleasure and exhaustion.

You sat up, supporting her with your legs and clinging to her with your arms braced across her sweaty back, and ground your hips into each other.

“Fuck! So deep! So fucking deep!,” she squealed in your ear. “Fuck! Yes, Charlie, yes!”

You groaned, and heaved, and laughed, whatever was forced out of your mouth by Anna’s mastery of you. You’d barely known anything past her timetable and yet here she was, undoing you like gift wrapping.

“You wanna cum?,” she teased. “You can cum inside me.”

“N-no, ma’am.”

“Do it,” she giggled. “Knock me up. Cause a scandal. Ruin my name.” She whispered in your ears. “Where I go, you follow. You’re mine. Your cock is fucking mine. Your seed is fucking mine.”

You tore her off you and tossed her onto the bed, stroking yourself to completion while she scrambled to you. She wrestled your hands away from your shaft, twisting your length right over her face.

“I’m gonna cum—”

“Paint me” was her last command.

Spurt after spurt shot out of you and over Anna’s chiseled face. She rubbed your tip left and right over her lips, each strand of release covering another square inch of her face. You felt your balls wrung completely as you collapsed onto the bed. Anna sat on the other side, panting in glee.

A drop fell into her mouth, and she spat it out with a wince. But she still felt the warm load all over her face, and caught her breath with a satisfied grin the entire time.

You look like you ruined her. She smiled like you made her beautiful. And she was, claimed as yours — or perhaps, you and all of you on her as hers.

“Good job, Charlie,” she smiled. “How does it feel having fucked your boss?”

“Tanaka-san, please—” you mumbled, slipping up. She reached for your length and stroked rapidly. “Ah, ahh! Anna! Anna!”

She stopped, giggling at your desperation. “You’re mine.”

She got off the bed and walked to the bathroom, stopping at the doorway and looking back. Her tight ass peaked at the end of her curvy waist, her eyes low and still caked by your seed.

“Wash me up, babe.”

You got up too, rolled your shoulders, slicked your hair back, and sighed. Not exasperation this time — Thrill. Amusement. A deeper sense of ease.

And a readiness to serve Anna, for the long week ahead, because you were hers.