You First

You don’t recognize the man in the reflection anymore.

This isn’t physical, definitely. Three showers and she still lingers. You remember the way your tears ran down your cheeks. You remember the way your body shuddered under her touch. You remember the way her cock pressed against your prostate with every thrust. She possessed you. She corrupted your soul. She robbed this body away from you.

And with that bait-and-switch of a comfort? How she ruffled your hair. How she let you nuzzle against her palm. How she said good boy, only to dismiss you as just another toy that she grew out of in barely an hour.

Since the incident on Monday,:overtimeWhore:, camel cased, has seen its rise in popularity within your department’s workspace. A meeting call?:overtimeWhore: reacted by five people. An assignment?:overtimeWhore: reacted by four people. An announcement?:overtimeWhore: reacted by seven people. One even sent it as an acknowledgement message. You—jaw opening slightly, spit leaking out from your mouth, eyes barely opening. It’s you. A digitized permanence.

As absurd as it sounds, you’ve earned a new nickname, of course: overtime whore. Everybody on the floor has been calling you that since Tuesday morning.

“Don’t forget the document, overtime whore.”

“Overtime whore, we’re ordering some tea. What do you want?”

“So, how was her cock, overtime whore?”

You can’t just ignore them. Your salary and bubble tea are on the line here. So, you just accept it, letting it become a part of you, etched into your skin. A 9-to-5 designer, and an overtime whore.

Mina remains unfazed by Monday’s event, apathetic even—showing you a polite smile whenever you walk past each other in the hallway, giving crisp presentations, leading your department with the same level of competence as before. If there were any cracks in her veneer, she was sure to plaster them so quickly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the wrath within you—to begrudgingly greet her, to keep a straight face in the meeting room, to follow her lead like nothing happened. Your heart crumbled the moment she dismissed your pathetic ass on the floor. You’re not going to let this go so easily.

Friday, the name is not going anywhere soon. You just came back from lunch with your co-workers. (You’d choose humiliation over solitude. Anything’s better than being alone. And yes, they bring the topic up every ten minutes.)

As you walk past her office, you can’t help but take a glance inside. You still shudder slightly every time you see Mina, always being reminded of her cock. Oh, that big black cock—how it milked your prostate dry, how it obliterated your honor into dust. She’s sitting at her table—calm, focused, professional—typing away on her keyboard. She’s really going to play it ambivalent about Monday’s event, isn’t she?

It’s rash, your next move. Wrath is consuming you. It scorches every blood vessel in your limbs. The desire for vengeance fuels your synapses. You should do something. You have to do something.

The door to her office is opened in an instant—a tad too loud for your liking, but it’ll send a message to her. Mina shifts her vision to you for a split second, giving you a faint smile. You know that look. She’s satisfied with how her overtime whore is craving for more, apparently, before she goes back to her screen.

“I have a meeting in an hour,” says Mina, clicking on her keyboard calmly. “Don’t waste my time unless you’re wanting to get yourself rewired again.”

A set of giggles sparks from the outside of the room.

Fucking hell.

Your eyes remain fixed on Mina as you take a step into her office, before closing the door with a loud thud. The laughter seems to be unwavering despite the indicators of how your patience is running thin. These guys just don’t give a fuck.

You walk towards the chair in front of her desk—the same chair where you got the exquisite mouthfucking under Mina’s enchanting spell, the same chair you sat in while repeating mommy into the charged air of her office. Then, with a small turn, you’re not sitting in it again. You’re going around her table. Mina still focuses on her MacBook attentively. You know that she’s aware of your steps. It’s on the edge of her sight.

Then you stop.

Mina is quite a sight for the sore eyes, to say—the way her eyes are always fiery with determination, the way red looks appealing for a kiss on her lips, the way every single skirt she wears struggles to contain the meaty flesh of her ass, begging to be torn apart and bury your cock inside her warm hole.

“You can kneel now, baby boy,” Mina says coolly, eyes still on her screen. “Mommy’s ready.”

Your hand reaches out for her touchpad, taking over the control she has over her laptop calmly. Launchpad, and Photo Booth. The interface shows Mina’s face captured by her webcam in an instant. It’s an M4, after all.

Press record.

Three.

Two.

One.

Your body tenses up slightly in front of her camera, but you spin her chair by a few hours, nonetheless. Mina gazes up at you, prepared to have her plastic cock lathered in your saliva for the second time of the week.

“Baby boy won’t let Mommy wait, right?”

You chuckle softly. “Just teasing you a bit, Mommy,” and running the back of your hand on the smoothness of her cheek. You can feel the thin layer of powder on her face. Touch-and-sweat-resistant, probably. Nothing is ruined yet. Mina’s eyes flutter slightly when you reach her neck. Your warm hand caresses her crook.

“Mmm, baby boy, I really appreciate this, but you don’t have to do all of this for me,“ Mina coos, moaning softly as you trail along her exposed collarbone. She shudders at the small bit of pleasure you’re giving, and you pull back. Mina leans forward towards you to feel the warmth of your hand just a little more, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape as you touch her cheeks again. Another whimper leaves her lips, before you decide to make your next move.

Wet — that’s the first impression of her mouth, then warmth. Mina takes your thumb into her mouth with no resistance. You explore and mark your territory inside the space between her lips with your digit, running your thumb along her tongue that’s flicking and rolling against you. It falls out finally, making this lewd face with her eyes closed. She just looks fucking ethereal like this, sucking your thumb vigorously, looking like a—

"Slut.”

Suddenly, Mina opens her eyes in shock as the word reaches her ear, unable to believe the word you just used to define her. She quickly pulls away from your now-wet thumb, letting out a gasp along the way.

“H-How dare you!” she barks, albeit without any real bite. Her cheeks are flushing red. Sweat forms at her temple. Her breathing quickens, and the MacBook camera captures all of it unfolding within seconds.

“What is it, Mommy? Loving this thumb a little too much?” you ask, reaching out towards her again. Mina shies away this time, however, as if the earlier slutty behavior didn’t even happen. Shame, would love to wet your other fingers with her spit.

“This is not how you treat your boss, mister. You’re crossing the line—”

And her string of words is cut short with your index and middle fingers inside her mouth. Mina seems to wrap her lips around them instinctively, eyes fluttering under the weight of your dominance over her. She’s doing a pretty damn good job for you here, vacuum sealing your fingers so tightly you can’t help but groan. You didn’t think she would falter this easily, but you’re happy, nonetheless.

“Fuck, babygirl, keep doing that,” you moan, before Mina’s eyes open once more, and she pulls back.

“That’s it. Consider this meeting concluded,” Mina says, trying her best not to look at you. A string of her spit can be seen linking her lips and your still-wet fingers together. “Go back to work and don’t tell anyone about this.”

Oh, so this is how you’re going to get your revenge.

And you do the unthinkable.

First comes off the belt, then the button leaves its socket, then the zipper comes down. You push your pants down in a practiced motion. Your hands quiver slightly, but she’s too lost in the haze of you to notice it. The erection makes a tent under your boxers, ready to burst ropes of cum at any minute.

“No, babygirl. I’m just getting started,” you growl, cringing a little on the inside, but you carry on, nonetheless. Doesn’t look as easy as in those pornos, but that’s how you’re going to get your payback. Play it rough, she’ll yield. Make her pay.

She turns back towards you, eyes focusing on the poking cock under your underwear. It’s on the average size, enough to make her gasp softly at the sight, still. Her hands tremble as if it’s her first time seeing a cock, reaching out for the edge of the garment. “Can I?”

“I don’t know. Can you? Ask again, slut,” you roar. Mina winces a little at your words. It’s just a trick up your rather shallow sleeve — the English teacher gambit.

And Mina asks again, “May I?” Her fingers dig into the underside of your boxers a little more. She’s desperate for your cock, so fucking needy for it.

You tilt her chin up slightly, “‘May I’, who? Say it, babygirl.”

She seems to know the implications — how she made you lather her plastic cock with your spit, how she was thrusting into your ass like there was no tomorrow, how she staged an interview on your crumbling masculinity while plowing you. If there’s a mommy, there’s a—