The rest of the week flew by. On Friday night, I stood on a porch in my heels, staring at a door, mustering my courage to knock.
Before I returned to Mr. George, Mr. Ryan acted as if it were a typical day at the office, not our last day together. He was dismissive and too busy to notice me for much of the day. It left me aching and in dire need of attention.
I pretended not to mind, but I secretly wanted to cry most of the day. I didn't understand how he could act as if everything was normal. When I was so clearly breaking. The only time we touched was when he would have me softly suck on his cock under his desk while he was in video meetings.
I was folding my disappointment into a tight ball and shoving it to the back of my mind when Mr. Ryan grabbed my hand. Suddenly, his brown eyes no longer held any trace of nonchalance as they had before.
He stared at me intensely as if he were trying to savor me.
Or save me.
"Come to my house tonight," Mr. Ryan said.
It wasn't a question. But I knew I could say no.
On my way home from work, I spoke with Mr. George on the phone, as I have done every day this week. We discussed how excited we were for Monday and how much we missed each other's bodies.
Somehow, the conversation ended before I could mention where I was going that night. However, Mr. George and I never discussed our lives outside of the office, and he never invited me to his house.
I wondered why. Then, I tossed the thought aside.
***
I knocked on the door, my hands shaking as I did. I waited for what felt like an eternity, long enough for me to start fidgeting with my clothes. I must admit, I was nervous. I had never seen one of my coworkers outside of work like this before.
Taking a deep breath, I felt relieved as Mr. Ryan swung the door open. He gestured me in with a welcoming hand, and I stepped into an enormous entryway illuminated by the warm glow of small lamps along the walls.
Mr. Ryan took my hand and guided me down the entryway, reminiscent of my first day working with him.
"I'm glad you came," Mr. Ryan said. I hadn't realized he was worried I might not show up. While I wasn't technically obligated to be there, there was nowhere else I would rather be.
"Of course I came," I replied, though all I could see was the back of his head. I could swear he smiled.
He led me into a room that I assumed was his, marked by the long, dark curtains covering an entire wall of windows. To the left, a king-size canopy bed with a dark burgundy comforter and silk pillows caught my eye. On the right side of the room stood a marble fireplace with a small fire already inside. I was in awe of the chic decor and wondered if he had hired an interior designer.
As I admired his furniture, I noticed Mr. Ryan was admiring me instead. When I turned to look at him, leaning in the doorway, his eyes were fixed on me. Mr. Ryan was nearly as tall as the door frame and was dressed more casually than I had ever seen him before.
On the other hand, I was wearing sleek black stilettos with black hose. I was bundled up in a black coat that reached right above my knees, and underneath, I was wearing absolutely nothing. Why not keep it simple?
Mr. Ryan walked over to me and pulled me into a deep, passionate kiss. He pulled away much too soon, leaving me aching for me. He grabbed my chin and began rubbing my lips with his thumb.
"Your lips are so pretty," He mumbled before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth and biting it gently. I moaned into his mouth, and he let go.
"I want to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock; take off your coat and get on your knees." Mr. Ryan commanded, and I happily assumed my position. Mr. Ryan pretended not to react when he noticed I had nothing underneath my coat, but I could tell he was pleased.
He grabbed my black collar off the mantle and put it around my neck. He pulled the silver key out of his pocket and locked the padlock. The slight click of the padlock always sent a bolt of heat directly to my pussy.
Mr. Ryan pulled his dick out of his pants. "Open your mouth slut, and stick your tongue out for me," Mr. Ryan said as he was stroking his cock. I stuck my tongue out for him, and he started to slap his dick onto my tongue.
Then, he started to slap me with his dick. "You like that?" He would say. "Yes, sir," I would say. And then he'd slap me with his cock again and ask me again. Every time he slapped me in the face with his dick, it made me feel like such a whore.
No contract required me to do this, or I'd lose my job. I just wanted this. I wanted Mr. Ryan to treat me like a slut. His slut.
"Suck on the tip, be my good girl," Mr. Ryan said, and I started to suck the tip of his dick like it was my job. He growled and grabbed a fistful of my hair, and shoved the rest of his dick into my mouth.
I gagged at first, but he didn't slow down. He just kept pounding his cock into my mouth. His eyes were closed, and his head was leaned back. He looked so perfect at that moment that I had to go deeper. He moaned as I tried to expand my throat as much as I could and fill my mouth with his cock.
"Fuck baby," Mr. Ryan said. "You're going to make me cum," I whimpered in response; trying to say please do it would mean everything to me. But I couldn't, of course, because my mouth was full.
