Me, Too

By the time he was on his fifth call, I realized my asshole had loosened and I had relaxed. There was still some discomfort and I wouldn't say that I was used to it, but Clayton's fucking me was now bearable. Not unexpectedly, there was no finesse to it, no sign that he was enjoying himself. There was only the relentless back and forth of his dick sawing through my hole. It wasn't that he was trying to make the experience unpleasant, he simply did not care how I felt about it because this, again, was nothing more than a transaction for him to complete.

At some point during a subsequent call, I reached a clause that caught my undivided attention. Essenially, it said that as long as he owned the firm and for as long as I remained a partner, depending on my performance I would be required to submit no more than twice a quarter. Expecting or maybe hoping that it was a typo, I reread the paragraphs before it then read the one after to see if there was an indication that I needed to submit reports on win-loss, new clients, something other than what was in my head but found no guidance.

"Hold on, Bill. I need a quick sec to take care of something," I heard Clayton say as he nodded to me to put the call on hold. To me he said, "You read that right. You'll have to submit. If you perform well and we don't have any problems, it might not even be once a year. If we get to the point where we've done this four times in six months, you may not have to worry about submitting for a third quarter. Understood?"

"Yeah," I said through clenched teeth as I nodded. Knowing there could be no discussion or negotiation, I returned my gaze to the paperwork after reconnecting his call.

I'd always wondered why he had the mirror in such a position and now I knew. With barely enough room between it and his desk for him to stand and look himself over, it only served one purpose: to remind those who were in the know—the other partners and even the few who remained with the firm that had turned him down—that Clayton Harris was in charge. Going forward, I knew that each time I stepped into his office, hell, each time I saw him, I'd see his hips thrusting against me with his blond hair grazing his shoulders as it swayed gently in counterpoint all while his cold blue eyes remained fixed on mine. Like the previous day, there was no arousal in his eyes as he met my gaze, no overt expression of power. But unlike yesterday, he was fucking me not because he could but because it was his right. Clayton Harris was entitled to use my ass whenever he wanted—with or without the contract—in the same way he was entitled to have a glass of water at any time. Even though I could have backed out and still could, he knew I would not. And it was that power that he wielded and the memory of this meeting that I knew and he knew would keep me performing to a high standard.

I continued to work my way through the document while he continued to work my ass. Calls came and ended, files were opened and closed and emails read and responded to on his laptop, pages were signed with i's dotted and t's crossed all while Clayton continued to sedately fuck me. I'd heard opposing lawers mention having to bend over and take it from our law firm, but I never imagined I'd literally be put in that position by Clayton.

"Finished?" he asked once I signed the last page.

I met his eyes in the mirror. "Yeah."

"Okay."

Clayton reached up and grabbed each of my shoulders tightly in his hands then gave me three, hard thrusts before pushing his dick all the way into me. With that fourth and final thrust, almost as if he flipped a switch, he began to come inside me.

Our eyes remained locked and I saw that, again, his face betrayed no sign of his orgasm. I could feel his cock pulsing, feel the heat and even the wetness of his cum filling me, but none of that was reflected anywhere on his body beyond his cock and the way his hands held me in place. I again clenched my jaw holding back the anger I felt at taking his load, at being used in this manner with no concern for myself, but didn't otherwise react.

As when he finished in my mouth, once his balls were empty, he pulled out and moved to sit behind his desk with his cock wet and dripping. Collecting the stack I had signed, he tidied it, then leaned back in this chair overtly tucking himself away while watching me fix my pants.

"I think you're going to be a good addition, Malcolm. Welcome to the team." He stood again and extended his hand for a shake then poured me a glass of scotch that he forced me to drink while chatting about nonsense as if he hadn't just finished fucking me.

My ass was sore and I could still feel him sliding in and out of me in my muscle memory. I wanted to get away from him to collect myself and process what had just happened but he wouldn't let me leave. Whenever there was a natural break in the conversation, he talked over my attempts to excuse myself politely. When I began to feel his load start to flow out of my loose ass, I downed what remained in my glass but he poured me another.

"Malcolm, even though we're partners, we both know you're not leaving until I say you can, so relax and accept it. I'll let you leave early today."

Pissed, but unable to do anything about it, I held back a curse and sipped from my glass as his wetness seeped out of me and into my boxers. The feel of the cold fluid was bad enough, but being able to smell the odor of his sex wafting around me filled me with more anger knowing that it would stick with me forever.

When I finally left Clayton's office, on the walk to the restroom to see for myself how bad of a number Clayton's cum had done to my pants, the two other partners stopped me for a moment. While they congratulated me and we chatted, I saw in their eyes the same unexpressed sadness and anger that I felt. But, because we had all signed a document attesting that we would never discuss what happened in his office—which I really didn't want to do even with a licensed professional—we couldn't do more than smile sadly in acknowledgement of our shared circumstances.

--

Nearly two months later, I was watching the news with my wife when they reported on yet another high-powered executive who had been ushered out of his job for harassment yet had received a ridiculously handsome severance after issuing a word salad for a statement that effectively did not deny any wrongdoing.

"Mal, can I tell you something?"

I turned to my wife hearing the sadness in her voice. "Of course. Anytime and always. What's wrong?"

"Remember when I got that promotion just out of college shortly after we got engaged?"

I felt a pit form in my stomach. "Yeah?"

"It was because he made me sleep with him to get it. I earned it, I know I did, but he wouldn't...wouldn't sign off on it until...unless we..."

I didn't need her to finish and pulled her into a hug. I already knew what she was feeling because it had very recently happened to me, too.