Executive Engagement

“You don’t have to thank me, Lizzie, if that’s what you’re here for.”

I run my hand across the finished mahogany at the rim of Darcy’s desk. Still getting closer.

“I can thank you with my words, but I agree that I don’t have to. What I use to form those words though: tongue, lips, throat…”

No time for a passionate kiss, no time for making out. I collapse onto Darcy, throwing my hands onto the shoulders of his suit jacket, my face already dangling half a foot above the crotch of his trousers. I lower my face slowly as I slide my hands quickly down the cast-iron sides of his chest, then his abs, and then…I better lift my face up a bit before unzipping what now awaits me.

My body temperature must be running well above a hundred as I focus on Darcy’s diagonally striped tie for a second to keep from having a Richter scale-registering orgasm before things even begin. Darcy is still, silent. I grip the tiny pull of Darcy’s zipper between my thumb and forefinger, gently lowering it until it’s almost all the way down.

Without warning, all twelve fully erected inches of Darcy’s own finished mahogany tear violently through the front of his boxer-briefs, sending his pants button flying across the room and leaving his rigid, deep berry-colored cock completely exposed and ready for serious business.

I start by running my tongue lightly up and down the underside of Darcy’s monumental shaft, first a small section and then expanding to cover more and more area. As my intensity ramps up, I pull back suddenly and begin very subtly massaging different parts of the cock with my lips, again building up in intensity more and more until I’m softly kissing, and then licking, up and down the entire length.

I transition seamlessly into taking Darcy’s cock into my mouth—his hands gripping both sides of the chair as I make sure he experiences the most extraordinary pleasure imaginable.

Darcy

Lizzie has no problem taking every ounce of cum I can muster and swallows it without hesitation. She gets up and goes toward the chair on the other side of my desk. She assumes a position of dominance in the chair as though she has all the power in the room.

> She may have just sucked my cock, but it’s clear she isn’t willing to concede to me all the power. She knows what she can do to me. And I like it.

“So, tell me,” she starts, “what’s your biggest sexual fantasy?”

“You are,” I utter. All it took was that one question to make my cock rock hard again. I need her to come back around to this side again to get me off.

But I don’t make a move. I want to see where she goes with this line of questioning.

“Bullshit,” she responds.

“It’s the truth,” I say. And I’m only partially lying. Lizzie and I could do missionary for eight hours straight, and I would be 100% satisfied the entire time. She has that effect on me.

“I told you I always wanted a threesome. What’s something you’ve never done but always wanted to?” She leans in a little closer, putting her elbows at the end of my desk. She’s trying to coerce me into telling her, and it’s working.

I suppose from a practical standpoint I have nothing to lose. The Bennet Babe deal is going to go through shortly enough, and soon, Lizzie will work for me. She’ll be working under me, so I should definitely use this opportunity to get her under me one last time…in a different sense.

“I’ve always wanted to do BDSM,” I admit.

Lizzie’s eyes widen, and she lets out a single, “Wow.” She continues, “I would’ve assumed if a guy like you wanted to do BDSM, you’d have no shortage of volunteers.”

“I suppose I’m not completely honest when I say I’ve never done it before,” I say. I take out a bottle of scotch I save in the cabinet under my desk. I also take out two tumblers to pour both myself and Lizzie a stiff drink.

I go on, “I’ve engaged with BDSM with various escorts, but it never felt quite right. Sure, they’re willing to be submissive, but there’s usually a line I’m not allowed to cross. We talk about it beforehand, and she lays out what she’s not willing to do, which to be honest is usually quite a lot. I’ve never experienced true submission.”

I hand Lizzie her glass of scotch, which she promptly drinks. She follows up her sip with a few coughs. She’s probably not used to a drink being this strong. This is 90 proof scotch, and I have to admit, I have to stave off a few coughs myself when I take a drink.

“If I’m going to do BDSM again, I need it to be with someone who truly trusts me and is willing to break down some boundaries,” I continue. Lizzie takes another sip, holding down the coughs. She swirls the drink, seemingly considering my proposal.

This is a big admission for me. I’ve never told anyone, at least anyone who wasn’t an escort, that I enjoy BDSM. It just seems like such a cliché for an excessively wealthy individual like myself to be into weird sex stuff like bondage.

I can’t fully explain the proclivity many rich people have to wanting BDSM. I assume it’s the desire to remain dominant in every aspect of life. It’s not enough for some people to have a great job where they get to boss everyone around and tell hundreds of employees what to do. And it’s not just that, really—you control the utter livelihoods of so many people.

If I wanted to, I could fire everyone who works for me and send them on the streets. I enjoy that kind of power, and I want to bring that power to the bedroom.

“All right, let’s do it,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yes, right here and now. Let’s do it,” she says. She begins to undress in front of me. And I can’t believe I’ve found such a perfect woman.