12 Days

by Dark Angel

  As they finish, I sit up and wipe globs of cum from my eyelids and cheeks and let it drip off of my fingers onto my tits.

  I smile, and I part Tate and Sean to make my way over to the cupboard. I grab a drinking glass and return to my post at the island and climb back onto the top.

  I sit, and I first scoop cum from my legs and my toes into the glass. Once I’m sure I’ve gotten all that I can, I move on to my pussy. I transfer their cum into the glass from my wet cunt before going to other parts of my body.

  I continue scooping cum from myself into the cup, and once I’ve wiped myself as clean as I can and have as much cum collected as possible, I sit up and let my legs hang off the edge of the island, facing the team.

  I raise my pinky in the air and slosh the mixture around in my glass.

  I raise the cup to my lips and tilt my head back. Gulp after delicious gulp, I guzzle down every fucking drop of their hot, creamy cum. As I lower the cup from my mouth, I wipe away my cum moustache with my finger and stick it in my mouth and suck it clean.

  I sit, eyes closed, lingering on the wonderful taste of all of them in my mouth. When I open my eyes, they’re all staring at me, smiling.

  I think I’ve impressed them and certainly surpassed my previous performance.

  I slide off of the island and they step back, allowing me some room. I approach Finn, who is at the edge of my crowd and grab his face to give him an ‘innocent’ kiss on the lips.

  I repeat the motion for Owen, then Tristan, Ty, Ethan, Sean, Ford, Theo, Eason, Nico, Simon, and finally Tate.

  “I thank each of you for attending. I do hope you’ve enjoyed the show,” I address to the group. My heart is fucking racing, and I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

  I can’t believe how much I was able to let loose, and I don’t know if I ever want or need to come down from this high.

  “Thank us?” interrupts Owen.

  “Yeah, no. Thank you!” interjects Sean.

  “Alyssa, you’re so fucking special. We’ve never had a woman in here with your sensuality, your blind passion, your...hunger. We’re all moved by you,” says Theo, kindly.

  “It’s an absolute pleasure to be working with you, in many, many ways,” I say humbly. “I can’t say I’ve had more fun on any other job. I wanted to express my gratitude in a way I feel you’d all appreciate.”

  “Consider us appreciative, Alyssa. You’re fucking spectacular,” says Easton.

  My stomach is full of butterflies, among other things, at their words. I don’t know where things are supposed to go from here, but I can’t wait to see. I move back to where I let my slip fall to the floor and recover it. I pull it over my naked body, and we all walk back out of the kitchen and make our way back to the boardroom.

  Chapter 29

  Easton

  In the entire history of boardrooms—I’m admittedly no expert here, but in what I’m sure is a long history of rooms meant for groups of coworkers to conduct business and exchange ideas—I highly doubt that any group of people has had as much fun, or has felt as much passion, as the thirteen lucky souls now soaking the afterglow of Alyssa’s show-stopping performance; complete with audience participation.

  We’re sitting peacefully around the gigantic hunk of cherry wood in the center of the room, completely comfortable in our silence, and just totally fucking relaxed in the middle of an illustrious, high-powered corporate headquarters.

  “Some day at the office, huh fellas?” That’s Tristan, breaking the silence.

  I’m compelled to tell Tristan that somebody had to break that beautiful life intermission of quietude, and I’m glad that somebody turned out to be him. I’m not much of a quietude-breaker, personally. I’m just into letting it all happen—especially right now.

  There was a time I may have ribbed one of my coworkers for using an expression like ‘let it flow’—but if any one of my colleagues ever decide to speak up with that clichéd, new age-steeped expression, I’d be right there with him.

  Just letting the day flow. It feels pretty fucking great.

  “Ha. ‘fellas’,” Alyssa remarks, returning Tristan’s word to him and highlighting one of his particular charms.

  Tristan gets it, aiming a wide grin right at her from across the table. He’s into demonstrating his fondness for Alyssa in obvious ways. She’s a magnificent woman, and she does appreciate it, but I like sticking to my own style of subtler communication for the time being.

  “This is one of the best days yet, that’s for sure.” Ford’s resting his feet up on the table, talking with a markedly relaxed version of his standard forceful tone. “And we’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

  “I’ll say,” Ethan comments, directing his own brand of crooked grin at Alyssa to complement Tristan’s smile.

  I smile too, but mostly to myself. I love that even in our most relaxed and contented moments, bits of our ingrained, competitive dynamics still end up showing in their face.

  Alyssa’s only five minutes removed from being the center of attention and plainly savoring every last erotically-charged microsecond, feeling nothing in the universe of discomfort. Yet now, realizing how much of this euphoric attention is focused on her—well, all of it, really—I notice her cheeks beginning to lightly flush.

  I’m immensely enjoying watching Alyssa enjoy the attention, and she’s handling it expertly: just staring up at some arbitrary part of the ceiling, maintaining a smile of supreme confidence, sexiness and badassery.

  “Like I said, swag.” Owen’s calling back his preshow remark, which Alyssa visibly channels into her stately vibe. Cool, unfazed, in total fucking control.

  “Like a fucking boss.” Sean’s praise is running very similar to Owen’s, but he’s still summing up Alyssa’s demeanor perfectly.

  She keeps her composure, and doesn’t focus on any one of us. Her smile stays unchanged. As Sean said, like a fucking boss.

  “It’s just been so much fun, too.” There’s Tristan again, keeping with more wholesome and less self-conscious style of commenting.

  “You can say that again, I don’t think I’ve ever had fun like that at the office. Not to that extent, at least,” Theo interposes, adding a late yet heartfelt addendum to his Oscar-worthy speech from earlier.

  “And we’ve had some fun, too, but it all pales in comparison,” says Nico.

  Pales in comparison. She seems to really enjoy that accolade, even if she may not know what she’s being compared to. Some office birthday party with lousy supermarket sheet-cake, perhaps? Or a company-wide holiday bash where everyone got a bit too drunk?

  It’s a great compliment, though, even if evokes comparison. Hell, maybe it’s so effective because it does evoke comparison.

  “There is no comparison. Not to Alyssa.” There it is. I’ve found the perfect spot to throw in my own little compliment, and I’ll be damned if it’s not effective.

  Alyssa stirs for the first time in minutes from her queenly manner, taking her feet off the table and looking at me briefly, and looking at all of us while her smile turns from cool to warm.

  She’s so fucking cute as she blushes and shrugs almost inadvertently, not knowing or really caring of a perfect way to actively respond to our adoration.

  “That’s correct, sir.” I’m still rivetted by Alyssa, logically, as I hear Ty’s voice concurring with me from a few seats down the table. “No one should even consider trying. Definitely not those assistants we were once so reliant on using.”

  Damn it, Ty. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?

  Of course, Alyssa’s cheeks go from their delighted rosiness to a decidedly less than delighted ashen pallor almost immediately.

  Seriously, could he have phrased that any fucking worse? It’s like Ty designed it to be as offensive and as personally hurtful as possible, although I know he was just not fucking thinking—literally.

  Alyssa’s now looking around the conference table again, giving each of us a fleeting look. The diff
erence between now and just a fucking second ago is that now she’s looking at us out of confusion over Ty’s tactless, boneheaded statement.

  “Assistants?” It’s the first word that Alyssa’s uttered in quite some time at this point, and it’s not a happy one. She’s now quite understandably confused about her entire situation here. “What does that even mean?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Alyssa,” I say, trying to quickly throw a bit of extra explanation together in my head, something that’ll be reassuring without having to get into the nitty-gritty of all the office goings-on. “Actually, it means never fucking listen to Ty since he doesn’t now how to fucking speak.”

  “No,” responds Alyssa, who’s composing herself with admirable quickness, getting her pencil skirt into publicly presentable condition in no time. “There’s more to it than that.”

  She might not be soaking up the adulation any more, but she’s still in control. I think she’s going to be okay, but I’ll leave it up to my colleagues if they want to explain in any more detail.

  “You have to understand, Alyssa, sex isn’t new to this office.”

  Here we go, Sean’s starting up one of his famous explanations. I know from experience that there’s nothing to do know but sit back and let him take the wheel.

  “We have sex with our assistants—but it’s not the same thing, though, not even close. And we don’t do it anymore.”

  Observing Alyssa, she doesn’t look thrilled, but her cool confidence is still on clear display, with plenty of self-possessed composure to spare. Of course, she’s also out of her seat now, and looks to be getting ready to leave. I guess that was bound to happen sooner or later no matter what.

  Taking another look around the room, observing my colleagues this time, the feeling is a quite a bit less composed, with a number of shame-filled, ill at ease hangdog expressions than you would ever expect to see from this group.

  I mean, embarrassment and shame are not exactly in our wheelhouse. Not before today, at any rate.

  “I think I’m gonna throw up,” Alyssa states calmly before exiting with grace. She doesn’t actually do that, but hearing her say it is a sign that she’s not overly happy with the situation.

  Chapter 30

  Alyssa

  Who the fuck do they think they are? Are they fucking kidding me? I’m not some floozy to be fucked and used. I can’t believe these guys.

  To them, women are merely objects of physical gratification. Pussies to fuck. Mouths to suck them off.

  Fuck them.

  I storm out. I come straight home and I slam the door, throwing my briefcase on the couch.

  I don't even know why I went there today. This assignment should have been over days ago. I have what I need. There’s no reason for me to go back to True Love. I've just been going back for days just to see them.

  I slip out of my clothes by the door and toss them on my briefcase. I walk into my kitchen and yank open my refrigerator, but nothing inside looks good. I'm not hungry for food.

  I grab a bottle of 2012 Napa Valley merlot off the counter, and pour myself a glass on my way to the bathroom. I run the bath, trying desperately not to think about True Love, 12 handsome men, and a gaggle of beautiful assistants. The running water drowns my flurry of thoughts for a moment. I grab some lavender bath oil and pour it in the scalding water.

  As I sink into the water, inhaling the scent of lavender, I take a sip of wine and reflected on my actions today.

  I probably shouldn't have stormed out earlier. I don’t know what they were expecting, but storming out was childish. I am better than that, but I couldn’t be in that room with them for another minute.

  I don’t know what I would have done if I had stayed. I am afraid I would have said something I’ll regret. I don’t know what I would regret at this point. Telling them I never want to see them or forgiving them.

  What the hell have I been thinking? I have spent the last 8 days not doing my job. I found the formula days ago. I know exactly what I should be doing, and I’ve let myself indulge. I’ve fallen into their decadent world.

  I don't know why I’m expecting more from them, when I just met them, for fuck’s sake. What more do I want? I got myself off in their waiting room the very first hour I met them. Why do I expect them to treat me with more respect than the women they interview and employ specifically for their talents in the bedroom and the boardroom?

  Who the fuck do I think I am? As far as they could tell, I’m just some floozy that they treat amazingly.

  They rented me a restaurant, took me on a hot air balloon ride. They listen to me. None of them ever used me just for sex. If anyone is being used, it was them.

  They have seduced me, yes, but made me feel like the only woman in the world, like I have a buffet of men I don’t even have to choose from.

  Two weeks ago, all I knew about True Love was the names of the twelve men who ran it, and the fact that someone with pull at the FDA wanted them out of business. Two weeks ago, they didn't know a damn thing about me. They didn’t even know my name.

  I came in and I used them. I should be grateful for the time I spent with them.

  The water's getting cold. I pour myself another glass of merlot and run the hot water again. I lay back in the tub and listen to the water lapping at my skin.

  I think back to before I went to True Love, when I thought having a warm bath was already decadent. Less than a month ago, my greatest pleasure was drawing a hot bath and relaxing with a glass of wine after a tough day at the office. So easy to fall back into old habits.

  My hand traces the curve my breast, then down my torso and between my thighs. Every inch of me has felt pleasure from every inch of them. I know better now how great pleasure can be.

  There is more to life than work and these tiny mundane pleasures. I want more than Bath and Body Works lavender oil and a $15 bottle of wine. I want to be caressed. I want to feel hands and mouths on my body.

  I tease my own pussy lips and think about these last few days. I’ve never been so delightfully used in my life.

  The water is warm, and I start to relax. My muscles melt into the hot bath. I feel myself opening up again. I want to let go and give myself over the pleasure. I bring my hand away from my pussy and pick up my wine glass again.

  I take another sip of wine and look out the bathroom door. I can see my briefcase sitting on the couch from here. I think about the formula I have tucked away in a pocket of that case. I am good at my job. I am intelligent and worth so much more than just my body.

  I’ve never in my romantic life let myself be just a fuck. I’ve always waited until the third date, as difficult as that can be, before jumping into bed with someone.

  I think I've lost sight of that part of myself. Something in that conference room made me feel wanton. I let go, and they dragged me into their little world of debauchery.

  There may not have been any beds involved but, I came all over a very expensive couch within an hour of meeting them. I abandoned my usual cautious self when I first caught sight of their twelve beautiful faces.

  What were they thinking as they were watching me? They had to know I was fantasizing about them. I blush thinking back to that. I can’t believe I let myself get that carried away.

  Yesterday, I would have said it was a good thing. I was happy to be a part of their world. I was enjoying this new wonderful feeling, and I was especially enjoying feeling them.

  I was enjoying fucking them. I love having their hard cocks fill me. I ache to feel their hands on my skin, lips on mine, fingers trailing along my collarbone.

  The only thing that has changed in the last 24 hours is I now know they were fucking their assistants before they met me. I’ve seen some of the assistants at True Love. They are lovely women. If I were a young sexy guy like any one of my recent lovers, I would probably want to fuck them too.

  But how can I trust these guys, if they just use women like that? They are using me to replace the group of women they
got bored with. They could blithely have an assistant suck them off in the morning, and fuck me in the afternoon. I can’t wrap my head around it. What do they see me as? Am I a convenient fuck, am I someone worth pursuing?

  I don’t even know what I want them to see me as. These past few days have been a whirlwind, I haven’t stopped to catch my breath. I don’t know what I’m feeling, and I certainly don’t know what they are feeling.

  I drain my wine glass and duck my head under the water. I feel the hot water enfold me. I can hear the beating of my heart. I stay under as long as I can. I stop letting myself think about True Love and the men who run it.

  When I run out of breath, I break the surface and feel the chill of the air after the warmth of the water. I shake my head clearing the water dripping into my eyes.

  I’ve gone back and forth in circles for too long. I didn’t lose sight of myself, I’ve just been opened to a new world of possibility.

  Those women are adults, who have their own minds. None of these men have used me, and I haven’t used them. They didn’t know me before I showed up in their office, whatever, or whoever, they did before that has nothing to do with me.

  In fact, maybe I should thank the girls who came before me, they certainly know what they are doing. They must have had lots of practice.

  I get out of the tub and wrap myself in a silk robe. Flush with the wine and the hot water, I put myself to bed.

  I should really apologize for being so prudish today. As I drift off towards sleep, I have a great idea on how I can do just that tomorrow.

  Chapter 31

  Nico

  I don’t often sit at the head of the table, but I called the meeting, so it’s up to me to run it. Eight days ago, a woman came to our office, and since then we’ve been turned upside down. Nothing has really gotten done.

  Ty is the last in the room. He closes the door behind him. I glance over at the “mirror” on the wall as he sits down.

  My cock twitches thinking about watching Alyssa on that first day. She’s the reason I had to call this meeting. We need to come to a decision about her. Now, before anything more happens.