Room Service

"I don't think you understand what this job actually requires, Marcus."

Elena Vasquez leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking as she crossed her legs. The seaside hotel suite smelled of salt and expensive perfume, and through the window I could see waves breaking against the shore. I'd barely been in her office five minutes.

"I read the contract," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Personal assistant duties, twenty-four-seven availability during the conference."

She smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "Did you read the fine print? The part about personal services?"

My throat went dry. "I... wasn't sure what that meant."

"It means you do what I say. When I say it. No questions." She stood up, walked around the desk, and perched on the edge. Her skirt rode up just slightly. "Right now, I'm stressed. The merger talks are going badly. I need to... decompress."

I swallowed. "How?"

She reached out and ran a finger along my jaw. "I think you know, Marcus. But I'll spell it out for you. I'm going to fuck you. Specifically, I'm going to fuck that tight little ass of yours until I forget my own name. And you're going to let me."

My cock was already hard. I couldn't hide it. "Yes, Ms. Vasquez."

"Elena. When we're alone." She took my hand and pulled me up. "Come on. The bedroom."

The bedroom was all white linens and golden light. She pushed me onto the bed, facedown, and I heard her open a drawer. When she came back, she had a bottle of lube and a small black strap-on.

I looked over my shoulder. "That's..."

"Impressive?" She laughed. "I've been told it is. Now, pants off. I want to see that ass."

I fumbled with my belt, my hands shaking. She watched, patient, amused. When I was naked from the waist down, she ran a hand over my cheeks, squeezing, spreading.

"Nice. You keep it clean?"

"Yes."

"Good boy." She poured lube onto her fingers, cold and slick, and pressed one against my hole. I gasped. "Relax. You wanted this job. You wanted this."

She worked a finger in, slow, then two. I moaned into the pillow, my cock trapped between my belly and the mattress. She scissored them, stretching me.

"Ready?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

She positioned herself behind me, the silicone cock pressing against my entrance. "Tell me if it's too much."

Then she pushed.

The stretch was incredible. I cried out, gripping the sheets. She didn't stop, just kept pressing, inch by inch, until she was buried inside me. I could feel every ridge, every curve.

"Fuck," I breathed.

"Yeah." She started to move, slow thrusts that built a rhythm. "That's it. Take it."

She fucked me like she owned me—because she did. Her hips slapped against my ass, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet room. I pushed back against her, wanting more, needing it.

"Please," I begged. "Harder."

She grabbed my hips and drove into me, fast and deep. I was lost, nothing but the feeling of being filled, of being taken, of her breath ragged above me.

"Come for me," she ordered. "Come untouched."

And I did. My whole body convulsed, cum shooting onto the sheets as she kept fucking me through it, groaning as she found her own release.

We collapsed together, panting. She pulled out slowly and lay beside me, tracing patterns on my back.

"Good boy," she whispered. "You're hired."