Chapter 17: The Break Room Betrayal
The sound was a wet, rhythmic slopping, like a mop being dragged across a tile floor. It was punctuated by low, masculine grunts. Mark stood in the doorway, his hand still on the frame, the world narrowing to the glowing rectangle in Derek’s hand. The camera angle was low, shaky, but it captured everything. The man’s thighs, tense and hairy. The hands tangled in long, familiar blonde hair, forcing the pace. The desperate, hungry suction.
“See?” Derek said, his voice a smug dagger. “Told you she’s a fucking champion. Look at her take it.”
The floral wallpaper. The same pattern from the Hilton conference suite. The same pattern he’d stared at, numb, while Lacy described her “sore” ass just last night.
His coffee mug slipped from his fingers. It didn’t shatter, just hit the linoleum with a dense, ugly thud, brown liquid spraying over his shoes. The sound broke the spell. Heads turned. Derek’s smirk widened, a predator seeing new prey stumble into the clearing.
“Whoa, Marksy. You okay? That’s premium office brew you’re wasting.”
Mark couldn’t speak. His tongue was a lump of clay. He stared at Derek, at the phone, then at the floor. The laughter in the room was thin, nervous, cutting out as they saw the genuine pallor on his face.
“You know her?” one of the junior analysts asked, a little too eagerly.
“I… I think I’ve seen her around,” Mark managed, the lie automatic and flimsy. He bent to pick up the mug, his movements robotic. His mind was screaming, a white-noise static behind his eyes. She swallowed all of them. Derek came three times.
Derek pocketed his phone, the video vanishing, but the sound still echoed in the cavern of Mark’s skull. He sauntered over, clapping a heavy hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Don’t look so shocked. Every office needs a girl like that. Keeps morale up.” He leaned in, his breath smelling of mint and contempt. “Unless you’re getting some of that yourself? You dirty dog.”
Mark flinched. “No. No, I’m not.”
“Pity. She’s got a mouth built for sin. And the tits on her…” Derek whistled low. “Anyway, grab your coffee. Big budget meeting in ten. Don’t wanna be late.” He gave Mark’s shoulder a final, condescending squeeze and left, the other men filtering out after him, casting backward glances.
The break room was silent, humming with the refrigerator. Mark stood there, staring at the sticky counter. He felt cuckolded in a way he couldn’t articulate. She’d told him stories, yes. He’d gotten hard listening to them in the dark, her voice a titillating whisper. But seeing it… hearing it… was different. It was real. And Derek had it. Derek owned a piece of her, a piece of his fiancée, in his fucking phone.
He didn’t go to the budget meeting. He walked to the stairwell and called her.
She answered on the second ring, voice bright, vapid. “Hey, baby! Miss me already?”
“Derek has a video.” His voice was flat, dead.
A beat of silence. Then a careful, “A video of what?”
“Of you. In the hotel. Giving a… performing.” He couldn’t say the words.
Her sigh was theatrical, annoyed. “Ugh. That asshole. He promised he wouldn’t record anything. Men are such pigs.”
Mark blinked, leaning his forehead against the cool cinderblock wall. “That’s your concern? That he recorded it?”
“Well, yeah! It’s a violation of privacy, Mark. God.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It was just a blowjob. You know it doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just… maintenance. For the team dynamic. You understand, right? For us. For our future here.”
He could see her pout in his mind, the wide blue eyes filling with manufactured tears. The logic was a sick, twisting vine. She did it for him. For them. To fit in. To protect their secret. His jealousy was knotted with a thick, perverse thread of arousal. Derek had seen her like that. Had used her like that. And Mark, her fiancé, had never even been inside her.
“He showed people,” Mark said, his voice cracking.
“He what?” Now she sounded genuinely upset. “Okay. Okay, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. I’ll make him delete it. It’ll be fine.”
“How?”
“Just leave it to me. I’m good at handling Derek. You focus on your work. I love you.”
The call ended. Mark stood in the stairwell for a long time, the silence pressing in on him.
Lacy found Derek in his office just after lunch. He was leaning back in his leather chair, feet on the desk, browsing on his phone—probably, she thought, looking at the video again. She closed the door softly behind her and turned the lock. The click was definitive.
He looked up, unsurprised. “Well, well. If it isn't the star of the show.”
“You need to delete that video, Derek.” She didn’t approach the desk. She stood by the door, arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts up. She saw his eyes dart to them.
“Or what?” He chuckled, putting the phone down. “You’ll tell HR? Go ahead. Show them the video. Explain why you were on your knees for three different guys from logistics in a conference hotel. How’s that engagement going, by the way? Still saving the little flower for the big day?”
Her sweet mask hardened at the edges. “It’s private.”
“Nothing’s private once it’s on my phone, sweetheart. It’s leverage.” He swung his feet off the desk and stood, circling around to lean against the front of it. He was close now. She could smell his cologne, something woody and aggressively masculine. “You know, Marksy looked like he was gonna puke this morning. Got a little crush on you, does he?”
She said nothing, just held his gaze.
“I’ll delete it,” Derek said, his tone shifting to a conversational purr. “For a price. A fresh copy. Right here. Right now.”
Lacy’s mind worked coldly, analytically. This was containment. This was damage control. This was just a mouth, a tool. Her body was a separate thing, a bargaining chip. The virgin core of her remained untouched, pristine, for Mark. Everything else was just… maintenance.
“Fine,” she said, her voice losing its bubbly affectation, becoming flat and practical. “But you delete it in front of me. And you don’t make copies.”
Derek’s grin was triumphant. He picked up his phone, made a show of opening the cloud storage, deleting the file, then emptying the trash. He held the phone out for her to see the empty folder. “Satisfied?”
“No,” she said, and she finally moved. She walked to him, dropped to her knees on the scratchy office carpet, and reached for his belt. “I’ll be satisfied when you’re done.”
He fumbled with his zipper, his cock already swelling behind his briefs. It was thick, veined, familiar. She took it in her hand, feeling the heat of it, and gave it two slow, dry pumps before leaning forward and taking the head into her mouth.
She worked with a cold, efficient expertise. Her tongue lashed at the slit, collecting the first salty bead of pre-come. She hollowed her cheeks and sank down, taking him deep into her throat in one smooth, practiced motion. Her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base. She held there, letting her throat muscles flutter helplessly around him, before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.
“Fuck,” Derek hissed, his hands going to her head.
She didn’t let him set the pace. This was her performance, her transaction. She bobbed ruthlessly, one hand working the base of his shaft, the other cupping and kneading his balls. She used her tongue like a weapon, swirling it around the corona, then flattening it to lick long, wet stripes from root to tip. The sounds were filthy, loud in the quiet office: the slick slurping, the ragged pull of her lips, his shuddering groans.
“You love this, don’t you?” he grunted, his fingers tightening in her hair. “You’re just a desperate little cocksucker. Engaged to some poor bastard but you can’t wait to get your throat stuffed.”
She redoubled her efforts, taking him deeper, faster. Her jaw ached beautifully. Saliva dripped down her chin, onto her blouse. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and innocent even as she devoured him, even as she reached between her own legs with her free hand and rubbed hard, quick circles over her skirt. The friction was clinical, a means to an end, but it made him swear violently.
“Yeah, you fucking slut. Rub that pussy. You’re gonna make me come.”
She felt his cock pulse, swell, the veins standing out like cords. She pulled off just enough to whisper, her lips brushing his slick head. “Do it. Come in my mouth. I’m not swallowing for my fiancé tonight. I’m swallowing for you.”
It was the final trigger. With a choked roar, he erupted. The first spurt hit the back of her throat, hot and bitter. She swallowed instinctively, milking him with tight pulls of her lips, taking every subsequent pulse, every thick, salty jet. She didn’t miss a drop. When he was spent, twitching and sensitive, she cleaned him with slow, tender passes of her tongue, until he pushed her away, gasping.
She sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lipstick was ruined, smeared. She looked debauched, used. She felt powerful.
“Happy?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Derek zipped himself up, his breathing still uneven. He looked at her with a new, grudging respect. “You’re a piece of work, Lacy.”
“The video is gone. We’re even. You don’t mention me to anyone again. And you leave Mark alone.”
He laughed, a short, sharp bark. “Whatever you say, princess. Now get out of my office. I’ve got work to do.”
She stood, her knees protesting, and straightened her skirt. She walked to the door, unlocked it, and paused. Without looking back, she said, “If a copy of that video ever surfaces, I’ll tell them you assaulted me. And my fiancé will believe me. He believes everything I say.”
She left, closing the door gently behind her. The hallway was bright, sterile. She walked towards the women’s restroom to fix her face. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Mark.
Did you handle it?
She typed back, her fingers steady. All taken care of. He deleted it. Don’t worry. It’s just a stupid video. I love you. Can’t wait for tonight.
She stared at her reflection. The innocent blonde stared back, a tiny smear of Derek still at the corner of her mouth. She licked it clean. Then she reapplied her lipstick, a sweet, pink gloss, and went back to her desk.