Chapter 4: The Unwitting Stage
The corporate retreat was supposed to be a bore. A weekend at a chain hotel with motivational speakers and trust-building exercises. Doug had packed his suitcase with a sigh, giving Becca a perfunctory kiss goodbye. She’d seemed jittery, saying she had a girls’ night planned, her nails digging into his arm just a little too tight.
Now, standing in the transformed third-floor conference room, Doug understood why.
Bass throbbed through the floor, a deep, vulgar pulse that made the plastic cups of warm beer tremble on the draped tables. The company had splurged, turning the sterile space into a garish imitation of a nightclub. A haze of artificial fog, smelling of burnt sugar and chemicals, hung in the air, catching the strobing red and blue lights. Doug leaned against a wall, loosening his tie, watching his colleagues—accountants, mid-level managers, HR reps—shed their professional skins with each drink. Their laughter was too loud, their eyes too bright.
The music shifted, a grinding synth beat dropping low. The MC, a guy in a cheap velvet suit, grabbed the microphone. “Gentlemen of Axton & Grey! You’ve crunched the numbers, now let’s crunch something a little sweeter! Put your hands together for your evening’s entertainment… The Velvet Vixens!”
A spotlight, harsh and white, hit the makeshift stage. Three figures emerged from the shadows. Two brunettes in neon green and fiery red, all exaggerated swagger and painted-on smiles. And between them…
Doug’s beer slipped from his hand. It hit the carpet with a dull thud, foaming over his shoes.
Becca.
Her long, straight blonde hair was down, cascading over her shoulders and the sheer black panels of a corset that pushed her breasts up into pale, trembling mounds. A tiny black g-string, practically a dental floss, disappeared between her thighs. She wore fuck-me heels that added six inches to her height. But it was her face that stopped his heart. That innocent, wide-eyed face was now wearing a mask of sultry invitation, her red lips parted, her gaze sweeping the crowd like a predator.
She hadn’t seen him. She was looking at the row of executives seated at the front, at Doug’s boss, Carl, a man with thick fingers and a thicker wallet, who was already leaning forward, his mouth a wet, open line.
The brunettes began to dance, but Doug’s world had narrowed to his wife. Becca moved with a lazy, knowing grace he’d never seen. She turned, arching her back, presenting the perfect curve of her ass to the room. Her hands slid over her hips, her stomach, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples visible through the lace. She dropped into a split, then leaned back, her head tilting, her hair brushing the stage as she looked at the room upside down. A collective groan went up from the men.
She rose, sauntered to the edge of the stage, and directly in front of Carl, she sank to her knees. She bobbed her head forward, letting her hair cascade over his lap, making the motion of bobbing on his dick. Carl played it up, leaning back and enjoying the show woth a lecherous grin before holding out a wad of cash to her, which she took as she looked up at him, over his now prominent erection in his pants. As she looked up, she caught Doug's eye and froze, but he took a sip of his drink and nodded.
Becca stayed frozen for a moment, before something Carl said shook her out of it. She smiled and stood, resting her hand in his lap for a teasing moment. She continued her dance, shakily at first as she kept looking to Doug in the crowd, before finally getting back into her rhythm. when the other girls joined her.
Becca danced back to Carl, who had more cash out, waving them in. Then she straddled his lap with an exaggerated raising of her leg, and proceeded to lightly grind into his lap, letting Carl feel her heat through their clothes. One of the brunettes came over behind her and ran her hands up her body, squeezing Becca's tits together in front of Carl's face who ate it all up.
When the song ended the girls went into the crowd to mingle, resting before their next performance. Becca quickly found Doug and whispered to him "I didn't know you were going to be here. I can explain."
Doug took a long drink and steadied himself. He looked her in the eye and said "I'm sure you can, later, when we're home. Yiu have a job to do right?"
Becca nodded shakily, unsure of how to act. Doug leaned in and said "I don't think anyone here knows who you are, it's okay, and you look good up there. Very sexy. I think Carl just about died."
Becca laughed nervously, "Yeah, he seemed to really like me."
Doug laughed as well. "He sure did, looked like he was going to break through his zipper. Now I'm sure you've got other folks to entertain, shouldn't keep them waiting."
Becca nodded again, demure with her eyes down, not quite believing what was happening. Just as she was pulling away Doug decided to take the plunge, his cock aching in his pants as the thoughts rolled rhrough them. He took a breath and said "And Becks, if you get a real good tipper... You don't have to pretend to suck his cock." He emphasized the word Cock as he stared at her, seeing how the words registered. Becca blushed, whispering "Careful what you wish for perv." before turning back.
The music swelled again, a relentless, grinding beat that seemed to vibrate in Doug’s molars. He watched Becca move through the crowd, a ghost in black lace, her smile now fixed and professional. She accepted a drink from a junior analyst, laughing at something he said, her hand resting briefly on his forearm. Doug felt a hot wire of jealousy snap in his chest, followed immediately by a shocking, shameful surge of arousal. His cock was a stubborn, thick weight against his zipper, indifferent to the crisis unfolding in his mind.
One of the brunettes, the one in red, materialized beside him. Her stage name was Jasmine, according to a glittering tattoo on her hip. “You look like you could use some company,” she said, her voice a smoky thing that cut through the bass. She didn’t wait for an answer, taking his hand and leading him to a plush chair in a dimmer corner. Her perfume was cloying, nothing like Becca’s clean scent.
Doug sank into the chair, his eyes glued to Becca across the room. She was leading Tim from accounting, a meek man with glasses, toward a more private alcove. Jasmine positioned herself, her back to Doug’s chest, and began to move. “Just relax, baby,” she murmured, settling into his lap. Her ass ground against his erection in slow, practiced circles.
But Doug was watching Becca. Tim was sitting stiffly, his face flushed crimson. Becca stood before him, one foot on the chair between his legs. She trailed her fingers up her inner thigh, hooking her thumbs into the sides of her g-string. With a teasing slowness, she peeled the black fabric down, revealing a neatly trimmed strip of blonde hair. She turned, bending over at the waist, giving Tim a full view as she looked back at him over her shoulder. Doug’s breath hitched.
Becca turned and sank to her knees in front of Tim, pulling down his zipper with a mischievous grin. Tim's cock was a pale, average thing, but Becca reacted as if it were a huge monster as it sprang free already rock hard. Becca glanced over at Doug as she kissed Tim's cock, then looked back up at him as she opened her mouth and took him in.
Her lips, that perfect pout he’d fantasized about just nights before in their bed, stretched obscenely around Tim’s shaft. Doug could see the tight strain of her cheeks as she took him deep, her head bobbing in a rhythm that was far from amateur. Tim’s head lolled back against the wall, his glasses askew, a choked whimper escaping him. A thin strand of saliva glistened on Becca’s chin, catching the low light, and Doug’s own cock jerked in response, trapped painfully beneath Jasmine’s grinding weight.
“Eyes on the prize, tiger,” Jasmine purred, her voice a low buzz in his ear. She followed his gaze across the smoky room. “Oh. You like the blonde? Crystal’s new.”
“Crystal,” Doug echoed, the name like ash in his mouth.
“Mmhmm.” Jasmine rocked harder, her sequined costume scraping against his slacks. “She’s a quiet one. But fucking insatiable once the money’s out.” She tilted her head, watching Becca work. “Look at her go. She loves that shit. Gets off on it, I think. The shy ones always do.”
Doug couldn’t speak. Becca had pulled off, letting Tim’s wet cock slap against his stomach, and was whispering something to him, her innocent blue eyes wide as she traced his tip with a fingertip. Tim, emboldened, fumbled for his wallet, pulling out more bills. Becca took them with a smile, tucking them into the top of her corset before leaning in again.
“She’s got a real thing for cum,” Jasmine continued, a malicious delight in her tone as she felt Doug harden further beneath her. “Serious oral fixation. I’ve seen her in the back room after a private dance, kneeling on the sticky floor with her makeup running, gagging for it. She doesn’t just swallow. She licks the shaft clean afterwards, like a fucking kitten at a saucer. It's kinda hot."
Tim’s body stiffened. His hands clenched in Becca’s blonde hair, fisting it, pulling her head forward. A raw, strangled cry was torn from him. Doug saw the violent pulse at the base of Tim’s cock, saw Becca’s throat constrict as she swallowed once, twice, a third time. Her eyes squeezed shut, then fluttered open. They were glazed, unfocused for a second, before finding Doug’s across the room.
She held his gaze as she pulled off, Tim’s spent cock slipping from her lips with a soft, wet pop. A milky trail escaped the corner of her mouth. She didn’t wipe it away. Instead, her pink tongue darted out, slowly, deliberately, collecting the stray trickle. She swallowed, her eyes locked on her husband’s, and gave him a small, shameful, utterly triumphant smile.
She held his gaze for three more pounding heartbeats, the taste of another man thick on her tongue, before turning away to help Tim tuck his soft, wet cock back into his trousers. Doug felt paralyzed, the image of her swallowing branded onto the back of his eyelids. Jasmine was still grinding against him, a monotonous friction that now felt irritating and distant. “You okay, sugar?” she mumbled, her words slurred by the music and her own performance. “You’re tenser than a tax audit.”
Before Doug could form a lie, a shadow fell over them. Becca stood there, her hips cocked, one hand resting on her bare thigh. She smelled of sweat, cheap perfume, and something saltier, more intimate. She looked at Jasmine, then let her blue eyes slide over Doug with a blank, customer-service indifference that cut deeper than any recognition would have.
“Hey Jaz,” Becca said, her voice pitched over the music. It was her ‘Crystal’ voice, higher, emptier. “I see you got a cute one here. Saving the best for yourself?”
Jasmine laughed, a sharp, brittle sound, and patted Doug’s chest possessively. “This old thing? He’s all right. Quiet.” She tilted her head back to look at Becca. “Don’t you have more wallets to drain? I saw Carl waving a whole roll your way.”
Becca’s lips curled into a smirk that wasn’t meant for Doug, but he felt it like a physical touch. She leaned down, putting her mouth close to Jasmine’s ear, but she spoke loud enough for Doug to hear every syllable. “Maybe. But I’m just getting warmed up. The night’s young and my throat’s feeling greedy.” She straightened up, her gaze flicking to Doug’s for a fraction of a second, a spark of cruel knowledge in the blue. “There’s so much more dick waiting for me tonight.”
She delivered the line with a breezy, workmanlike confidence, turning the filthy fantasy he’d whispered in their marital bed into a public statement of intent. Then she was gone, melting back into the strobe-lit crowd, a flash of blonde hair heading toward Carl’s corner, where the real money sat.
Doug’s stomach hollowed out. The heat in his groin was a sick, conflicting burn. Jasmine chuckled, shifting in his lap. “Told you. Insatiable.” She reached behind her, her fingers deftly finding his belt buckle. “You wanna be next? She’s got the right idea. Gotta make the most of the open bar.”
Her hand slid inside his pants, her cool fingers wrapping around his hard, aching cock. Doug gasped, a sharp intake of breath that was half-pleasure, half-agony. He should stop this. His hips bucked upward involuntarily, pushing his length into her firm grip. He watched over Jasmine’s shoulder as Becca reached Carl.
Carl didn’t wait. His meaty hands were on Becca’s waist the moment she was within reach, pulling her onto his lap facing him, her legs straddling his thick thighs. He was talking, his mouth close to her ear, his face flushed a deep purple. Becca nodded, that same vacant smile on her face, and began to roll her hips, grinding her black g-string against the bulge in his dress pants.
Jasmine’s hand began to stroke Doug, slow and expert. “There you go,” she cooed, feeling him throb in her hand. “Just let it happen. It’s what you’re here for.” Her other hand tugged at the cup of her costume, freeing a breast, and she guided his head down. “Have a taste. It’s on the house.”
The nipple was hard against his tongue. The act felt robotic, disconnected. His entire being was focused across the room. Carl was fumbling with his belt, his fingers clumsy with lust and alcohol. Becca helped him, her small hands pushing his away, undoing his button and zipper with efficient speed. She reached into his pants and pulled out his cock. It was shorter than Doug’s, but thick, the head an angry red.
Without any pretense of a dance, Becca slid off his lap and onto her knees on the conference room carpet. Carl slumped in his chair, spreading his legs wide, a king on his throne. He grabbed the back of Becca’s head, not with Tim’s desperate clutch, but with a confident, owning grip, and guided her mouth onto him.
She took him deep, immediately, her nose pressing into his coarse pubic hair. Carl’s head slammed back against the wall, his mouth a wide ‘O’ of bliss. Doug could see the muscles in Becca’s jaw working, could see the stretch of her lips around that girth. Jasmine quickened her rhythm, her fist pumping Doug’s shaft, her breath hot on his temple. “Yeah, look at her go,” she hissed, her own arousal evident in her voice. “She’s a champion cocksucker. She's gonna make that guy cum in no time.”
Carl began to thrust upward, short, brutal jabs that made Becca’s head snap back with each one. A guttural sound, half-choke, half-moan, vibrated from her. Spit dripped from the stretched corners of her mouth, slicking Carl’s balls. He was fucking her mouth in earnest now, his hands clamped on the sides of her head, holding her still for his punishing strokes. The wet, slapping sounds of his pelvis hitting her face cut through the music.
Doug was leaking over Jasmine’s fingers, his own climax coiling, a tight spring of horror and ecstasy. Becca’s eyes were watering, streams of black mascara cutting through her foundation. But she didn’t push him away. Her hands, which had rested on his thighs, now slid up, her fingers digging into his suit pants as she took it, as she let him use her throat.
Carl grunted, a series of animalistic sounds. “Gonna come, you filthy bitch,” he snarled, his voice carrying. “You want it? Huh? You want my fucking load?”
Becca, her mouth utterly full, managed a desperate, choked mmphh sound and nodded, her hair flying. That was all the encouragement he needed. With a final, shuddering slam of his hips, he held her down, buried to the hilt. His body convulsed. Doug saw the man’s throat work, saw the intense, almost painful pleasure on his face.
Jasmine felt Doug’s orgasm rising and whispered, “Ooh somebody likes to be a little voyeur. Come for me, baby. Come watching Crystal swallow all that hot cum.”
Carl pulsed inside Becca’s mouth. She gulped, audibly, her throat working around him. Once, twice, a third time. When he finally pulled her off, his cock slid out with a obscene, glossy pop. Becca gasped for air, her chest heaving, strings of saliva and semen connecting her ruined lips to his softening dick. She didn’t break character. She leaned forward, her tongue lapping at the tip, cleaning him, before tucking him tenderly back into his pants.
Carl, spent and beaming, stuffed a wad of bills into her corset, patting her cheek like a pet. Becca rose on unsteady legs, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. She turned, and her eyes, glazed and wrecked, found Doug’s just as Jasmine’s urgent stroking pushed him over the edge.
His climax was silent, vicious, a searing flood of release that felt more like punishment than pleasure. He spilled over Jasmine’s fist, his body rigid, his eyes locked on his wife’s smeared makeup and fulfilled smile. She watched him come, watched the aftermath of his shame shatter across his face. Then she gave him a slow, deliberate wink, turned, and walked toward the hallway where the private rooms were, swaying her hips for an audience that was now only him.
Then she gave him a slow, deliberate wink, turned, and walked toward the hallway where the private rooms were, swaying her hips for an audience that was now only him.
Doug sat frozen, the chill of his own spend cooling on his stomach, soaked into his shirt. Jasmine wiped her hand on a cocktail napkin with a clinical detachment, then tugged her costume back into place. “You’re a mess,” she said, not unkindly, and patted his cheek. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and find a quieter spot.” She pulled him to his feet, his legs unsteady, and guided him through a side door he hadn’t noticed.
It led to a smaller, annexed lounge, a space meant for break-out sessions now furnished with two low leather couches facing each other. The bass from the main room was a dull throb here, the light a single, dim lamp. It felt like the green room of a nightmare. Jasmine pushed him down onto one couch, the leather sighing under his weight, and fetched him a glass of water from a corner bottle. “Drink up.”
The door opened, and Becca walked in.
Her stride had changed. The professional performer’s sway was gone, replaced by a loose-limbed, almost drunken confidence. She had cleaned up somewhat; the worst of the mascara streaks were gone, but her lipstick was faded, her hair tousled. She carried the scent of Carl’s cologne, and underneath it, the metallic tang of sex. She looked at Doug, then at Jasmine, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. Without a word, she sank onto the opposite couch, draping one arm along the back, her legs falling open just enough.
“Cozy,” Becca said, her voice her own again, but lower, roughened.
Before Doug could form a sentence, the door opened again. Three men from the office shuffled in, their ties gone, their faces gleaming with sweat and booze. It was Mark from Logistics, a loud, perpetually grinning guy, and two younger associates Doug knew only vaguely. They froze when they saw the women, then grinned with unified, predatory delight.
“Jackpot,” Mark slurred. “The VIP section.”
“You boys look like you could use a seat,” Jasmine said, her voice slipping back into its smoky professional register. She patted the cushion beside Doug, inviting Mark to join them. The two younger guys, emboldened, immediately moved to Becca’s couch, sinking down on either side of her, pinning her between them.
“Hey, Crystal,” the one on her right, a kid named Ben, breathed. He was staring at the cleavage spilling from her corset.
“Hey yourself,” Becca said, her gaze flicking to Doug. She leaned back, allowing her body to press against Ben’s side. The guy on her left, Steve, put a tentative hand on her bare thigh. She didn’t shake it off.
Mark wedged himself next to Doug, his bulk making the couch creak. He smelled of cigar smoke and bourbon. “Fuck, Doug, I didn’t know you had this kind of pull,” he chuckled, his eyes locked on Jasmine. He didn’t seem to recognize Becca at all; in the low light, she was just another stripper, another amenity.
Jasmine laughed, a hollow, performative sound, and curled into Doug’s side, her hand resting on his leg. It was a claim, a piece of theatre for the newcomers. Doug felt like a prop. His heart was a frantic animal in his chest, but his body, traitorously, was stirring again. He watched Steve’s hand, tanned and dotted with freckles, slide higher on Becca’s thigh, his thumb brushing the edge of her black g-string.
“So, what’s the deal here?” Mark asked, his voice too loud. He nudged Doug. “We paying by the song, or what?”
“The night’s winding down,” Jasmine purred, tracing a circle on Doug’s knee. “Consider this the after-party. Less formal.” She looked across at Becca, a silent communication passing between them. “Why don’t you get comfortable, sugar?” she said to Mark, her fingers going to his belt buckle.
Across the low table, Ben was whispering in Becca’s ear. She listened, then nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Her hand came up and guided his to the front of her corset, letting him fumble with the clasp. Steve, seeing his opening, leaned in and kissed her neck, his mouth open and wet. Becca’s head fell back against the couch, her eyes closing for a second. When they opened, they were fixed on Doug, dark and unreadable.
Jasmine had Mark’s cock out. It was thick and ruddy, and she stroked it with a bored expertise. “There you go,” she murmured. Mark groaned, his head lolling back. But Jasmine was looking at Doug, then at Becca, a sharp smile on her face. “She’s not the only one with a talented mouth, you know.” She gave Doug a squeeze, then let go, sliding off the couch to kneel on the carpet in front of Mark. “Watch and learn, boys.”
Doug was powerless to look away. Jasmine took Mark in her mouth, deep and fast, bobbing with a rhythmic efficiency that made him swear instantly. But Doug’s focus was splintered. The sound was here, the wet, gagging pulls as Jasmine worked, but his vision was consumed by the couch opposite.
Ben had gotten the corset loose. Becca shrugged it off, letting her breasts fall free, their pale skin marked with faint red lines from the boning. Steve’s mouth was on one nipple, sucking hard, while Ben squeezed and kneaded the other. Becca’s hands were in their hair, not pushing or pulling, just resting there, accepting. Her g-string was a dark slash against her skin. Steve’s wandering hand found it, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric.
“Oh, fuck,” Becca gasped, the first real, unscripted sound Doug had heard from her all night. Her hips jerked off the couch, pressing into Steve’s hand.
“She’s soaked,” Steve announced, grinning at Ben over her body. He hooked his fingers and pulled the flimsy garment to the side, exposing her. In the dim light, Doug could see the glistening swell of her cunt lips, already parted. Steve didn’t hesitate. He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them.
Becca cried out, a sharp, ragged sound that cut through Jasmine’s noisy ministrations. Her back arched, pushing her chest into Ben’s face. Ben switched from her breast to her mouth, kissing her deeply, swallowing her moans. Doug could see Steve’s wrist working, fucking her with his hand. The lewd, slick sounds of it filled the space between the couches.
“You like that, you little slut?” Steve grunted, his face flushed with power.
“Yes,” Becca hissed against Ben’s mouth. “More.”
Ben broke the kiss, breathing hard. “My turn,” he said, and pushed her forward, bending her over the arm of the couch. Her perfect, round ass was presented to the room, to Doug. Steve withdrew his glistening fingers and shoved them into her mouth. She sucked them clean, her eyes rolling back.
Steve, now free, stood up and unbuckled his own pants. He tapped Becca’s shoulder. “Up. On your knees. I want that mouth.”
Becca pushed herself up, her face a mask of sweaty, desperate need. She knelt on the couch facing Doug, her tits swaying, her mouth hung open. Steve stepped forward, guiding his cock to her lips. She took him in one smooth motion, her head bobbing with a frantic, hungry energy he’d never seen at home.
The room dissolved into a grunting, wet symphony. Mark fucked Jasmine’s mouth. Steve was pistoning into Becca’s throat, his hands fisted in her blonde hair. Becca was the center of it all, a gasping, moaning conduit for their use, her eyes screwed shut in ecstasy.
Then they opened. They found Doug’s.
Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, cutting through the residual makeup. Her gaze was shattered, full of a terrible, beautiful apology and a defiance that scorched him. She held his look as Steve’s thrusts grew erratic, as he barked a warning. She held it as he came, jerking forward, spilling into the back of her throat. She swallowed convulsively, Adam’s apple bobbing, never breaking eye contact with her husband.
Steve pulled out, staggering back. Ben, who had been watching, stroking himself, immediately took his place. Jasmine pulled her mouth off of Mark and looked up at him, she whispered something and Mark nodded. The two stood and walked over behind Becca, Mark's cock swaying obscenely in the wind. Jasmine knelt and ran a finger over Becca's clit, then dipping into her pussy. She rubbed Becca's back and said "Got a treat here for you sweetheart, good and ready."