Chapter 25: The IT Setup
The promotion had settled into a comfortable new routine. Stacy arrived earlier, her keycard now granting access to the executive floor’s muted, carpeted hallways. She handled Mr. Thompson’s personal calendar, his dry cleaning slips, the discreet reservations at restaurants where the menus didn’t list prices. The work was easy, almost soothing in its specificity. She felt trusted. Important.
And the sessions in his office, the weekly “performance reviews,” were strangely revitalizing. She’d leave feeling oddly euphoric, the minor aches in her body nothing a hot bath couldn’t fix. Mark had noticed her good mood. “Work agrees with you, babe,” he’d said, grinning in a way that used to make her melt but now seemed… vague. She’d just kissed him and laughed, attributing everything to professional satisfaction.
That Wednesday, at 4:28 PM, her monitor chimed with a reminder: Performance Review - S. Conference Room B.
Conference Room B? That was new. Usually it was his office. She gathered her notebook and pen, smoothing her skirt. Maybe it was a more formal assessment, with HR. A flicker of normal nervousness sparked and faded. She was doing great. He’d told her so.
The room wasn’t a conference room at all. It was a small, windowless annex adjacent to Thompson’s office, used for storing archived files and surplus office furniture. A single desk and two chairs had been cleared in the center. The air was still and carried the faint, tangy smell of electronics.
Mr. Thompson stood near the desk, looking relaxed in his shirt sleeves. Another man was with him—younger, maybe thirty, with a thin frame, a faded t-shirt under an open hoodie, and the pale, focused look of someone who spent his life staring at lines of code. He was holding a tablet.
“Stacy, right on time,” Thompson said, his voice friendly. “This is Kyle from our IT security team. He’s been instrumental in… configuring some of the backend systems for your new role. Wanted him to see our process firsthand.”
Kyle gave a small, tight nod, his eyes flicking over her with a nervous, lustful curiosity. “Hey.”
“Hi, Kyle! Nice to meet you,” Stacy said, her professional warmth automatic. She turned to Thompson. “Are we doing a systems review today? I brought my notes on the calendar syncing issues with the new software.”
“We’ll get to that,” Thompson said, waving a dismissive hand. He took a step closer, his tone shifting into something conspiratorial and slick. “But first, I wanted Kyle here to enjoy some of the… unique perks of your new role. After all, his backend work made it all possible.”
He let the double meaning hang in the dusty air. Kyle shifted his weight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“So let’s review your core competency, Stacy,” Thompson said, his eyes locked on hers. “Back Office Assistant.”
The phrase was a guillotine’s blade dropping through her mind.
All the eager professionalism drained from her face. Her shoulders relaxed, her posture going deliberately slack. The notebook and pen clattered to the floor. Her gaze, now empty and fixed, lowered from Thompson’s face to his crotch, then swung toward Kyle’s. A soft, wet sound escaped her lips as her tongue traced them.
“That’s it,” Thompson purred. “Show Kyle your onboarding protocol.”
Stacy dropped to her knees on the thin industrial carpet. She crawled the short distance to Kyle, her movements a fluid, predatory grace that was utterly at odds with her usual self. Her hands went to his belt buckle, fingers working with terrifying efficiency on the leather and metal.
“Whoa, fuck,” Kyle breathed, his voice a mix of shock and raw arousal. He didn’t move to stop her. He watched, mesmerized, as she freed him. He was already half-hard, and her cool, practiced touch finished the job.
She took him into her mouth without ceremony, her head bobbing with a deep, rhythmical expertise. Guttural, choked sounds came from Kyle’s throat. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, not to guide her, just to hold on.
Thompson watched, unbuttoning his own pants, a satisfied curator observing his live exhibit. “She’s gifted, isn’t she? The perfect interface.”
Stacy pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her to Kyle. She turned her blank, beautiful face up to Thompson. “Do you want to fuck my ass, sir?” she asked, her voice a hollow, eager echo. “I’ll do anything you want. Please, promise to stuff my tight backdoor with your thick, fat boss cock. I need it.”
Thompson chuckled, the sound rough. “Such initiative. But you can’t be rude to our guest, Stacy. You should offer Kyle the same.”
Without a second’s hesitation, she pivoted on her knees, looking back at Kyle. “Would you like to fuck my ass too? I want to feel you both.”
“Christ,” Kyle muttered, his eyes wide. He nodded, frantic.
He nodded, frantic. Thompson’s laugh was a low, wet sound in the cramped room. “Then let’s not keep the lady waiting. Over the desk, Stacy. Now.”
Stacy rose from her knees with robotic obedience. She turned, her fingers finding the hem of her skirt. She hiked the fabric up over her hips in one smooth motion, baring herself to the waist. She bent forward, her blouse-encased breasts pressing into the cold, unyielding hardwood of the table. She didn’t shiver. She simply presented herself, head turned, cheek flat against the surface, eyes staring at nothing.
“Fucking hell,” Kyle whispered, approaching. He guided himself with one hand, the other pressing on the small of her back. He tried to slowly work the thick head of his cock into her ass, encountering tight, clenching resistance.
“Easy,” Thompson said, watching like a coach. “Use what’s available.”
Kyle grunted, pulling back. He shifted his angle, dragging himself through her vulva a few times, gathering slickness. The wet, soft sound was obscenely loud. He coated himself, sawing into her pussy with short, rough strokes before repositioning. This time, when he pushed against her anus, the glide was easier. He sank in with a choked sound, his hands gripping her waist.
Stacy made a low, vowel-less noise into the wood. Her body accepted the invasion, adjusting to the brutal stretch.
Kyle began to move, setting a shallow, testing rhythm. Each thrust jolted her entire frame against the desk. Thompson undid his own pants, freeing himself. He walked to the side of the desk, watching Kyle’s ass clench as he pumped into Stacy. After a dozen strokes, when Kyle started to find his pace, Thompson wound a meaty hand into Stacy’s hair.
He yanked her head up sharply, pulling her spine into a painful arch. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Thompson guided his cock to her lips, rubbing the tip over them before stuffing himself into her mouth without ceremony. He filled it, bullying his way to the back of her throat.
She found herself stuffed at both ends, a slick conduit for their use. Gags and muffled choking sounds vibrated around Thompson’s shaft. Spittle dripped down her chin. Kyle’s thrusts grew harder, driving her further onto Thompson’s cock with every jolt. The room filled with the raw, physical sounds of their grunting, the slap of skin, the creak of the desk.
“Switch,” Thompson grunted, his voice strained. He pulled out of her mouth, a strand of saliva breaking and spooling onto her blouse.
Kyle withdrew, his cock glistening and dark. They shuffled around her like mechanics repositioning a tool. Thompson took Kyle’s place behind her. He didn’t bother with moisture. He just aligned himself and rammed into her ass in one brutal, claiming push.
Stacy cried out, a sharp, broken sound. The stretch was monumental, a tearing, burning fullness that whitewashed her mind. Kyle faced her, pushing his cock, which had just been in her ass, back into her open, gasping mouth. The taste was bitter, musky. She had a brief, distant thought about the violation of it, a ghost of her real self screaming from deep inside a well.
But it faded, smothered under the overwhelming sensation of Thompson pistoning into her. His rhythm was ruthless, each drive hitting a spot that sent jagged bolts of faux-pleasure through her wired nervous system. It wasn’t joy. It was a systemic overload, a cascade of forced signals her body had been programmed to interpret as climax.
It was a systemic overload, a cascade of forced signals her body had been programmed to interpret as climax. Thompson’s hips hammered against her upturned ass, each impact a dull, meaty clap that echoed in the file-cramped room. Her stifled moans around Kyle’s shaft were guttural, rhythmic, a perfect feedback loop of obedience.
“Getting… getting your money’s worth, Kyle?” Thompson grunted, the words bursting out between ragged breaths. His fingers were vise-tight on her hips, surely leaving bruises. “How are you… enjoying the fucking perks?”
Kyle’s only answer was a strangled gasp, his eyes screwed shut. The vulgar question, the sheer brutal reality of it, sent him over the edge. His body locked, a tremor running through him as he shoved himself deep into Stacy’s throat. He came in hot, pulsing jets that she was forced to swallow, her throat working convulsively around him.
He whimpered as he slid out, staggering back a step, spent and dripping. Thompson watched him with a glint of contemptuous amusement, never breaking his own punishing rhythm. Seeing Kyle finish so quickly seemed to fuel him, his thrusts becoming even more aggressive, more possessive. He was marking his territory.
A few ragged seconds later, Thompson choked out a raw, animal sound. He yanked himself from her clenching heat entirely. He aimed, and stripes of thick, white come landed across the back of Stacy’s bunched skirt and the exposed, reddened skin of her ass. It pooled in the fabric’s wrinkles and dripped down her thigh. The visual was one of absolute, crude defilement.
He stepped back, zipping his fly with a casual finality. Kyle, fumbling with his own pants, looked dazed, already avoiding the sight of the mess he’d helped make. For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of a server rack in the corner and Stacy’s slow, steady breathing where she remained bent over the desk.
Then, a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her. The terrible, beautiful emptiness behind her eyes swirled and retreated like fog burning off under a harsh sun. Awareness returned, vague and pleasant. She blinked, straightening up with a slight wince. Her muscles complained, a familiar, post-review ache. Her hand automatically went to her skirt, smoothing the fabric down over her sticky skin without a thought.
She turned, a bright, professional smile already finding its way onto her face. She ignored the peculiar dampness at the corners of her mouth, the sour taste she discreetly swallowed. She felt wonderfully clear-headed, the strange tension of the day successfully… managed.
“Wow, that was… comprehensive,” Stacy said, her real voice cheerful and light. She looked between the two men. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. That really helped contextualize the backend integration for me.” She shifted her gaze to Kyle, her expression open and friendly. “And thank you, Kyle. I feel like we’re really aligned now. I look forward to working with you on the system in the future.”
Kyle stared, his mouth slightly agape. He managed a stiff, silent nod.
Thompson beamed, the paternal boss once more. “Always a pleasure, Stacy. That’s the kind of proactive collaboration I like to see.” He placed a hand on Kyle’s shoulder, steering the shaken man toward the door. “Kyle here was very impressed with your… handling of the hardware.”
“Great!” Stacy bent, collected her forgotten notebook and pen from the floor, and tucked them under her arm. “Should I send those calendar syncing notes by five?”
“Please do.”
With a final, genuine smile, she walked out, her heels clicking a confident, upbeat rhythm down the hall toward her desk. She hummed a little, a tune from her workout playlist. The residual warmth between her legs, the faint sting elsewhere, were just echoes of a job well done.
Thompson closed the door and looked at Kyle, who was leaning against a filing cabinet, pale. “So,” Thompson said, picking up the tablet Kyle had brought. He tapped the screen, pulling up a new audio file. “She mentioned she was having trouble with her personal laptop. You should schedule a house call for tomorrow night. Convince her to come around your place and you can test the other program you were working on."
He slid the tablet back to Kyle. The file name read: 'Home-Service.zip'.