Chapter 54: After Lunch
The image burned behind Alexey’s eyelids long after he’d slammed his phone face down on the cluttered desk. Sharon’s wide, watering eyes, locked onto the lens. The obscene stretch of her lips. The sheer, undeniable thickness of Mark filling her mouth under that restaurant tablecloth. Fed me at lunch. The words echoed, taunting. His pulse thudded in his ears, loud enough to drown out the office drone for terrifying seconds. Humiliation was a physical wave, crashing hot over his face and neck, but beneath it, undeniable and treacherous, a coil of raw arousal tightened low in his gut, making his own neglected cock throb painfully against his zipper. He clenched his teeth, feeling the deep, familiar ache from the previous night flare in protest. Tee-hee.
He forced himself upright in the ergonomic chair, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth as the movement sent fresh jolts of soreness radiating from his core. Every time you wince… Sharon’s voice teased in his memory. Brenda’s earlier comment about falling off a horse suddenly felt less like innocent teasing and more like a humiliating spotlight.
The afternoon crawled. Every email notification made him flinch, half-expecting another visual assault. Sharon texted him twice. Completely normal, affectionate texts:
> Hope your backside isn’t torturing you too much! <3
> What do you fancy for dinner, cucky? Thinking stir-fry?
No mention of the photo. No mention of Mark. Just… domestic bliss punctuated by that casual, loaded nickname. It felt like psychological warfare. He replied tersely, mechanically, his fingers clumsy on the keys.
> Sore. Fine.
> Stir-fry ok.
He became hyper-aware of the chair pressing against him. Every shift, every lean forward to adjust his monitor, every trip to the water cooler (a journey undertaken with deliberate, stiff-legged care) was a reminder. He saw Brenda glance his way a couple more times, her expression shifting from amusement to mild concern. "Sure you're okay, Volkov? You look… pained." He mumbled something about a pulled muscle, avoiding her eyes, the lie tasting like ash. The phantom sensation of Sharon’s strap-on seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
Driving home was an exercise in controlled discomfort. The car seat pressed relentlessly against the epicenter of his soreness. The image of Sharon under the table kept replaying, interlaced with memories of her weight on him, the brutal stretch, her command. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel by the time he pulled into their driveway. He sat for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to shove the chaotic mix of feelings down before facing the next wave.
The moment he opened the front door, chaos greeted him. Music pulsed from the living room speakers – something upbeat and Russian. The scent of Sharon’s cooking – ginger, garlic, sesame oil – mingled with a new, sharper, more expensive perfume. And then, Katya.
His cousin exploded from the living room like a blonde whirlwind, barefoot in tiny denim shorts and a cropped t-shirt that showed off her toned midriff. Her bright blue eyes sparkled, her long hair swung. "Lesha! Privet!" She launched herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug that made him stiffen, bracing against the impact on his tender body.
"Katya," he managed, extricating himself gently but firmly, trying to hide the wince. "You're… energetic."
"Da! It was amazing day!" she beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Second day of internship? So good! The people are fun, the work is interesting…" She trailed off, a sly grin spreading across her face. "And Arthur."
Alexey froze halfway through removing his jacket. The name landed with unexpected weight. "Arthur?"
"Arthur!" Katya confirmed, her eyes dancing. "From design team. Tall, funny, blond-ish hair…" She gestured vaguely upwards with a hand, indicating height, then winked. "Very ripped. Very nice." She twirled, the movement effortless. "We went out yesterday - Sunday, you know. Just for drinks, you know? Talking." She paused, her grin turning positively feline. "We talked so much… we decided to stay for the night at his place."
Alexey stared at her. The air felt thick. The lingering scent of her perfume – that wasn’t hers. It was musky, masculine. Foreign. It clung to her hair, her skin. The casual admission, delivered with such breezy innocence, hit him like a physical blow after the day he’d had. Sharon’s photo. His own soreness. Now this. His cousin, smelling of another man, cheerfully announcing she’d spent the night with him. Arthur. Tall, ripped. Very nice. The coil of arousal and shame in his gut tightened viciously.
"At… his place?" Alexey repeated, his voice sounding unnaturally flat. He carefully hung his jacket, buying time, trying to process. "Just… talking?" He couldn't keep the faint, disbelieving edge out of his tone.
Katya laughed, a bright, musical sound that grated on his raw nerves. "Oh, Lesha! Don't be such a grumpy old man! We talked a lot." She emphasized the last two words, her gaze knowing. "He's very charming. Very… attentive." She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You should see his apartment! Amazing view of the city."
The scent of Arthur’s cologne was stronger now, mingling nauseatingly with the stir-fry aromas from the kitchen. Alexey felt a fresh wave of heat rise to his face, a confusing cocktail of possessiveness, embarrassment, and that damned, persistent undercurrent of unwanted excitement. He pictured this ripped, charming Arthur. Attentive. He pictured Katya in his apartment. With that amazing view. Talking a lot.
Before he could formulate any kind of coherent response, Sharon appeared in the kitchen doorway. She held a wooden spoon, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. Her dark eyes swept over them, taking in Katya’s vibrant energy and Alexey’s frozen, slightly shell-shocked posture. Her gaze lingered on his face for a fraction of a second, sharp and perceptive. Then, her warm, dimpled smile appeared. "Dinner's almost ready, cucky," she called out, her tone light, cheerful. "Katya, tell Alexey about your exciting day! Sounds like you had fun." She winked, just for Alexey, a tiny, knowing flicker in her dark eyes before she turned back to the kitchen. The message was clear. I heard. And I know you heard.
The stir-fry sizzled as Sharon plated it, the sharp tang of ginger and soy cutting through the lingering musk of Arthur’s expensive cologne still clinging to Katya’s skin. Alexey shifted awkwardly on the kitchen stool, the unforgiving wood pressing directly onto the deep ache radiating from his core, a constant reminder of Sharon’s thoroughness the night before. Each subtle movement sent a fresh throb echoing through him, making him wince despite his efforts to stay stoic.
"Okay, troops, dig in!" Sharon announced, placing steaming bowls before them, her dimples flashing in a warm smile that belied the knowing glint in her eyes. She settled opposite Alexey, her gaze briefly flicking to his tense posture before turning to Katya. "So, spill the tea, Kat. Arthur? Tell us everything about your Sunday adventure." She emphasized 'Sunday' just enough, a subtle prod.
Katya’s eyes lit up, her fork poised over broccoli. "Oh, Arthur! He is so easygoing, Lesha," she began, aiming her bright smile at her cousin. "Like, really chill. We went to this cool little jazz bar downtown – live band, amazing cocktails." She took a delicate bite. "Just talking, you know? About work, life here, Moscow... he's actually been there!" She waved her fork dismissively. "But really, just friends. Totally platonic." Her assurance felt deliberately light, almost too casual, especially paired with that lingering, musky scent. "He has a fantastic apartment, huge windows, this incredible view of the skyline… we talked so late, it just made sense to crash there. Separate rooms, obviously! He’s a perfect gentleman." Her innocent blink didn't quite erase the mischievous curve of her lips.
Alexey grunted, focusing on his food, the spicy stir-fry suddenly tasteless. Easygoing. Charming. Amazing view. The words echoed Sharon’s photo text in his head. "Sounds… nice," he managed, the understatement thick.
Sharon chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Platonic friends who smell like his cologne the next day?" she teased gently, nudging Katya’s foot under the table. "But fair enough. Sounds like a fun night." She took a sip of water, her dark eyes sliding back to Alexey, sharpening. "Speaking of fun nights…" Her voice dropped slightly, taking on a conspiratorial tone aimed directly at Katya. "Someone else had quite the intense Sunday here. Right, cucky?"
Alexey froze, a chunk of chicken halfway to his mouth. The chopsticks trembled slightly. "Sharon..." he warned, his voice tight. The deep ache pulsed in time with his suddenly racing heart.
"Come on, Alexey, don't be shy!" Sharon leaned forward, her gaze locked onto Katya, excitement sparking. "I finally did it, Kat. Properly. Brought out the big gun – the nine-inch one." She made a small, suggestive thrusting motion with her hand. "Straight-up pounded our brave boy here. Had him bent over, facing the big mirror so he could see everything."
Katya’s eyes widened, her fork clinking against her bowl. "No!" she breathed, a delighted grin spreading. She looked at Alexey, a mixture of shock and fascination. "The mirror? Oh, Lesha!"
"Uh-huh," Sharon confirmed, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Watched himself the whole time. Watched me work him. Tears streaming down his face by the end, it was so intense. But the best part?" She paused for effect, savouring Alexey’s visible discomfort, his knuckles white on his chopsticks. "He came. Three times. Hard. Just from his prostate. Didn't touch his cock once. Isn't that incredible?"
Katya gasped, genuine awe replacing the teasing glint. "Three? Just from...?" She reached across the table, giving Alexey’s tense forearm a surprisingly gentle, sympathetic pat. "Oh, bozhe moi, no wonder you're walking like you rode a bear! Poor thing, your poor little ass must be destroyed." Her sympathy was sincere, but quickly morphed into something else. She tilted her head, studying him with open admiration. "But really, Lesha, you are so brave. Seriously. Letting your girlfriend fuck the absolute shit out of you like that? Takes a real man." Her voice softened, then regained its teasing lilt. "Honestly, Sharon, I'm surprised you didn't strap one on and ride him years ago! Look at him!" She gestured at Alexey’s broad shoulders, his flushed face. "He's built for it. Total natural bottom!"
Alexey felt the heat blazing across his cheeks, searing down his neck. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing. Yet, beneath the crushing embarrassment, that treacherous coil of arousal tightened, throbbing in sync with the deep, persistent ache from his core. Natural bottom. The words echoed, sharp and exposing. He stared hard at his bowl, unable to meet either woman’s gaze, the stir-fry a blur of colour. His cock stirred, a traitorous response to the raw exposure and Katya’s unexpected, humiliating praise.
Sharon beamed, leaning back, radiating pure satisfaction at Katya’s reaction and Alexey’s visible turmoil. "See?" she said to Katya, her voice warm with affection and dark amusement. "Exactly what I thought. Natural talent." She picked up her chopsticks again, her gaze lingering on Alexey’s bowed head. "Don't worry, cucky. We'll get you nice and stretched out soon. Won't be sore forever." She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Well, maybe just a little sore... regularly."
Katya giggled, nudging Alexey’s shoulder playfully. "Brave, brave soldier."
Alex growls, then mumbles: “Priya said the same thing! A-about me being the natural… khm… bottom.”
Katya’s fork paused midway to her mouth, broccoli dangling. "Priya?" Her bright blue eyes narrowed playfully, glancing between Sharon’s amused face and Alexey’s deepening blush. "Who is this Priya? Another fan of Lesha’s... ah... talents?" Her grin was wide and infectious.
Sharon chuckled, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Priya’s my best friend at the clinic. Seriously sharp therapist, gorgeous, witty... total ride-or-die." She leaned back, her tone light but proud. "She’s the one Lesha accidentally called a 'hot mulatto' when he was smashed after that hike with Mark last year." She nudged Alexey’s foot under the table. "Remember? You meant it as a compliment, right, cucky? Hilariously clumsy Russian moment."
Alexey groaned, the memory stinging almost as much as his ass. "Da, da. I explained it is not... same meaning. Not racist. Just descriptive. Stupid." He shifted carefully on the stool, the movement sending a fresh throb through him. "She took it well. Eventually."
"Oh, she loved it!" Sharon corrected, laughing. "Thought it was adorably awkward. Like him." She patted Alexey’s knee affectionately. "Priya’s awesome. She knows... well, everything. About us. About Mark." Her gaze held Alexey’s for a beat, a flicker of shared understanding about the lunchtime photo still simmering between them. "She’s been my hype woman through this whole... exploration."
"Exploration?" Katya echoed, intrigued. "She approves of...?" She gestured vaguely at Alexey, then the general direction of Mark.
"Approve? Kat, she devours the details," Sharon confirmed, her eyes sparkling. "Texts me constantly for updates. Loves the rule especially." She winked at Alexey. "The ruin-for-Katya rule."
Alexey focused intently on scraping the last bits of rice from his bowl, his ears burning. He knew where this was heading.
"Okay, I need to see this Priya," Katya declared, pushing her empty bowl away. "Does she have Insta? Show me a picture! If she’s Lesha’s hype woman, I need to know this legend."
"Sure!" Sharon chirped, pulling her phone from her pocket. "She’s stunning, honestly. Killer style." She swiped and tapped, navigating her gallery. "Here, look..." She turned the phone towards Katya. "This was at that rooftop bar last month..."
Katya leaned over, squinting at the screen. "Oh wow, she is gorgeous! Those cheekbones! And her hair is—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. Her playful smile froze, then morphed into a look of utter shock. She wasn't looking at Priya anymore. "Sharon... what... what is that?"
Sharon feigned surprise, pulling the phone back slightly to look at the screen herself. "Oh! Bozhe moi!" She put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. "Wrong picture! How did that...?" She tried to swipe quickly, but Katya’s hand shot out, gently stopping her.
"No! Wait! Is that... is that you?!" Katya’s voice was a hushed, scandalized whisper, her gaze glued to the image. "Under a table? Is that... Mark?!"
Alexey felt the heat flood his face like lava, spreading down his neck and chest. He didn't need to see the screen again. The image was seared into his mind: Sharon’s lips stretched impossibly wide, her watering eyes locked onto the lens, the obscene thickness filling the frame. He stared fixedly at his empty bowl, his knuckles white on the table edge. The deep ache in his core pulsed, a counterpoint to the frantic hammering of his heart.
Sharon let out a breathy little laugh, letting Katya hold onto her wrist, the phone screen still displaying the damning evidence. "Yeah... that’s... that’s Mark," she admitted, her voice a mixture of faux-embarrassment and dark amusement. "Lunch today. Got a little... carried away." She didn't sound sorry at all.
Katya leaned even closer, her blue eyes wide with horrified fascination. "His... his dick," she breathed, her voice trembling slightly. "Sharon. It’s... it’s huge. Like, monstrous!" She looked up at Sharon, stunned admiration replacing the shock. "How did you even...? How much could you take?!"
"Not as much as I wanted to," Sharon confessed, a low, throaty chuckle escaping her. She finally pulled the phone back slightly, but didn’t turn it off, letting the image linger like a shared secret between the three of them, though Alexey refused to look. "See that base? Barely got halfway. He’s... substantial." Her voice dropped, heavy with a mix of awe and pure, unadulterated lust. "Thick as my wrist. Seriously. Makes my strapon feel like a toothpick."
Alexey flinched. The comparison was brutal, deliberate. Substantial. Monstrous. Thick as my wrist. The words echoed in the suddenly thick air, underscored by the phantom sensation of the nine-inch silicone he’d taken the night before. His own cock, trapped in his jeans, gave a traitorous, painful throb against the zipper. Humiliation warred with a sharp, slicing arousal that stole his breath.
Katya whistled low, shaking her head, still staring at the phone Sharon now angled slightly away. "And you haven’t... you know... fucked him yet? With that?!" Her tone was incredulous. "Sharon, how can you even wait? I’d be climbing him like a tree! That thing... it’s practically a weapon!"
Sharon sighed, a sound full of theatrical longing and genuine anticipation. "I know, Kat. Trust me, I know." Her gaze flickered towards Alexey, catching the rigid set of his jaw, the deep flush on his neck. Her dimples deepened. "Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait." She swiped decisively, finally showing Katya Priya’s picture – a stunning woman laughing on a rooftop, utterly normal. "See? Priya. Gorgeous, right?"
Katya barely glanced at Priya this time. Her attention snapped back to Sharon, then to Alexey, then back to Sharon. "Right. Gorgeous," she murmured, distracted. She shook her head again, a slow smile spreading across her face as the full implications settled. "Okay, wow. Lunchtime blowjobs under tables with monster-cocked colleagues." She looked directly at Alexey, her expression a complex mix of newfound respect, lingering shock, and pure, mischievous delight. "And you just... sit here eating stir-fry? Knowing your girlfriend’s out there... feasting? Lesha, you are something else. Seriously."
Alexey shifted again on the stool, the wood pressing relentlessly into his soreness, a constant, aching reminder of ownership. He couldn’t meet her gaze. His face was on fire. That treacherous heat coiled tighter in his gut, demanding acknowledgment. He stared at the polished surface of the table, seeing only the ghost of the photo, hearing only the echo of their words. Monstrous. Climbing him like a tree. Feasting.
He cleared his throat, the sound rough. "More tea?" he asked hoarsely, reaching blindly for the pot, desperate for any distraction, any semblance of normalcy. His hand trembled slightly.