Chapter 18: Promotion Negotiations
Vikram’s hand was sweaty and clumsy as he shoved it roughly between my thighs that morning. "He wants to see you," he mumbled, his breath stale with last night’s whiskey, fingers kneading my pussy through the thin cotton of my salwar with a desperate urgency that felt more like panic than desire. "About the increment. The promotion. Go, Saumya, please. Make him happy." He pulled his hand away, leaving a damp, uncomfortable heat behind, his eyes pleading. "He listens to you." The unspoken threat hung in the air: Our livelihood depends on this.
I walked into Vishal’s office ten minutes later, the wetness Vikram had stirred chafing with every step, a sickening reminder of my husband’s pathetic need. The air conditioner hummed too loud in the stark, silent room, smelling of leather and expensive cologne. Vishal didn’t look up from his sleek laptop. "Shut the door."
The click of the lock was deafening. He finally raised his eyes, cold and assessing, sweeping over me. "Come here." No mention of Vikram. No pretence now. My feet carried me forward on their own.
His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, yanking me forward. His other hand was already at my waistband, shoving salwar and underwear down my hips in one brutal motion. He spun me around. The edge of the enormous mahogany desk hit my thighs, hard and unyielding. He shoved my upper body down. My cheek slammed against the cold, polished wood, my breath knocked out. "Vishal—" I gasped.
His weight pinned me. I heard his zipper, felt him, already hard, pressing against me. Then he was inside, thick and demanding, filling me in one deep, punishing thrust. A whimper escaped, muffled against the wood. He didn’t pause, setting a relentless, deep rhythm, one hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back, the other roaming possessively over my hip, my ass. He bit down hard on the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I cried out, knowing he was leaving a mark Vikram couldn't miss.
The door handle rattled. Then clicked open. "Sir, the Q3 report—" Vikram’s voice, cheerful, eager, died mid-sentence. I twisted my head, my cheek still pressed to the wood. He stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, face draining of colour, a file folder dangling from limp fingers. He saw me bent over his boss’s desk. Saw Vishal buried deep inside me. Saw the ownership.
Vishal didn’t stop. Not for a second. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, grinding me against the desk edge. Vikram stumbled back. "S-sorry, sir, I'll—"
"Wait," I rasped, the word scraping my throat raw. His eyes, terrified and confused, snapped to mine. A perverse fury, cold and sharp, cut through my shame. The bastard must watch. "Stay." Vikram flinched but didn’t move, rooted to the spot, his knuckles white on the file.
Vishal chuckled, a low rumble against my back. "Good girl." His fingers dug into my hip, angling me higher. He pulled out of my pussy, glistening wet, and I felt the thick head nudge lower, seeking the tight, still-tender entrance he’d conquered days ago. Panic flared. "No, not there, please—" I gasped, bracing against the wood.
He pushed. Slow. Inexorable. The burning stretch was immediate, agonizing, tearing a sharp cry from me. Tears blurred my vision. Across the room, Vikram made a small, choked sound. Vishal sank deeper, the relentless invasion a white-hot agony. "God, you're tight," he growled, beginning to move with short, controlled thrusts that felt like being ripped apart.
"Saumya?" Vikram’s voice was a thin thread of sound. I sobbed, the pain stealing my breath. He took a hesitant step forward, his hand twitching uselessly. "Are you... alright?" The absurdity of the question, his utter helplessness, was almost as painful as the violation. Vishal slammed deeper, wrenching another cry from me. Vikram flinched, his face etched with a strange, impotent distress. "I... I'm sorry," he whispered, uselessly, watching as his wife was taken in the place only his boss had ever claimed. His boss who held his job, his life, his wife, in the palm of his hand.
The sharp slap landed hard on my bare ass, a stinging counterpoint to the deep, tearing stretch as Vishal drove himself impossibly deeper into my aching back passage. "Fuck! Haan, aise hi, saale!" I gasped, the crude Hindi bursting from me as the pain twisted into a perverse, electric thrill, pushing my voice louder, encouraging his savagery. "Zor se, Vishal! Poori ghusa, saale! Takkar maar!" He grunted, a low animal sound of approval, responding instantly, pistoning into me with brutal, machine-like efficiency, each deep thrust hammering my hips against the unyielding mahogany edge, the sharp sting of his next slap only fueling my frenzy. Vikram whimpered, a soft, pathetic sound from the doorway, his eyes wide with horror and some twisted fascination as his boss relentlessly drilled his wife’s ass.
His teeth sank into the meat of my shoulder again, sharp and possessive, making me arch and shout, "Chod! Aah, haan! Aur zor se chod mujhe!" The crude commands worked; he slammed into me faster, harder, the obscene sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the tense office air, his grip iron on my hips, holding me open and taking exactly what he wanted. "Saumya..." Vikram breathed, his voice trembling, one hand drifting helplessly, compulsively to the front of his trousers, fumbling with his belt. The sight of him, so weak, so useless, ignited a furious heat deep in my core, the relentless pounding against that raw, sensitive spot inside finally tipping me over. "Haan! Haan! Abhi! Ahhhhh!" I screamed, my body convulsing in a violent, shuddering climax that clenched impossibly tight around Vishal’s invading cock, wringing a guttural roar from him.
Vikram finally freed his cock, thin and already slick at the tip, his hand moving frantically over himself as he watched Vishal fuck me through my climax. "Idiot!" I snarled, breathless, still impaled and shuddering. "Dekh raha hai? Aa jaa! Hila apna!" My command snapped him into action; he stumbled forward, his free hand braced weakly on the desk near my head, his eyes glued to where Vishal was still pounding relentlessly into my ass, his small cock pulsing pathetically in his own frantic grip. I reached back blindly, my fingers closing over Vikram’s sweaty, trembling hand on his cock, guiding his speed, squeezing hard, my own voice rough with command even as Vishal’s thrusts grew erratic, deeper, his breath ragged gasps against my neck. "Jaldi kar, nikalde! Abhi!" I ordered Vikram, feeling his small cock jerk and pulse wildly in my tight grasp.
Vikram gasped, a high-pitched whine escaping him as his thin cock spasmed violently in my fist. Warm, watery spurts splashed messily onto the expensive Persian rug beneath the desk, his hips jerking feebly against my restraining hand. "Oh god... Saumya..." he panted, collapsing forward, trembling, utterly spent already. Pitiful.
Vishal’s deep thrusts continued relentlessly, hammering my ass, each slam jolting my body against the unforgiving wood. "Is that all?" he sneered, his voice thick with exertion and contempt as Vikram whimpered. "Pathetic."
"Not yet," I gasped, tightening my inner muscles around Vishal’s thickness, squeezing hard just as he drove deep. He groaned, a ragged sound, his rhythm faltering for just a second. "Not yet, Vishal." I commanded, clenching again, deliberately holding back his release. "Wait."
I pushed back against him, forcing him to pull out. The sudden emptiness was jarring. Wincing at the deep, familiar ache, I twisted, rolling onto my back on the vast desk, scattering papers. "Here," I ordered Vishal, my legs spreading wide, pulling him towards my chest. "Up."
He understood instantly, a dark hunger flaring in his eyes. He climbed onto the desk, kneeling astride my torso, his heavy cock, slick and thick, bobbing inches from my face. The leather scent of the desk mixed with sweat and sex. "Suck," he demanded, his voice rough.
I leaned forward, taking just the head between my lips, swirling my tongue slowly, deliberately avoiding the intensity he craved. My eyes locked onto Vikram, who hovered near the desk edge, his damp trousers still open, looking lost and ashamed. "Vikram," I said, my voice muffled by Vishal’s flesh. "Come here."
He shuffled closer, confusion etched on his face. "Hold them," I commanded, nodding towards Vishal’s heavy balls. "Do it." Vishal chuckled, a low rumble of pure dark amusement, watching Vikram’s horrified hesitation.
Vikram’s trembling hand reached out, fingers brushing tentatively, then closing around Vishal’s sac. He looked physically ill, yet compelled. "Good," I murmured, then took Vishal deep into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks, sucking hard. His groan vibrated down my throat. "Squeeze them, Vikram," I ordered, my gaze hard on my husband. "Gently. Now."
Vikram obeyed, his fingers tightening slightly. Vishal’s hips jerked. "Fuck yes," he hissed. I sucked harder, faster, my tongue working relentlessly, my hand pumping the base, while Vikram nervously massaged the heavy orbs. Vishal’s breathing grew ragged, frantic. "Going to... Saumya..."
I pulled back just enough, letting the swollen head rest on my lower lip, my tongue flicking the slit. "Do it," I whispered. "All over me." His control shattered. With a guttural shout, thick, hot ropes of cum splashed across my chin, my neck, painting my bare breasts in sticky stripes. Vikram flinched but kept his trembling grip.