Chapter 7: The Executive Treatment
The following afternoon carried a brittle quiet. Valerie moved through the penthouse with a lingering soreness, a pleasant echo in her muscles that made her feel both used and cherished. Erin was on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the city skyline. They shared coffee in silence, a new comfort between them, punctuated only by the clink of china.
Shane’s voice, when it came, was a soft command from the doorway of his study. “Both of you. In here. Now.”
The tone brooked no delay. It was the voice he used for business, crisp and devoid of the dark heat from the night before. Valerie exchanged a glance with Erin—a flash of wary curiosity—and they both rose, setting their cups down.
His office was a temple to control. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of dark walnut held pristine, leather-bound volumes. A massive, minimalist desk of polished black oak dominated the room, its surface holding only a sleek laptop, a pen holder, and a single, thick manila folder. The air smelled of old paper, fine leather, and sandalwood. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting restless shadows.
Shane stood behind the desk, already rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. His forearms were corded, the tattoos there stark against his skin. Laid out on the blotter were two objects: a complex-looking gag made of black leather and silicone, and a familiar strap-on dildo, the same one from the night before.
“Erin,” he said, his eyes on the younger woman. “Come here.”
Erin approached, her earlier serenity gone, replaced by a nervous energy. Shane picked up the gag. It wasn’t just a ball; it had a protruding, realistic silicone shaft, a smaller version of the strap-on.
“Open,” he instructed.
Erin obeyed, her jaw trembling slightly. He fitted the leather harness behind her head, buckling it tightly at the nape of her neck. The silicone cock filled her mouth, pushing her tongue down, its tip hitting the back of her throat. A thin line of saliva immediately escaped her lips. Her eyes, wide over the obscene intrusion, flicked to Valerie.
“This,” Shane said, his fingers adjusting a strap under Erin’s chin, “is your tool. And your restraint. You will not speak. You will not use your hands.” He turned to Valerie. “On the desk. On your back.”
Valerie’s pulse jumped. The desk was hard, unyielding. The cool surface seeped through her thin dress as she hoisted herself onto it, lying back. The manila folder crinkled beneath her shoulder blades. She looked up at the recessed ceiling lights, her breath coming faster.
Shane unbuckled his belt, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He pulled it free, then used it to bind Valerie’s wrists together above her head, looping it through the sturdy desk lamp base. He pushed her dress up to her waist, leaving her completely exposed.
“Erin,” he said, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register. “Get on the desk. Straddle her. Fuck her with what you’ve been given.”
Gagged, Erin could only make a muffled sound. She climbed onto the hard oak, kneeling over Valerie, her knees framing Valerie’s hips. The silicone dick in her mouth hovered over Valerie’s sex. Valerie lifted her hips, a silent plea.
Erin lowered her head. She used her mouth, awkwardly at first, nudging the slick tip against Valerie’s folds. The sensation was bizarre, intimate—the warmth of Erin’s breath, the firm pressure of the gag-controlled cock. Erin found a rhythm, a bobbing of her head that pushed the silicone in and out of Valerie’s cunt. It was a shallow, maddening penetration, devoid of the full, deep strokes they both craved.
Valerie moaned, her bound hands fisting. “Deeper, god, please, deeper.”
But Erin was limited by the angle, by the harness on her face. Frustration built in her movements, a frantic jerking.
Shane watched, his expression unreadable. He unbuttoned his fly, freeing his cock, already thick and heavy. He moved behind Erin, who was focused on her task, her body bent over Valerie.
He didn’t warn her. He placed a broad hand on the small of her back, pressing down until her chest was against Valerie’s legs, her ass raised high. With his other hand, he guided himself to her entrance, slick with her own arousal. Then he pushed forward, burying himself in her in one relentless, deep stroke.
Erin screamed.
The sound was trapped, distorted by the gag, vibrating through the silicone in her mouth and into Valerie’s cunt. It became a tangible, buzzing groan that Valerie felt inside her own body. The dual sensation—the frantic, shallow fucking from the gag and the deep, resonant vibration of Erin’s scream—was surreal, overwhelming.
“That’s it,” Shane grunted, his hands gripping Erin’s hips, his thrusts settling into a brutal, punishing pace. “Let her feel it. Let her feel you come apart.”
Each of his drives into Erin’s tight channel slammed her body forward, forcing the gag deeper into Valerie. Papers scattered from the desk, fluttering to the floor like wounded birds. The desk itself groaned, a solid piece of furniture protesting the savage rhythm.
Valerie was lost in a feedback loop of sensation. The physical stretch of the dildo. The raw, sonic vibration of Erin’s pleasured agony. The sight of Shane, his face a mask of fierce concentration, his body dominating Erin’s completely. She came suddenly, a sharp, clenching orgasm that ripped a cry from her own throat.
Erin felt it, the convulsions around the toy in her mouth. It tipped her over the edge. Her scream this time was a continuous, ragged vibration as her own climax seized her, her inner muscles fluttering around Shane’s driving cock. Her body shook, held up only by his relentless grip and the solid desk beneath her.
Shane followed, his rhythm stuttering. He pressed deep into Erin, a low, animal growl escaping him as he emptied himself. For a long moment, the only sounds were the fire, their ragged breathing, and the faint, wet sound of him sliding out of her.
He straightened, slowly. He unbuckled the gag from Erin’s face, pulling the slick silicone from her mouth. She coughed, a string of saliva connecting her to the toy. He gently untied Valerie’s wrists, his thumb stroking the red mark left by the belt.
He helped them off the desk, their legs unsteady. He guided them to the large leather Chesterfield sofa by the fire. They collapsed together, a heap of trembling limbs. Shane fetched a glass of water, making Erin drink first, then Valerie.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at the wreckage of his desk—the scattered papers, the displaced objects, the evidence of their shared transgression. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
“Good,” he said, the single word holding a universe of meaning. He leaned over and kissed Valerie’s sweaty temple, then did the same to Erin. “You translated sensation. You turned sound into touch.” He ran a hand through Erin’s hair. “You were very loud.”
Erin, her voice hoarse, managed a whisper. “Couldn’t help it.”
“I know.” He stood, tucking himself back into his trousers, becoming the composed man once more. “Clean this up. Then order dinner. Something decadent. We’ve earned it.”
He left them by the fire, the order hanging in the air. Valerie looked at the scattered paperwork on the floor, then at Erin’s dazed, satiated face. She reached out, lacing her fingers with Erin’s. The connection was electric, solid. They had not just been used; they had been played, like instruments, and the music they’d made was brutal, beautiful, and entirely their own.