Chapter 13: Dual Servitude
The humid evening air clung to Sara’s skin like a second silk blouse as she pushed open the heavy glass door to the rooftop garden. Below, the city was igniting, windows flaring orange against the deepening indigo sky. Up here, amidst the scent of jasmine and damp earth, Richard and David sat like kings holding court on plush lounge chairs. Ice clinked in crystal tumblers. Richard gestured expansively towards the skyline, his voice booming over the muted traffic hum.
"...and the client’s practically wetting themselves over the engagement metrics, David. Sara’s little ‘Vox Populi’ campaign – sheer fucking genius, even if it came wrapped in feminist slogans." He took a long pull of his whiskey, his eyes, sharp and assessing, finding Sara as she approached. "Speaking of our award-winning maestro. Took your time."
David swirled his drink, his gaze flickering over her fitted black dress. "Traffic from the awards committee dinner must be hell," he offered, a veneer of pleasantry barely concealing the familiar, hungry glint beneath. "Congratulations again, Sara. Truly groundbreaking work."
Sara offered a tight smile, the warmth of the praise warring with the cool dread pooling low in her belly. "Thanks, David. Richard." She stood between their spread legs, the expensive fabric of their trousers brushing her calves. The city lights glittered, a thousand indifferent eyes.
Richard chuckled, a low, grating sound. "Groundbreaking? It’s a fucking cash cow, that’s what it is. Proof positive that controversy sells, especially when it’s packaged by someone who looks like you." He set his glass down with a decisive clink. "But enough shop talk. We have a celebration to attend to, don't we? A little... private recognition."
His hand, heavy and proprietary, landed on her hip, pulling her closer. David shifted, spreading his thighs wider, an unmistakable invitation. The air thickened, the floral perfume suddenly cloying. Sara dropped fluidly to her knees on the soft synthetic turf between them. Her hands moved with practiced ease – one finding the zipper of Richard’s expensive trousers, the other reaching for David’s belt buckle. The familiar scent of their arousal, musky and sharp, mingled with the jasmine.
"Efficient," Richard murmured approvingly, watching her work. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the lounge chair as she freed his thick, already half-hard cock. David’s sprang free, heavy and flushed. "See, David? No fuss. Knows her place when it counts."
David’s breath hitched slightly as Sara’s fingers wrapped around him, giving a slow, deliberate stroke. He cleared his throat, trying for casual. "It’s remarkable, really. The duality. Commanding the boardroom one minute..." His voice trailed off as Sara bent her head, taking Richard’s burgeoning length into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head. Richard groaned, a deep rumble in his chest.
"...And serving it so perfectly the next," David finished, his own gaze fixed on the sight. He reached down, his fingers threading roughly into her hair, not directing her towards himself – not yet – but possessing the moment. "The synergy is... potent."
Sara worked, shifting her focus between them. A slow suck for Richard, her cheeks hollowing, followed by a series of firm, twisting strokes for David. She timed it, building their tension, the wet sounds loud in the intimate space. Richard talked over her head, his voice thick.
"The quarterly projections are looking stellar. Finance is creaming themselves. That healthcare rebrand you spearheaded, David? Pure gold. Flawless execution." He punctuated his point with a sharp thrust of his hips, forcing himself deeper into Sara’s throat. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but didn’t pull away. Her hand on David’s shaft moved faster, demanding his attention.
"Flawless?" David panted, his grip tightening in her hair. "Credit where it's due, Richard. Sara’s insights on the demographic targeting were... ahh... instrumental." He arched his back as Sara took him fully into her mouth now, swallowing him down until her nose pressed against his groin. She held it, looking up at him with wide, watering eyes, feeling his cock pulse against her tongue.
Richard watched, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Instrumental," he agreed, his voice dropping to a growl. Then, without warning, his own hand shot out, fisting violently in the hair at the crown of her head. He wrenched her off David’s cock, saliva stringing between her lips and his glistening tip.
"Enough sharing," Richard snarled. He yanked her head towards his own straining erection. "My turn. Deep."
He didn't wait. He pulled her down onto him, thrusting upwards savagely, forcing his entire length down her throat in one brutal motion. Sara choked, her body convulsing, her hands flying up instinctively to claw at his iron grip on her hair. Tears streamed freely down her face now, mixing with saliva. He held her there, impaled, for a terrifying second, her throat muscles spasming wildly around the intrusion. The city lights blurred into streaked halos.
David watched, mesmerized, his own cock twitching, neglected. He leaned forward, his voice a low, intimate murmur dripping with a sickening mix of admiration and contempt. "Look at her, Richard. Look at our brilliant Creative Director." He reached out, tracing a bead of spit trailing from her stretched lips down her chin. "Choking on dick like the perfect little office slut she is." He chuckled, a dark, breathy sound. "Who would believe the woman who just redefined brand engagement for PharmaPlus spends her evenings gagging on cock?"
Richard grunted, pulling Sara almost off before slamming her back down, setting a brutal, relentless rhythm. Her throat burned, raw and searing. Each thrust was agony, a violation that scraped her windpipe, forcing ragged, wet gasps whenever he allowed her a fraction of an inch of air. Her vision swam, dark spots dancing. Yet, beneath the suffocating pain, a familiar, treacherous heat coiled. The sheer power of their degradation, their raw, ugly need for her – for this act, for her submission – was a drug. It battled the suffocation, feeding a dark, resilient flame.
"Yeah," Richard growled, pistoning into her face, his hips snapping like a piston. "Perfect fucking slut. Knew you had this in you the moment I saw your hungry eyes across the boardroom." Spit flew. "Your campaign wins awards, but this... this is where you really earn your title." He released her hair for a second, only to grip both sides of her head, controlling her completely, using her mouth like a fleshlight, the wet, obscene sounds echoing off the glass barriers.
David watched, rapt, his hand now absently stroking his own erection. "Does she earn the same bonus for this performance, Richard?" he asked, his tone light, conversational, utterly obscene in the context. "Or is deep-throating considered a core competency for Senior Creative Director these days?"
Richard didn't answer. His rhythm faltered, his breath coming in harsh grunts. With a final, shuddering thrust that felt like it scraped bone, he buried himself to the root, his release spurting hot and thick down her abused throat. Sara swallowed convulsively, automatically, the bitter tang flooding her senses as he held her pinned, spasming.
He finally pulled out, his cock glistening and softening. Sara collapsed forward onto her hands, coughing violently, ropes of spit and semen dangling from her bruised lips, her chest heaving as she dragged in huge, shuddering gulps of the floral-scented air. Her throat felt flayed. Her knees ached on the turf.
Richard exhaled heavily, adjusting himself, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. David stood up, looming over her trembling form. He unzipped again. "My turn to christen the promotion properly, I think," he said, his voice tight with urgency. He nudged her shoulder with his shoe. "Open up, superstar. Show me how you close the big accounts."
Sara lifted her head slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the mess. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wet, met David's. The city lights reflected in them, hard and bright like chips of ice. Between ragged breaths, a dark, almost imperceptible smile touched her ravaged lips. She parted them. "Which pitch," she rasped, her voice shredded but clear, "did you want me to rehearse, David?"
David’s laugh was a harsh bark in the fragrant air. "The 'Deep Impact' strategy, darling. Always.” His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head towards his rigid cock, already glistening at the tip. “Show me how you secure loyalty.” He shoved himself past her lips, the thick head bumping the back of her raw throat instantly. Sara gagged, saliva spilling over her chin as he began a relentless, shallow piston motion, fucking her face with short, brutal jabs. The bitter-salt taste of his pre-cum mixed with the lingering tang of Richard’s release still coating her tongue.
Richard watched, sipping his whiskey, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “That’s the spirit, Dave. Make the bitch work for it. She’s been preening all week over that fucking PharmaPlus award.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous purr directed at Sara. “Tell me, Creative Director, does sucking cock focus that brilliant mind? Help you brainstorm your next groundbreaking feminist manifesto?” He chuckled, the sound like gravel. “Or does it just remind you what your hottest skill truly is?”
David groaned, thrusting deeper, his balls slapping against her chin. “Fuck, she’s tight. Like she’s trying to milk me dry already.” His grip on her hair tightened, forcing her nose into his coarse pubes with every downward shove. Sara’s eyes streamed, her throat a burning tunnel of pressure and violation. She focused on the cool metal of David’s belt buckle digging into her forehead, the distant wail of a siren far below, the overwhelming scent of male sweat and arousal invading her nostrils. The humiliation was a live wire, but beneath the suffocating intrusion, that treacherous coil of heat tightened, a dark pulse answering their crude ownership.
“She’s always been a quick study,” Richard mused, swirling his drink. “Learned fast that her real value wasn’t just in her pretty designs, but what she could do on her knees.” He reached out, calloused fingers tracing the tear tracks on her cheek, then pinching her nipple hard through the thin fabric of her dress. Sara flinched, a muffled whimper escaping around David’s shaft. “Isn’t that right, cunt? You needed proper guidance. Needed to understand your place.”
David’s rhythm became erratic, his hips stuttering. “Gonna fill this smart fucking mouth,” he grunted, his voice thick. “Show her where her campaign ideas really come from.” He held her head immobile, burying himself to the hilt, and pulsed hot jets of cum directly down her constricted throat. Sara choked, swallowing convulsively, the viscous flood overwhelming. He kept spurting, grunting with each thick rope, painting her gullet with his release.
He finally pulled out with a wet, sucking pop, his softening dick smearing glistening streaks across her lips and chin. Sara gasped for air, her body trembling violently, strings of saliva and semen connecting her to him. She slumped back onto her heels, wiping her face with a trembling hand, the taste of both men acrid and inescapable. Her knees were numb on the turf, her throat felt flayed.
Richard stood, towering over her pitiful form on the fragrant rooftop. He nudged her discarded blazer with the toe of his polished shoe. “Clean yourself up, Sara. You’ve got a strategy presentation in thirty minutes for the Zenith account.” His voice was pure business again, cold and dismissive. “Try not to look quite so… well-fucked. Might give the juniors ideas.” He glanced at David, buttoning his jacket. “Impressive closing technique, Dave. She really took it all. Like a champ.”
David tucked himself away, a smug expression on his face. “Told you. Best hire we ever made. Brain and throat.” He picked up his glass. “See you downstairs, Richard. Don’t be late, Sara. This Zenith pitch needs to sing.” He walked towards the exit without a backward glance.
Sara remained kneeling, the city’s indifferent glow illuminating the mess on her face, the tear stains, the ripped seam on her skirt from the first assault in her new office. The cool breeze felt like a slap. She dragged in a ragged breath, the air scraping her abused throat. Shame warred with a dark, liquid thrill deep in her core. The presentation would be flawless. She would command the room. She’d make Zenith beg for the campaign. And later, she knew with a certainty that both terrified and electrified her, she would seek out Richard’s office. She needed to hear that demeaning growl, feel that brutal grip, taste that degrading power again. The city hummed below, oblivious, as she pushed herself up on shaky legs.
Richard stepped closer, invading her space. He gripped her jaw, forcing her head up. His thumb traced her swollen lower lip, rough and possessive. "Good girl," he murmured, the condescension thick as tar. "You learn fast. Know where your real leverage lies." He released her jaw, letting his hand trail down her neck, over the tender skin where his grip had bruised her throat minutes before. His touch lingered on her collarbone, then beneath the neckline of her dress, finding the hardened peak of her nipple through the silk. He pinched, hard.
She gasped, the sharp pain a jolt that resonated deep in her core. Her traitorous body responded instantly, that familiar, unwanted heat pooling low despite the humiliation. She hated it. Craved it.
"That little cunt," he breathed, leaning in, his stale whiskey breath hot on her ear, "always wet for it now, isn't it? That award night opened the floodgates." His other hand slid down her back, pressing her pelvis firmly against the hard ridge tenting his trousers. "Felt you dripping when David was filling your throat. Could smell it."
She didn't deny it. Couldn't. The evidence was a slick betrayal between her thighs. He ground against her, the friction sending sparks through her battered nerves. "You wanted it," he accused, his voice dropping to a guttural rasp. "Begged for it silently while you choked. Admit it."
Her breath hitched. Words stuck in her raw throat. Instead, she arched her back slightly, pressing herself harder against his erection. A silent, damning confirmation. The surrender was intoxicating, a sickening power in letting him own her degradation.
Richard chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. "Knew it." His hand slid under her skirt, fingers finding the damp silk of her panties, pushing the fabric aside. His thick fingers, smelling faintly of tobacco and David, plunged into her wetness without preamble. He fucked her with his fingers, rough and deep, knuckles grinding against her clit. Sara cried out, her legs buckling, only held upright by his other arm clamping around her waist. He twisted his fingers inside her, hitting that spot that made her vision blur.
"Fuck," she gasped, the sound torn from her. Her head fell back against his shoulder. Shame warred with overwhelming sensation. "Yes... oh god..."
"You like that, slut?" he growled, fingers pistoning ruthlessly. "Like being fingered on the rooftop where anyone could see? Where David just watched you suck cock?" He added a third finger, stretching her, the burn sharp, the fullness exquisite. He curled them, pressing hard inside. "Cum. Cum for me right here. Show me how much you love being our whore."
Her body obeyed, betraying everything she stood for. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering, ripping a choked scream from her abused throat. She convulsed against him, her inner muscles clamping down violently on his invading fingers as wave after wave of ecstasy tore through her. It was brutal, almost painful, and utterly consuming. Her knees gave way completely, but he held her up, fingers still buried deep, milking the last tremors from her.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, slick and glistening in the ambient light. He held them up before her unfocused eyes, then shoved them roughly into her open mouth. "Taste yourself," he commanded. "Taste how fucking wet you get for us." The musky, salty tang flooded her senses, mingling with the bitter remnants of their semen. She sucked, obediently, hollowing her cheeks, the humiliation a fresh spike alongside the fading tremors of orgasm.
Richard pulled his fingers free, wiping them carelessly on her skirt. He stepped back, adjusting himself in his trousers with a satisfied grunt. He surveyed her: disheveled, tear-streaked, skirt stained, lips swollen, knees grass-stained, reeking of sex and submission. A trophy of his dominance. "Now," he said, his voice regaining its boardroom coolness, "go clean up. Zenith won't sign with a sloppy cunt."
He turned to leave, pausing as his hand touched the cool glass door handle. He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Ah," he added, almost as an afterthought, the words slicing through the humid air. "And pack your bags for the weekend. We’re going to Zurich to convince some potential clients to sign with us." A predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. "And you'll be the one closing the deal."