Chapter 2: Solo Investigation
Three weeks. Twenty-one days of impeccable professionalism, of crisp “good mornings” and efficiently filed reports. The spilled contracts had been re-printed, the Ellison merger was proceeding smoothly, and Katheryn Song had not once dropped a paperclip. A fragile, silent equilibrium had been established.
Ada Larne sat in the penthouse’s deep silence, long after the sunset had bled into the black velvet of night. The city’s grid of lights glittered, a circuit board of indifferent ambition. Her laptop glowed, rows of numbers and projections a poor substitute for the memory her body refused to relinquish.
It was the quiet that did it. Without the day’s barrage of decisions, her mind rewound to the feeling of a warm, yielding throat constricting around her. The sharp, sweet gasp Katheryn had made when Ada’s palm connected with her ass. The look in Vicky’s eyes—complicit, hungry, approving.
Her cock, perpetually semi-aware since that afternoon, gave a thick, aching throb against the seam of her panties. She shifted in her chair, the leather creaking. It was a distraction, a physical gnawing that cut through her focus on the quarterly revenue forecast.
She tried to ignore it. Took a sip of cold, bitter coffee. Scrolled.
The memory rewound again, this time adding fabrications. What if she hadn’t stopped? What if, after Vicky left, she’d turned Katheryn over that polished desk, hiked up that prim secretary skirt, and fucked her proper? Not a lesson, not a punishment, but a claiming. She imagined the girl’s choked cries, the slick, tight heat of her cunt, the way her own balls would have tightened before pumping a deep, wet load into her.
A sharp, pleasurable pain lanced through her groin. Her cock was hardening fast, a swift and stubborn invasion of her consciousness. It pressed insistently against the zipper of her pencil skirt, the snug wool becoming a prison.
“Fuck,” she muttered to the empty room. She adjusted herself, but the movement only made it worse, rubbing the sensitive head against the fabric. A warm, damp spot began to bloom at the tip, pre-cum seeping through her underwear and onto the skirt’s inner lining.
She tried to focus on the screen. Acquisitions. Logistical pipelines. It was useless. Her blood had redirected, a relentless tide filling her shaft. It grew heavier, thicker, a foot of desperate need trapped at an awkward angle. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counter-rhythm to the slow pulse in her cock.
She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, seeking relief, finding none. Each tiny movement sent jolts of sensation up her spine. The damp spot grew. She could feel the wetness, a shameful, undeniable leak. Her breath hitched. This was absurd. She was the CEO of Zora, not some teenager thwarted by a random erection.
But this wasn’t random. It had a face. Long black hair. Warm, shocked brown eyes. A mouth that had learned, beautifully, devastatingly, how to suck.
A full, unbidden shudder wracked her. Her hips jerked minutely. Without her hand anywhere near it, without a single deliberate stroke, her cock twitched violently in its confinement. A second, warmer seep of fluid escaped, followed by a third. It was a non-stimulant orgasm, a dry, aching pulse of release that shot pathetic, damp warmth into her clothes without any of the relieving climax. Her body shook with each feeble twitch, her knuckles white on the edge of the desk. She sat rigid, breathing through her nose, silver eyes screwed shut, humiliated by her own involuntary biology.
When the last tremor passed, she was left with a sticky discomfort and a fury that burned away the last vestiges of her control. This had to stop. This would stop. She would excise this itch, this distraction, and then she would burn it out of her memory forever.
The door to her office opened with a soft click.
Ada’s eyes flew open. Katheryn stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the softer light of the outer corridor. She held a fresh carafe of coffee in one hand. Her expression was one of cautious diligence.
“Ms. Larne? I saw your light was still on. I thought you might want a warm-up…” Her voice trailed off as she took in Ada’s posture—the rigid spine, the flushed neck, the way she was seated oddly, almost hunched. Then Kat’s eyes, drawn by some inexorable gravity, dipped to the dark, damp patch clearly visible on the grey wool of Ada’s skirt, right at the juncture of her thighs.
Kat froze. The carafe trembled, the coffee sloshing softly.
The air evaporated. The hum of the city vanished. There was only the shared, devastating knowledge hanging between them, thick as smoke.
Ada didn’t move. She let the girl look. Let her see the evidence. Her voice, when it came, was a low, ragged scrape. “Close the door, Katheryn.”
It wasn’t a request. It was the last turn of a key.
Kat moved mechanically, pushing the door shut with her hip. The click of the latch was final. She stood there, carafe in hand, a statue of uncertainty.
“Put it down,” Ada said.
Kat bent, setting the carafe on the low table with excessive care, as if it were a bomb. When she straightened, her hands fluttered to her sides, unsure.
“Come here.”
Kat approached, each step slow, measured. She stopped a few feet from the desk, her gaze fixed on Ada’s chin, unable to meet her eyes, unable to look again at the damp skirt.
Ada leaned back in her chair, the picture of forced calm. “You saw.”
It wasn’t a question. Kat gave a tiny, frantic nod.
“This,” Ada said, gesturing vaguely at her own lap, “is your fault. Those… thoughts. They’re pollutants. And you’re the source.”
Kat’s breath hitched. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Quiet.” Ada’s command sliced through her stammer. “I don’t want your apologies. I want the problem solved.” She let the silence stretch, let the tension coil to its breaking point. “You have two choices. You can walk out that door right now. We will never speak of this again. You will transfer to another department on Monday. You will cease to be my concern.”
Kat’s eyes finally lifted, wide with a panic that wasn’t just fear. It was the terror of being dismissed, of being sent away from the epicenter of everything that had, in some twisted way, made her feel truly seen for the first time.
“Or?” Kat whispered.
A faint, cruel smile touched Ada’s lips. “Or you can come over here. You can get on your knees. And you can clean up your mess.”
Kat didn’t hesitate. The choice was no choice at all. She moved around the desk, the scent of Ada’s perfume and that sharper, muskier undertong flooding her senses. She sank to her knees on the plush carpet, the posture now familiar, terrifying, and electrifying.
Ada didn’t help. She watched, her silver eyes gleaming in the monitor’s ghostly light, as Kat’s trembling hands reached for the side zipper of the pencil skirt. Kat pulled it down, the sound deafening. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Ada’s panties—black lace, soaked through with warm, sticky fluid—and tugged them down just enough to free her.
Ada’s cock sprang out, fully, impressively hard again, the head glistening with the evidence of her earlier, frustrating release. The shaft was wet, a trail of sticky pre-cum leading back to the dark, damp fabric.
“Go on,” Ada murmured, her voice thick. “Clean it.”
Kat leaned forward. She didn’t use her hands. She pressed her face into the heat of Ada’s groin, her tongue flicking out tentatively. She licked a broad, slow stripe up the underside of the heavy shaft, gathering the bitter-salty fluid. She swirled her tongue around the flushed head, lapping at the slit, swallowing the taste of Ada’s unwanted climax.
A low groan rumbled in Ada’s chest. Her hand came down, not to guide, but to cradle the back of Kat’s head, fingers tangling in her dark hair. “All of it.”
Kat obeyed, her movements growing less tentative, more thorough. She licked and sucked the shaft clean, nuzzled into the wiry red curls to find every trace, her own need a throbbing, insistent drumbeat between her legs. When she was done, Ada’s cock shone clean and wet, harder than ever, jutting proudly from the open confines of her skirt.
“Good,” Ada breathed. Then her grip tightened. “Now make it useful. I haven’t come yet. And you’re going to fix that.”
Kat opened her mouth, taking Ada in with a smooth, practiced motion that made Ada hiss. There was no gagging now, no hesitation. Kat hollowed her cheeks, sucking with a desperate intensity, her hand working the base in a twisting rhythm. She was starving for it, for the power to undo this formidable woman, to be the sole source of her release.
Ada’s composure shattered quickly this time. The weeks of repression, the sudden shock of discovery, the hot, expert mouth on her—it was a catalyst. Her hips began to piston upwards, fucking Kat’s face in short, brutal thrusts.
“That’s it, you hungry little bitch,” Ada snarled, her head thrown back. “Take it. Fuck, your mouth… just like I remembered. Just like I’ve been fucking dreaming about.”
The profanity, the raw admission, spurred Kat on. She moaned around the length in her mouth, the vibration wringing a choked cry from Ada.
“I’m gonna come,” Ada warned, her thighs tightening. “You’re gonna swallow it all. Every last drop. You understand? That’s what you’re for now.”
Kat’s answer was to redouble her efforts, sucking furiously, her tongue pressing hard against the frenulum. She wanted it. She needed the taste, the proof, the conclusion.
With a guttural shout that echoed off the glass walls, Ada came. The first spurt hit the back of Kat’s throat, hot and thick. The next pulses followed, a relentless, salty flood that Kat swallowed eagerly, her throat working, her lips sealed tight until Ada was spent, soft, and shuddering.
Kat pulled back slowly, panting, her lips swollen and slick. She looked up, her eyes searching Ada’s face.
Ada, breathing heavily, looked down at her. The fury was gone. The tension was gone. In its place was a complex, exhausted emptiness. She slowly tucked herself away, zipped her skirt. Her hand, almost reluctantly, stroked Kat’s hair once.
“Get up,” Ada said, her voice soft, drained.
Kat stood, her legs unsteady. The taste of Ada was still stark on her tongue, a metallic tang mixed with salt. She watched Ada’s face, searching for a directive, a dismissal, anything beyond that hollow, spent expression.
Ada simply stared at the dark skyline, her profile sharp. The damp patch on her skirt was a dark, embarrassing bloom. She seemed to vibrate with a sudden, fresh tension, as if the release had only cleared a path for a deeper frustration. Her fingers, resting on the desk, tapped once.Twice.
“This changes nothing,” Ada said, but the words sounded thin, unconvincing even to her.
“It does,” Kat heard herself say, the quiet statement shocking them both.
Ada’s head turned. Her silver eyes were no longer hollow; they were charged, dangerous. “What did you say?”
Kat’s courage faltered, but the memory of the last three weeks—the sterile silence, the pretending—locked her knees. “It changes everything. You can’t… you can’t put that back in the box.”
A muscle twitched in Ada’s jaw. She looked from Kat’s flushed face, down to her own ruined skirt, and something snapped. The calculated control shattered. With a swift, violent motion, she stood, the chair rolling back and crashing into the window with a thud.
“You think you know what this is?” Ada’s voice was a low, venomous thing. She closed the distance between them in two strides. “You’re a distraction. A stress relief valve. Nothing more.”
“Then relieve it,” Kat breathed, not backing down. “All of it.”
The challenge hung in the air. Ada’s gaze burned into her, stripping her bare. Then, with a raw, guttural sound, Ada’s hands were on her. They weren’t gentle. They spun Kat around roughly, bending her at the waist until her palms slapped against the cool, polished mahogany of the desk. The Ellison contract was somewhere underneath her, a crisp metaphor being crushed.
Ada’s body pressed against her from behind, a line of relentless heat. Kat could feel the hard ridge of Ada’s cock, already rigid again, straining through the wool against the cleft of her ass. Ada’s breath was hot and ragged against her neck.
One hand splayed across Kat’s back, pinning her down. The other fumbled with the hem of Kat’s skirt, yanking it up unceremoniously around her waist. Cool air hit her thighs. Her plain cotton underwear was pulled down in a single, unforgiving tug, past her knees. She was exposed, utterly.
“Stay,” Ada commanded, the word vibrating through Kat’s bones.
Ada freed her own cock, the sound of the zpper a sharp tear in the quiet. She was fully, fiercely erect. She nudged Kat’s thighs wider with a knee. Her hips pushed forward.
The first thrust was clumsy, wild. The slick head of her cock slid hard against Kat’s inner thigh, leaving a wet stripe. Ada grunted in frustration, adjusting her grip.
She tried again. This time, the rigid length slid upwards, gliding through the damp seam of Kat’s ass cheeks, a maddening, teasing pressure that made Kat whimper and push back instinctively. It wasn’t where she wanted it. It was agony.
“Fucking keep still,” Ada snarled, her patience gone.
She pulled back. Held Kat down harder, her palm a firm, immovable weight between Kat’s shoulder blades. She positioned herself again. The third time, the broad, leaking tip tapped directly against Kat’s entrance, a blunt, electric notification.
Kat’s body betrayed her. A jolt of primal nerves made her flinch, her hips retracting an inch, trying to evade the inevitable invasion.
Ada’s response was instantaneous. The hand on her back pressed down with crushing force, mashing her front against the desk. “You don’t get to run,” Ada hissed, her voice dripping with dominance. “You asked for this. Now you’re going to take it.”
She pushed forward again, relentless.
The tip pressed inward, a demanding, stretching burn. It was too much, too fast. It wouldn’t fit. Ada exhaled sharply, a curse buried in the breath. She used her hand to guide herself, manipulating the angle, applying steady, unbearable pressure until the impossible tightness gave way with a soft, wet pop.
The head slid past the entrance.
They both froze for a fractured second. Kat gasped, her fingers clawing at the desktop. The feeling of being speared, of being filled beyond reason, short-circuited every thought. Ada was inside her, just barely, a searing, claiming presence.
“Christ,” Ada whispered, the triumph in her voice laced with something like awe.
Then she began to move. She fucked gently at first, with slow, calculated slides that were almost worse than brutality. Each measured withdrawal dragged against sensitized flesh. Each deliberate push sank her deeper by millimeters, a meticulous conquest. Kat could feel every ridge, every vein, the terrifying, glorious fullness expanding her.
Ada’s breathing steadied into a controlled rhythm. Her movements were analytical, almost surgical. She was mapping her, learning the clutch of Kat’s body around her cock. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the soft, slick slide of skin on skin.
This careful calculus didn’t last.
The deeper Ada went, the harder her control cracked. A low groan escaped her. The gentle slides became firm drives. The measured pace began to stutter, then accelerate. Her hands gripped Kat’s hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, finding a bruising hold.
“Is this what you wanted?” Ada panted, her thrusts gaining force. “To get properly fucked on your boss’s desk?”
Kat couldn’t form words. A strangled “yes” was torn from her, muffled by the wood. Her own need was a coil wound tight, sparking with each deep collision. Ada was hitting a spot now that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
Ada abandoned all pretense of gentility. She drove into her with a pounding, possessive rhythm, her hips slapping against Kat’s ass with a sound that was raw and obscene. The desk shuddered with each impact. Pens rattled. A monitor swayed.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Ada gasped, her syntax breaking down. “Taking every inch… god, you greedy cunt…”
The filth poured from her, a verbal unleashing that mirrored the physical. Each crude word propelled her harder, faster. She was chasing her own end, but also Kat’s, orchestrating their ruin with a ruthless, expert fury. One hand snaked around Kat’s hip, fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles.
The dual assault was too much. Kat’s climax ripped through her without warning, a silent, seismic event that locked her muscles and arched her back. Her internal walls fluttered and clenched violently around the cock pistoning into her.
The violent squeezing tipped Ada over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust that buried her to the hilt, Ada came. A hot, pumping rush flooded Kat’s depths, pulse after pulse, a wet, claiming heat that seemed to go on forever. Ada collapsed over her, their sweat-slick bodies heaving together against the ruined desk.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their struggle for air.
Slowly, Ada softened and slipped out. The aftermath was a cold, leaking reality. She straightened up, tucking herself away with functional, grim motions. She looked at the desk, at Kat still bent over it, at the whole debauched scene.
The door to the penthouse suite opened.
Neither had heard the elevator. Vicky Ness stood frozen in the doorway, her keycard in hand, a takeout bag dangling from the other. Her eyes took in the scene: Kat’s disheveled state, her skirt rucked up, Ada’s own rumpled clothing, the charged, ruined air.
Vicky didn’t look shocked. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. She let the door swing shut behind her.
“Working late, I see,” she said, her voice dry. She held up the bag. “I brought Thai. But it looks like you’ve already… eaten.”
The silence stretched, thick and sticky as the air between them. Ada straightened her spine, a queen reconstituting her composure from shattered pieces. “Your timing is impeccably poor as always, Vicky.”
“Is it?” Vicky set the takeout bag on a side table, her movements deliberate, her eyes never leaving Kat’s exposed form. Kat remained bent over the desk, frozen, humiliation and arousal warring in her heated skin. “Looks to me like my timing is perfect. You started the party without me.”
“There’s no party.” Ada’s voice was flat, but her gaze flickered to the dark streak on her own skirt. The denial was pathetic.
Vicky walked closer, her heels silent on the rug. She stopped beside the desk, her hand reaching out. She didn’t touch Kat. She ran a single finger along the spine of a scattered contract, tracing the path of a droplet of sweat or something else. “The Ellison paperwork. Again. It seems to attract calamity. Or… fertility.” Her finger came away glistening. She looked at it, then at Ada, one brow arched.
Kat flinched, trying to stand. Ada’s hand shot out, pressing firmly between her shoulder blades, keeping her down. “I didn’t say you could move.”
“See?” Vicky smiled, a real one, all teeth and sharp understanding. “This is better. This is honest. All that tense silence for weeks was giving me a migraine.” She circled the desk, surveying them both. “You’ve been dreaming about it. I have too. The sound she made when she swallowed me. The look on your face when you watched.” She stopped in front of Ada, their heights nearly matching. “We’re not putting this back in a box, Ada. It’s out. It’s a tool. A release. And we’re all holding the handle.”
Ada’s jaw worked. She looked from Vicky’s knowing eyes to Kat’s submissive pose. The fight drained from her, replaced by a weary, hungry acceptance. “That Thai is getting cold.”
“Fuck the Thai.” Vicky’s polite veneer dissolved. She reached for the hem of her own pencil skirt. The zipper was a whispered promise. She pushed it down, peeled her pantyhose and underwear to her knees, and let her cock spring free, already thick and full. “My turn.”
She moved behind Kat, who shuddered at the new presence. Vicky’s hands were different—sure, but not brutal. They smoothed over Kat’s trembling ass, feeling the heat left by Ada’s hands, the wetness from Ada’s release that was already leaking down Kat’s inner thighs.
“You’re a mess, sweetheart,” Vicky murmured, almost kindly. Her thumbs parted Kat’s cheeks. “An absolutely beautiful mess.” She nudged her cock forward, the head sliding easily through the mixed slickness, finding Kat’s swollen, used entrance.
Kat gasped as Vicky pushed in. It was different. Soothing and violating at once. A second fullness, a stretching that burned in a new way, her body accommodating where it was already sensitive and raw. Vicky sank in with a low, gratified groan, her hips meeting Kat’s ass.
“Christ, she’s still tight,” Vicky breathed, her hands settling on Kat’s hips. “Even after you railed her. Perfect.”
Ada watched, her own breath catching. Seeing Vicky’s length disappear into the same heat she’d just claimed sent a fresh, violent jolt through her. Her cock, impossibly, stirred again, thickening against the damp wool.
Vicky began to move, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm. Each withdrawal made Kat whimper. Each thrust drew a wet, filthy sound from their joined bodies. Vicky’s eyes found Ada’s over Kat’s back. They were dark, commanding. “You’re not just going to watch, are you? That’s not your style. You don’t watch. You direct.”
A challenge. An invitation.
A current of pure, undiluted need surged through Ada, erasing the last fragment of hesitation. She stepped forward, her fingers fumbling with her zipper once more. Her cock, resurrected and angry, jutted out. She moved behind Vicky.
Vicky, anticipating her, arched her back, pushing her own ass out, offering herself without a word. Her rhythm on Kat never faltered.
Ada spat into her palm, slicking her shaft. She guided herself, pressing against Vicky’s tight ring of muscle. Vicky was taut, unprepared, but she pushed back, a desperate, wordless plea.
Ada shoved forward.
Vicky gasped, her body stiffening, her thrust into Kat stuttering. “Fuck! Ada… yes…” The words were torn from her.
Ada pushed deeper, burying herself in the clenching, incredible heat of Vicky’s ass. They were locked now, a chain of flesh. Ada inside Vicky. Vicky inside Kat.
A suspended second of utter connection hung in the air. Then Ada moved.
Her hips pulled back and slammed forward. The force drove Vicky violently into Kat, which made Kat cry out and buck against the desk. That movement traveled back, a shockwave through Vicky’s body into Ada’s.
They found a rhythm. A devastating, interconnected machinery of sex. Ada’s thrust was Vicky’s thrust. Vicky’s grunt was absorbed by Kat’s moan. The desk creaked in a steady, protesting tempo. The city lights blurred into streaks beyond the glass.
“Oh god… feels… you feel…” Kat babbled, her mind fragmented, full of two cocks, two sets of hands gripping her, two powerful women using her as the conduit for their own collision.
“Shut up and take it,” Ada grunted, her own voice strained, her forehead pressed between Vicky’s shoulder blades. She was fucking harder now, each snap of her hips a punctuation mark of ownership. The slide in Vicky’s ass was tight and dry, a brutal friction that bordered on pain for them both, a pain they raced toward.
Vicky was the anchor, the transmission. She fucked into Kat with renewed, ragged intensity, spurred on by Ada’s pistoning behind her. “You like that?” she panted into Kat’s ear. “Feeling her fuck me into you? Feeling us both?”
Kat could only nod, a frantic, jerky motion. She was a instrument, played by two masters, each note vibrating through the next. The pressure inside her was colossal, a filling beyond reason. The smell of sex and sweat and leather was suffocating. The sound was obscene—skin slapping skin, ragged breaths, the wet squelch of three bodies moving as one.
Ada’s control was the first to fully fracture. The visual, the physical feedback, the sheer taboo of it unleashed her. “Gonna come,” she snarled, her fingers digging into Vicky’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Gonna fill your ass up, you smug bitch. Take it. Take it and give it to her.”
Her thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming frantic, jackhammer blows. Vicky cried out, her own rhythm breaking as Ada’s climax triggered hers. Vicky’s body clenched around Ada even as her own cock swelled and pulsed deep inside Kat.
Kat felt Vicky’s release first—a hot, sudden flood that painted her insides. The feeling, the utter debasement of it, yanked her over the edge. Her third orgasm was a silent, shattering wave that left her limp, seeing white spots, her cunt milking Vicky’s shaft.
That fierce, rhythmic clamping was the final signal for Ada. With a raw, shouted curse that echoed off the glass, she came. Her hips jammed forward, locking them all together as she emptied herself into Vicky in violent, pulsing jets.
The train ground to a shuddering halt.
They stood locked, trembling, a sweaty, panting sculpture of completion. Slowly, carefully, Ada softened and slipped out. Vicky followed, pulling from Kat with a wet, final sound.
Kat slumped forward, her cheek against the cool wood, completely spent. Vicky turned, bracing herself on the desk, her breath heaving. Ada stood back, running a hand through her wrecked red hair, looking at the two of them with an expression of dazed, satiated shock.
The intercom buzzed.
They all jumped. It was a stark, inhuman sound in the human wreckage of the room.
Ada stared at it. Vicky began to laugh, a soft, breathless, slightly unhinged sound. Kat didn’t move.
The intercom buzzed again, insistent.
Ada walked to the desk, her movements stiff. She pressed the button. “What.”
“Ms. Larne,” the security voice came, tinny and oblivious. “Your driver is here for the airport. The car is waiting downstairs.”
The airport. The Zurich summit. A 7 AM meeting with investors. A reality that existed outside this glass room.
Ada closed her eyes. “Tell him I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
She released the button. The silence returned, but it was different now. Charged with aftermath.
She looked at Vicky, then at the ruined, beautiful girl on her desk. “Clean this up,” she said, her CEO voice returning, layered over something infinitely more complex. “Both of you. I have a flight to catch.”
She turned, collecting her blazer, not looking back. As she reached the door, Vicky’s voice, calm and clear, stopped her.
“Welcome back, Ada.”
Ada paused, her hand on the knob. She didn’t turn. Then she opened the door and walked out into the sterile hallway, leaving the scent of sex and power and a broken equilibrium behind her. The door sighed shut on its hydraulic hinge, leaving Kat and Vicky in the glittering dark, the untouched Thai food growing cold on the table.