Lavish Didi Stories - My new arrogant boss is someone I know - Chapter 8

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 8

The floor was almost empty when he said my name.

“David, get your bag. You’re not taking the subway.”

I followed him to the elevator. He didn’t talk. Charcoal suit, no jacket, white shirt open at the throat, black belt. Bald head catching the overhead lights. The short beard made his mouth look like it never did anything by accident. Forty. My boss. The man who had been in my throat while he smiled at a Zoom.

The executive lot was under the building. His car was the dark one at the end — long, German, windows you couldn’t see into from the outside. He unlocked it with the fob and didn’t open my door.

“Back seat.”

I got in. Leather. The smell of him and expensive materials. He got in after me on the same side and shut the door. The click was louder than the office lock.

He didn’t start the engine.

“Pants down. Underwear too. Don’t make me wait. People from twelve still park on this level.”

My hands shook on the belt of my cheap slacks. I shoved everything to my knees. The air conditioning was cold on my skin. I was already half-hard. He looked at that like it was a memo he’d already read.

“Of course.”

He reached across me, pulled the back-seat belt out in one long strap, and wrapped it around my neck. Not the wrists. The neck. He fed the tongue through the buckle and drew it tight enough that I felt every swallow. The slack hung down my chest. He held the strap in his fist like a leash.

“If you pull, it tightens. If you talk louder than I talk, it tightens. Nod.”

I nodded. The belt moved with it.

He undid his own belt with the other hand. Zipper. He didn’t take the pants off. He took his cock out through the fly — thick, long, already heavy, the way it always was when he’d spent the day knowing he was going to use me. He spat in his palm once, stroked himself twice, and looked at the tinted glass.

A pair of heels went by. Somebody from accounting. Laughing into a phone. Two feet from the door.

“They can’t see in,” he said. “You can see out if you look. I want you to look. I want you to remember who signs your hours while you’re taking this.”

He shoved my chest down along the seat and pulled the belt so my head stayed up, facing the window. Awkward. Exposed. My ass in the air on the leather. I was on my knees on the seat, chest down, ass toward him, face toward the tinted glass so I could see the lot. He poured lube from a packet he had in the door pocket like he’d planned the packet. Two fingers, no warning, the same clinical stretch as the first night on the desk. I bit the leather.

“Quiet. You want this, right?”

“Yes, sir.” I managed to say.

He lined up and pushed in.

Big. The same size that had wrecked me over the paperwork. The belt held my throat while my body tried to crawl forward and had nowhere to go. He sank until his hips sat against me and let out a breath through his nose.

“Tight. You walk around all day clenched. Stop it.”

He started fucking me in short strokes because the car didn’t give him room for the long ones. The leather creaked. His belt buckle tapped my ass. Every time I made a sound he tugged the strap and the world narrowed to the buckle at my throat and the thick slide of him.

Outside, a man from three waved at someone and walked right past the hood.

Calum didn’t stop.

“That’s Harris. He sat in the meeting while you were under the table. He thinks you’re a quiet intern who can’t format a footer. If he knocked on this glass you’d still be on my dick. Do you understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

The words came out thin. The belt made them thinner.

He changed the angle and found the place that made my knees slide on the seat. His hand left the strap long enough to wrap around the front of my throat, over the belt, and squeeze once — not to shut the air off, just to remind me the belt wasn’t decoration.

“You wanted the job. This is the job after six. Liam thinks I gave you a chance because he asked. I gave you a chance because you look at me like this in my own kitchen.”

He fucked harder. The car rocked a half-inch. Somebody’s headlights swept the concrete and missed us.

“If Liam parked here,” he said, close to my ear, voice still office-flat, “you’d still take it. You’d keep your mouth on the seat and you’d let me finish. Say it.”

I didn’t want to say it. I said it.

“I’d still take it.”

“Sir.”

“I’d still take it, sir. I want it.”

“Good boy.”

He used me like the desk. Controlled. Mean. No kissing. No are you okay. He knew he was a God to me. My obsession. The lube sounded filthy in the quiet cabin. My cock dragged on the leather under me and left a wet line. He noticed.

“Leaking on my seats. You’re going to lick it after.”

A couple passed the row of cars. I could see their legs through the tint. Calum’s fist tightened on the belt and he buried himself and stayed there, pulsing, not coming yet — just holding me full while strangers existed three meters away.

“Don’t you come,” he said. “You came on my desk the first night like you couldn’t help it. Tonight you wait. Interns wait for their boss’s commands.”

I waited. It hurt in the good way. My eyes watered behind the glasses. He started moving again, deeper, the strap pulling every time I tried to drop my head. His other hand gripped my hip the way he gripped a pen he was about to throw.

“You’re in the back of my imported car with a seatbelt on your neck. That’s the truth of your internship. Not the coffee. Not the files. You were born for this kind of service, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know that, David.”

He was getting close. I could feel it in the rhythm — shorter, meaner, the breath going through his teeth.

“Please,” I said, because I was going to come on his leather whether he allowed it or not.

“Please what.”

“Please, sir… let me cum.”

“You don’t cum until I’m out. You make a mess after. Not during. It’s an order.”

He slammed in twice more, buried, and came with a sound he swallowed, flooding me in thick pulses while the belt held my head toward the glass. I felt every one. His fingers dug into my hip hard under my cheap shirt.

He stayed in me until he was done. Then he pulled out slow. I felt him leave and the leak start down my thigh onto the seat he didn’t want stained.

“Turn around. On your knees. Mouth.”

I turned. The belt twisted with me. He held it like a handle and put the wet head of his cock on my tongue.

“Clean it. Then you cum.”

I cleaned him. Salt. Lube. Cum. Him. He watched the lot over my head the whole time, still half-hard, still dressed, the boss who had somewhere to be. When he decided I was done he let the strap slacken a fraction.

“Now.”

I jerked off fast, ugly, forehead against his thigh, coming on the floor mat because he’d said the seat was off-limits. He didn’t help. I cried with the intensity of the orgasm. He didn’t look impressed.

He took the belt off my neck. The skin there felt marked even if it wouldn’t show over a collar. He tucked himself away, smoothed the shirt, checked his face in the rearview like he’d been on a call.

“Pants up. You’re taking the subway. I’m not driving you home. I have business to take care of.”

I pulled my clothes on with hands that didn’t work right. The leak was already in the underwear. He unlocked my door from the front seat after he moved there.

“David.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Eight o’clock. Don’t be late. Next time you’re late I’ll do this in the lot at noon and I called guys to use you with me?”

I got out. The parking air felt huge. His window stayed up. From the outside the car was just a car.

I walked to the subway station with his load moving every time I took a step, the ghost of the belt on my throat, and the sentence I wasn’t going to say to my best friend sitting in my mouth next to the taste of him.

If you’d parked here I’d still have taken it.