Coworker Complications Pt. 03

Sunday.

Ryan sat on his thrift-store couch, the morning light filtering through the grimy window, casting faint streaks across the trashed apartment. Empty beer cans littered the table, the Solo cup still lay tipped over, and the air hung heavy with the stale musk of last night's debauchery. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, hands raking through his short brown hair, simmering in a bitter stew of guilt and jealousy. The clock ticked past 9:30 a. m., and his mind churned over the mess he'd made--Carson, the blackmail, the web he was forced to spin, it all spiraling into a night where his douchebag coworkers got almost everything he'd ever dreamed of. A few hours in her orbit, and they'd seen her naked, gotten blowjobs, watched her pose in every filthy way imaginable leaving no square inch to the imagination. Those pricks didn't deserve it, didn't earn it, and he hated them for it, hated himself more for letting it happen, for causing it to happen.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Megan shuffled out, her bare feet scuffing the carpet. She looked wrecked--hungover, her blonde hair a tangled nest, her plaid pajama pants sagging low, the baggy T-shirt swallowing her petite frame. Her face was a mess, crusted cum flaking on her cheeks and chin, a stark reminder of the night's end she hadn't washed off. Ryan's heart raced, a jolt of shock and twisted arousal hitting him, but he kept his mouth shut, eyes darting away as she rubbed her temples and flopped onto the couch beside him.

"Ugh, my head," she groaned, voice raspy, squinting against the light. "Last night's a blur. I remember most of it--truth or dare, the dares, all that--but the last part's just bits and pieces. Like, flashes." She paused, then jolted upright, eyes wide with sudden panic. "Wait, did you see the last part? Did you see me, like, you know, at all?"

Ryan's pulse spiked, the glimpse of her on her knees, only her naked back exposed to him--sucking their dicks--flashing behind his eyes, but no memory of any of the forbidden treasures he sought. He shook his head fast, voice steady. "No, Megs, I didn't. Kept my eyes covered, and I stayed out 'til they texted me back in. We're good."

She exhaled, slumping back, relief washing over her. "Okay, good. Thank God. To go through all of that, trying to make it all better for us, only for it to ruin everything," She rubbed her face, flakes of dried cum crumbling unnoticed, and her tone softened, reflective. "So, how was it for you, was it... hot? Do you want our night to get here even faster? I remember you had a boner, I have never seen you with one, other than that infamous night in the car back in high school."

He swallowed, the truth and the charade tangling in his throat. He had to keep it going, keep Carson's leash from tightening, but looking past Carson's evil trap, and even the torture of the event, it was, for some reason, hot. She was sexy--beyond his wildest, forbidden dreams, a vision he couldn't touch. "Yeah, I don't want to, you know, sound disrespectful, but I would really like for the day to come quick; it NEEDS to," he admitted, voice low, in honest desperation. Slightly disarmed by his honest revaluation, "And... everything that happened last night, it was all beyond my wildest imagination. You were unreal, Megs, just...." Ryan's frustration began to return as the visions of her grand display of raw sexuality, were replaced by the images of those pricks' smug faces, and also, well... their pricks. Those fucking douchebags.... With careful restraint, Ryan squeezed out, "It being for them, it's not ideal, you know?"

Her lips curved, a tired but pleased smile breaking through the hangover. "Ya, maybe it looked like it was for them, but it was for you. Plus, it was kinda fun, honestly. A little too degrading, but I liked it, knowing how much it was doing for you. Plus, I mean, we don't get out much, and you heard them, those types of games usually get a lot more wild, apparently." She trailed off, picking at her pajama hem, her brow furrowing. "Of course, I'd rather be sexy for you some other way, you know? Not just them using me like I'm a piece of meat. I just want to get to where it is us, with no more rules, we need to turn the clock and be waking up on our wedding day, wouldn't that be nice. Eleven more months."

Ryan nodded, guilt slicing deeper. "Yeah, we'll get there. God, we should just elope," he said, the words slipping out, reckless and raw. Megan started to lean into him, but at his last syllable, she pulled back sharply--not breaking the embrace, just enough to let him see the scowl twisting her face.

"And what, have our parents lose it, cut us off, ignore us for years?" she snapped, heat flaring in her voice. "Student loans already suck--imagine paying it all ourselves. Don't even go there, Ry. The night's ours, but the wedding? That's their show--250 guests, only 20 ours." Her tone softened as she caught the regret in his eyes, a faint smirk tugging her lips. "Though maybe we sneak in three extra plates--for you-know-who."

Ryan backpedaled fast. "I didn't mean it, Megs--just a dumb fantasy. What I'm saying is I have always needed that night, after least night, I really need it. I can't have it now, but I want it, bad. Now, more than ever, I really want it," A heavy pause hung as she soaked in his longing, her eyes locked on his. "For me," he added, voice low, aching, with regret soon following.

Megan slipped from his arms, turning to fuss with her hair, a delicate shield. Ryan's gut twisted--he'd let too much spill, raw feelings he'd sworn to bury deep, or risk unraveling everything: the night he'd chased for nearly a decade, now a gift for his enemies if she saw through him. She spun back, words already tumbling out, sharp and probing. "If this is about last night, it was for you, Ry. I checked with you on every dare. You had a boner! So what's this? Are you happy it happened, or regretting it? Wanting our night sooner because I turned you on, or because you're jealous it wasn't you?"

Her clarity hit like a slap, rare and dead-on, and Ryan recoiled. He couldn't dodge this--she'd smell the lie if he faltered. No more cracks; he had to seal it shut. Hands on her shoulders, he closed the gap, voice steady as stone. "I love you, and I loved last night. I wanted it to happen just the way it did. I am not jealous, I am excited to see how devoted you are to me, and all you are seeing is my nerves because, well, I haven't ever seen this kind of stuff before. You have shown me a new side that I hope was there, and know I now; it just makes me want the night to come even faster, but all that means is the night is going to be even better when it gets here. We have 11 months, let's do it, together until then, and forever after."

Megan's frown melted, a slow smile blooming as his words sank in. Ryan cringed inside, the lie locking in his fate, finally accepted as absolute. There is no escape now.

By 10:15 a. m., they'd showered--separately, of course--and headed out for groceries, the corner store a five-minute walk. Megan wore a fresh skirt, light gray and knee-length, paired with a loose sweater, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Ryan carried an empty reusable bag, the normalcy of the errand a thin shield against his brooding. They grabbed bread, milk, and some cheap pasta, chatting about nothing--work schedules, a leaky faucet Big Jake still hadn't fixed--until the apartment building loomed on their return, the front door in sight.

Tyrone was there, a hulking shadow by the entrance, pissing on the glass in a steady arc, his tattered coat flapping as he muttered a disjointed rap. "Yo, pissin' on the world, king of the street, fuck the rules, I'm the beat," he slurred, his voice gravelly and off-key. The stream splattered, pooling on the stoop, and he turned mid-flow as Ryan and Megan approached and made eye-contact with the the giant, unwashed, homeless cock. Spraying a final arc before he tucked it away, clearly not worrying about it dripping into his already soiled pants. He noticed them, as well as the direction of Megan's gaze.

"Well, shit, blondie's back, my favorite slut on the block" he said, shambling toward her, his stench hitting like a wall. "Let me guess, butt grab today?"

Megan sighed, her shoulders slumping, no fight left after yesterday's ordeal. She glanced at Ryan, her expression resigned but curious, and he nodded stiffly, the charade a reflex now. "Yeah, please no slap," she muttered, setting her grocery bag down. Tyrone licked his lips, stepping closer. "Turn around, stick that sweet ass out a bit," he instructed, and she complied, pivoting slowly, bending ever so slightly at the waist.

Ryan's stomach dropped as Tyrone's hand reached up, still glistening wet--presumably from his public urination scene, the sheen catching the light as it disappeared under her skirt. His thick fingers clamped onto her ass, kneading for a full ten seconds, way longer than before, his knuckles flexing under the fabric. The skirt shrouding what was taking place beneath. Megan stood still, submissive and silent, until a sudden yelp broke free, and she lurched forward, grabbing her bag and bolting to the wet entrance door as Ryan and Tyrone soaked in the glimpses of her ass offered by her careless escape. "Come on, Ryan!" she called, yanking the door open, her voice sounding a bit spooked.

Tyrone chuckled, adjusting his pants, his tented crotch bulging. "Finally a thong, you did good girl," he rasped. "And the pussy's wet, just how I like it. Happy to know you also look forward to our run-ins."

Ryan's blood boiled, the implication clear--Tyrone's hand hadn't just grazed her over the underwear; he'd touched her bare pussy, skin on skin, wet with probably his piss and God knows what else. Ryan followed Megan inside, the door swinging shut behind them, Tyrone's cackle fading as they hit the stairs. She climbed fast, her skirt still swishing with Ryan trying to avert his eyes. Halfway up, she broke the silence, her voice trembling but loud.

"His hand was wet before he even got to my pussy," she said, stopping on a landing, her face twisting in disgust. "Like, I felt it on my thigh first, all slimy, I am not that wet--oh my God, it was piss, wasn't it? Eww, that's so gross!" She gagged, wiping her hands on her sweater like it'd help, her nose scrunching. "Ugh, I can still feel it. So nasty!"

Ryan's heart sank, guilt crashing over him like a wave. This was his fault--the web was spreading to all their social interactions, letting creeps like Tyrone and his coworkers turn her into their plaything, even her patients. "Jesus, let's just get in the door," he managed, voice hollow, his jealousy simmering beneath the shame. She didn't deserve this, not the indignation, not the groping, not any of it.

She turned to him, still grimacing, but her eyes softened, searching his. "That didn't take away from anything, did it? I was trying to let him play a little longer for you. I just wish I had realized earlier. I mean, it's so disgusting, I feel like a mess."

He froze, her question a trap he'd built himself. Without thinking, he doubled down. He couldn't let his failures as a man, with Kendall the damn paralegal bimbo, cause distress to his beloved, the words came spilling out before he could stop them. "Yeah, Megs, it was actually kinda hot." His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through to soothe her stress, the lie a lifeline he felt was owed, but he wasn't certain on her actually buying this one.

Her face brightened, confusion shifting to a hungover grin. "Hot? Really? How's that hot?" she asked, leaning against the railing, genuinely curious and wanting to learn more on how to please Ryan.

Ryan scrambled, his mind racing for an explanation, anything to keep the charade alive. "It's, uh, the way you handle it," he said, grasping at straws. "Like, you're so tough, putting up with that creep, and it's kinda raw, you know? Him, as gross as he is, touching you like that out in the open, allowing it for me, wet and all--it's dirty, but that's what makes it sexy. Shows how even a disgusting homeless man doesn't stop you from trying to please me. You turned something gross into something... more." He cringed inwardly, the bullshit piling up wondering how much higher the pile will go. Her eyes lit up, buying it whole.

"Wow, okay," she said, nodding slowly, her grin widening. "That's kinda cool, I guess. Like, I'm tough and sexy, even with some hobos dirty hands grabbing at my pussy? Didn't think of it that way." She laughed, a little giddy, and started climbing again, her step lighter. "You're weird, Ry, but I like it if you do." With the return of her confidence, she couldn't help but add a little tease and a test, "Even if he was starting wiggle his dirty fingers in to my, your future pussy?"

The rare direct flirt, and the ever increasing use of words like pussy, his pussy. His future pussy, by the third time he ran those words through his head, he was hard as a rock, which was quickly noticed, bringing even more joy and confidence into Megan's face. But, just his luck, she was associating it with the act as a whole rather than the three important words used, "Your future pussy."

He forced a chuckle as she smirked at his crotch then moving forward with a lighter pace. Trailing her to the third floor, the grocery bag heavy in his hand. They pushed into the apartment, the mess from last night still sprawled out, and unpacked in silence, her humming softly as she shelved the pasta. Ryan watched her, the cum still crusted on her face, Tyrone's wet touch replaying alongside Carson's groans, and his jealousy burned hotter. She was his, "his future pussy," just not yet his, a paradox he'd created, and he hated how it began twisting his life--hated how part of him, buried deep, found it exciting despite the wreckage.

Half an hour later, Ryan leaned against the counter, the grocery bags half-unpacked, still waiting for Megan to bolt to the shower. After Tyrone's wet grope, he figured it would be the first thing she would do, scrubbing that homeless creep's touch off her skin like it was toxic. But she didn't move. She stood there, humming faintly, shelving the pasta, her gray skirt still swishing from the stairs, her face still faintly crusted with last night's cum. His stomach churned, the silence stretching, and he couldn't hold it in.

"Aren't you gonna shower?" he asked, voice tight, trying to sound casual. "You know, after Tyrone?"

Megan paused, a can of soup in hand, and turned to him, her hungover grin lazy but steady. "Well, if you think it's sexy, then I do too," she said, shrugging like it was obvious. "Don't wanna end the fun early, right?" She popped the can onto the shelf, oblivious to his flinch, and kept unpacking.

Ryan's chest tightened, the weight of his lie crashing down harder. She wasn't grossed out anymore--she'd bought his bullshit hook, line, and sinker, turning Tyrone's filth into some twisted game for him. The time to come clean has come and gone. He had to keep owning it, no matter how it gnawed at him. "Yeah, cool," he muttered, forcing a smile, his jealousy simmering beneath the guilt.

She stretched, yawning, and flopped onto the couch, kicking her bare feet up. "God, I'm dreading work tomorrow," she said, rubbing her temples. "Kevin's gonna stick me with Marvin again, I bet. More baths, more splashing, more touching. Ugh." She groaned, but her tone was light, resigned, the weekend's wildness still buzzing under her skin.

"Let's clean this up," Ryan said, nodding at the mess--cans, cups, the faint stench of beer and cum clinging to the room. He grabbed a trash bag, desperate for something to do, and Megan joined in, picking up empties with sluggish hands. She snagged the red Solo cup from the table, the one she'd drunk Carson's cum from last night, and held it up, sniffing it with a wrinkled nose.

"Oh, I know what this is," she said, then grinned at him, playful and teasing. "Remember?" She tipped it to her lips, a mock sip, and Ryan's gut lurched. Then her eyes widened as a small remnant of cum--now thin and clear--slid from the cup's edge into her mouth. She swallowed reflexively, a quick gulp, and he froze, horror spiking through him as her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

"Wow, I guess I missed some," she said, blinking, setting the cup down like it was no big deal. "Didn't expect that. Doesn't taste that bad, though. Kinda forgot from last night, but now I'll remember." She laughed, light and unbothered, and turned back to the trash, humming again, leaving Ryan rooted, his heart racing, the image of her swallowing burned into his skull.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she scooped it up, squinting at the screen. "Oh, it's Carson," she said, tapping it open. "He sent the video. Wants me to look it over and approve." She shuffled to the far side of the room, facing Ryan, the back of her phone to him, and hit play. He watched her from the corner of his eye, her face flickering through expressions--horror at first, brows shooting up, then surprise, her mouth parting slightly, followed by awe, her eyes widening, and something like lust, a faint flush creeping up her neck. She chewed her lip, engrossed, the faint sound of moans and grunts leaking from the speaker, too low for him to catch details.

Nearly 15 minutes later, it ended. Pocketing the phone, her voice casual but tinged with something deeper. "That was intense, whew. My heart is beating fast. It's edited, like he said. You can't see my tits or pussy or anything--just blurry spots there. But, uh, all the cocks are still in it, clear as day. Pretty wild how they cleaned it up from what was probably a shaky mess." She shrugged, brushing it off, and grabbed another can to toss.

Ryan nodded, mute, his curiosity clawing at him. He wanted to see it, to know exactly what they'd done while he was out, but naturally didn't want to jump at the opportunity out of embarrassment. She glanced at him, frowning slightly. "He told me to text it to you after I checked it," she said, pulling her phone back out. "Here." She forwarded it, the buzz hitting his pocket, and leaned against the counter, watching him. "You gonna check it out?"

He hesitated, the weight of her stare pressing in. "Uh, maybe later," he said, shrugging, trying to play it cool not really knowing what he was to do, but her frown deepened, confusion creasing her brow.

"I thought you wanted it," she said, tilting her head. "You're not interested?"

Panic flared--he'd misstepped. She'd been told he craved this, even by him, and dodging it now would bring back suspicion. "No, I do, I was trying not to seem, you know, like a pervert," he backtracked, forcing a grin, pulling his phone out. "Let's watch it now. Been dying to see it." His voice sounded hollow, but she perked up, nodding, her trust intact.

"Cool," she said, stepping closer but not too close, keeping her distance as he hit play. The screen flickered to life, a surprisingly stable iPhone clip smoothed out with rough but precise edits. It started mid-dare--her dancing, the skirt flaring, precise blurry patches over her crotch as she flashed, the guys' cheers loud and raw. Then the spanks, her ass bent over Carson's lap, the skirt up, red handprints blooming, her pussy and tits obscured but their cocks dangling free, half-hard. Ryan started getting an erection imagining what laid beneath the censored patches, which Megan was looking for. As soon as she saw evidence she squirmed with delight. She felt confident enough to usher him into his little room to finish watching it alone so he can enjoy it better. "Go, go, do what you need to do, babe."

Defeated, Ryan closed the door and laid back on his bed. He had no intentions of jerking off when he resumed the video, but there she was on her knees, naked, the blur covering her nipples and the little you could see of her pussy from the POV angle, but Carson's nine inches slid into her uncensored mouth, JP's ten-inch black cock in one hand, Cory's thick nine in the other. She jerked them off, swapping between sucking each one, their groans filling the audio. He was watching raunchy porn of his own fiancée and he wasn't one of the stars. Her eagerly sucking dick, like she's done it a thousand times, shocked Ryan enough to send his hand unconsciously to his pants with a load zip. Loud enough to bring a proud smile to Megan's face as she leaned, listening, against his door. His eyes watch in awe as cum splattering into her open mouth, pooling on her tongue as she posed for the cameras, sexy and sloppy, just her mouth in frame. The video zoomed out right when a fat glob of cum escaped from the corner of her mouth as she moved into more humiliating poses for their pictures. Ryan watched her collect the spill from her abdomen with her fingers and then roughly massaging it into her clit. Her eyes rolled back into her head while savoring the taste of the massive load in her mouth and the dirty feeling of the cum rubbing into her clit. This was enough to cause Ryan to lose control, with a rare grunt. Cum came splattering back down onto his clothes that he neglected to remove since he doubted an outcome like this was possible.

Ryan, coming back to the present, notices the dancing footsteps under the door, clearly an excited Megan who must've heard the ordeal. He groaned as he changed clothes knowing that this would further embolden Megan in the future, sinking her deeper in the web that he was force to spin. While pulling a fresh shirt over his head, he couldn't help but marvel at the expert edits. He was almost appreciative that they didn't censor the blowjob scene, and even left as much skin as possible before censoring the very start and end of her nipples, pussy and asshole. It left far, far more skin than he had ever seen of her before, even after many years of companionship. But then the dread came flooding in, three videos, on three phones, in the hands of three creeps. The potential damage from this situation is spreading exponentially. What are they going to do with these clips, the uncensored version?

With a new outfit, he opened the door to a giddy Megan. Smilling while presenting a new confident version of herself. "Glad you liked it." She grabbed a laundry basket from the corner, stuffing it with his towels, sheets and the recently soiled outfit. The last of which she dropped in while staring at Ryan with a knowing and proud smile. "I'm gonna hit the laundromat. Back in a bit." She pecked his cheek, quick and chaste, and headed out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Ryan sank onto the couch, the silence deafening, the video replaying in his head. This is his fault, his weakness. He must own it now, no turning back, and the mess was his to bear. The only question, where will this all lead?

---

Megan pushed through the laundromat's glass door, the stale hum of detergent and warm metal greeting her as she hauled the laundry basket inside. The place was a dingy box--rows of chipped washers and dryers, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, a lone vending machine sat askew in the corner. It was 11:45 a. m., the Sunday quiet broken only by the soft whir of a few machines and the faint chatter of a radio from the back. She set the basket on a folding table, her gray skirt swishing as she bent to sort the towels and sheets, her mind still fuzzy from the hangover and the morning's weirdness with Tyrone.

Raj emerged from his office, a wiry man in his fifties with a patchy beard and a faded polo shirt, his dark eyes lighting up as he spotted her. He was the owner, always lurking with some excuse to chat her up, his intentions thinly veiled but never quite crossing a line she'd called out. "Hey, Megan," he called, weaving through the machines, his voice oily but friendly. "Back again, huh? Keeping me in business."

She forced a smile, tossing a towel into a washer. "Yeah, Raj, gotta keep the place clean." She kept her tone light, focused on the task, but he sidled closer, peering over her shoulder like he was inspecting her work.

"Hold up," he said, squinting at her skirt, his head tilting dramatically. "Swear there's a stain on the back there. Big one, too." He leaned in, pretending to look, then straightened, frowning. "Nah, can't see it from here. Weird angle."

Megan twisted, craning her neck to check, her hands brushing the fabric. "A stain? Where?" She couldn't see anything, but Raj nodded, insistent.

"Right there, trust me," he said, pointing vaguely at her lower back. "Must've missed it. Look, you're washing now--throw it in with the batch. Save you money on another load later. Makes sense, right?"

She paused, detergent bottle in hand, her gullible logic kicking in. "Yeah, I guess," she said, chewing her lip. "Saves a trip. But, uh, don't look, okay? Promise?"

Raj raised his hands, grinning wide. "I promise. I promise I won't look down there, swear it." He turned and maintained firm eye-contact, ensuring his glance wouldn't travel south while she started to slip the skirt down her legs, stepping out of it in a quick shuffle. The black thong from Carson's outfit clung to her hips, a stark contrast to the boring bras and panties she'd worn the other times Raj had tricked her into stripping something off--shirts for "lint checks," pants for "spills." She turned to tossed the skirt into the washer, slamming the lid shut, and punched the start button, all while presenting a wonderful site for Raj.

Raj's grin faltered into surprise, his eyes never leaving her bare ass and the thong's thin strap before he caught himself. "Uh, nice... efficiency," he said, coughing to cover the slip. "Forty-five minutes 'til it's done. Wanna wait in the office? I don't want any customers coming in and seeing you, you know."

Megan shrugged, grabbing the basket. He motioned for her to go ahead, and she walked past, the thin string leaving little to the imagination. His office was a cramped cave--stacks of papers on every chair, a cluttered desk with a flickering computer, a single bulb casting yellow light. After sitting, Raj gestured to his lap, the only clear spot, his confidence surging after her casual strip.

"Sit here," he said, patting his thigh. "All this junk's in the way. Won't bite."

She hesitated while she looked around for any seats not covered in filth, then perched on his lap, her bare skin warm against his jeans, the thong's edge digging slightly into her hip. "Okay, but don't get weird," she said, half-joking, settling in as he scooted closer to the desk. She reached for the mouse to nudge it aside, her arm brushing his, and the screen jolted awake, revealing a paused porn video--a blonde pornstar on her knees, surrounded by a group of guys, her mouth working one cock while her hands stroked the others, cum dripping down her chin.

Raj flinched, his face flushing as he scrambled for an excuse. "Oh, shit, uh, that's just--research, you know, for a buddy's project," he stammered, reaching to close it, but Megan's hand stopped him, her eyes locked on the screen.

"Wait," she said, her voice soft but curious, no trace of freakout. "That... looks familiar." She thought to herself, the memory flashed--her on her knees. She tilted her head, studying the situation that the blonde, with big giant tits, was in. "Is this stuff just, like, out there, for all to see?"

Raj blinked, thrown off, then seized the opening, his embarrassment fading. "Uh, ya, there's tons of it. I've heard someone say that the internet is like 99% porn," he said, clicking the window back to life. "There's all kinds--blowbangs, gangbangs, voyeur, lesbo, bdsm, professional, amateur, solo stuff. You name it." He scrolled through tabs, thumbnails popping up--women tied up, spanked, used rough, each one dirtier than the last.

Megan leaned in, her hangover haze giving way to intrigue. "Is it normal for people to watch this?" she asked, her tone genuine, no judgment. "Like, everyone?"

"Absolutely," Raj said, nodding fast, his hand inching closer to her thong-covered pussy, resting on her inner thigh. "Everyone does. Well, guys mostly, but girls too sometimes. Sexiest time in my marriage was when I caught my wife sneaking a peek at some hardcore shit. Spiced things up real good--fucked like rabbits for years after she picked that habit up."

She nodded slowly, filing that away, her mind spinning. "Huh. Cool." She pointed at a thumbnail as he clicked--a woman bent over, red handprints on her ass, a guy gripping her hair, another spanking her while she moaned. "What's with all the humiliation stuff? Rough use, womanizing--like, what do guys like about that?"

Raj's fingers crept higher, brushing the edge of her thong, his voice steady despite the hard-on straining his jeans. "Guys dig it 'cause it makes 'em feel manly, in control I guess," he said, his thumb grazing her inner thigh, now an inch from her pussy. "Roughing a girl up, using her hard--it's power, you know? And if she lets 'em to do it, takes it like a champ, that's sexy as hell. Shows she's down for anything to please her man."

Megan didn't shy away, her bare ass shifting slightly on his lap as she processed it. "So the guys really like it when she's into it?" she mused, her voice thoughtful, the pornstar's moans looping in the background. Raj's hand hovered, fingertips brushing the thong's fabric now, but the washer's loud bing cut through, shattering the moment.

"Oh, crap, that's me," she said, hopping up, her sudden move leaving Raj's hand dangling, his erection tenting painfully. She darted out, barefoot, and flipped the clothes into a dryer, the warm hum kicking in as she waited another twenty minutes, pacing the laundromat in her sweater and thong, Raj watching from his office door with a hungry stare as she bent over to check on the dryer. When the dryer buzzed, she folded everything quick, slipped her skirt back on--still warm from the heat--and packed up, waving a casual "See ya" as she hauled the basket out.

The walk back was brisk, the noon sun climbing higher, her mind buzzing with Raj's words--trust, control, sexiness. She pushed into the apartment at 1:15 p. m., finding Ryan on the couch, the trash cleared, the place almost normal again. "Hey," she said, dropping the basket by the door, kicking off her shoes. "Laundry's done. Raj was chatty as usual."

Ryan looked up, forcing a grin, his morning stew still simmering. "Yeah? What'd he want this time?"

"Oh, stop he's nice, you are wrong about him" she said, plopping beside him, her tone light.

Ryan's stomach flipped, picturing the inevitable. "Let me guess, you ended up somehow partially undressed?" he asked, voice tight, jealousy flaring.

"Ya, my skirt had a stain," she said, shrugging, oblivious to his churn. "He didn't look. He even had me sit in his office 'til it was done. Kinda awkward, but better than others getting an eyeful of me. But I guess you may have preferred that, hmm." She pondered on why she had been so coy, passing up the opportunity for a rousing story for Ryan.

"Sounds... fun," Ryan said, the lie reflex kicking in, his grin brittle. "You okay?"

"Totally," she replied, stretching out, her skirt riding up slightly. "Just tired. Work's gonna suck tomorrow." They chatted idly--TV shows, dinner plans--her hangover fading into a lazy calm, his guilt a quiet ache he buried. By 9:30 p. m., the day's weight settled, and she yawned, standing. "Bedtime. Night, Ry." She pecked his cheek, soft and quick, and shuffled to her room, the door clicking shut.

Ryan trudged to his office-turned-bedroom, flopping onto the twin bed, the ceiling staring back. Megan's thong moment with Raj gnawed at him, layered over Tyrone's piss, the video, last night's chaos--the growing mess, his leash, tightening with every step she took into this world he'd unleashed. He drifted off, the hum of the city outside a dull lullaby.

----

Monday.

At 6:45 a. m., Megan's sneakers were squeaking on the linoleum, her pale blue scrubs clinging tighter than ever after the uniform swap. Her hangover from Sunday lingered like a dull ache, but she shook it off, grabbing her clipboard from the nurses' station. The usual Monday hum filled the halls--patients muttering, carts rattling, the faint tang of antiseptic in the air. She was halfway through her rounds, basically just checking if the patients were still alive, when Kevin's voice crackled over the intercom at 8:30 a. m., summoning her to his office.

She pushed through the door, the small space cramped with filing cabinets and a desk buried under papers, Kevin's 300-pound frame hunched over a clipboard. His bearded face lifted, a grin tugging at his lips as he waved her in. "Megan, got a special case for you that I am going to give you a shot on," he said, his rough voice carrying a hint of excitement. "Think you're perfect for it. High-needs patient in the special wing--Crazy Carl. Guy's a handful, erratic as hell, sometimes threatening, but pretty women calm him down. Figured you'd be a natural."

Megan perked up, her career-hungry side kicking in, layered with a thrill she couldn't quite name. "Okay, sure," she said, nodding fast. "What's the deal with him?"

Kevin leaned back, chair creaking under his weight. "Eighty-year-old crazy black dude, senile, bit of a legend around here. Needs a bath, but he splashes more than most--way worse than Marvin. I'd suggest the same treatment as Marvin."

Her mind flashed to Friday--Marvin's shaky excuse, her scrub top off, bare tits, cock in hand, cum flying everywhere. Kevin's words weren't vague; he meant it literally, every step, and she took it as a green light. A spicy story for Ryan, a boost for her job--win-win. "Got it," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her gut. "I'm in."

"Thought so," Kevin said, smirking. "Crazy Carl's got a rep--you'll see. Some say he holds a world record. Good luck." He waved her out, already back to his papers, leaving her to head to the special wing, her pulse quickening with every step.

The special wing was quieter, heavier, with cameras everywhere--a locked ward for the high-needs cases, the air thick with tension and medicated stillness. She swiped her badge, the door buzzing open, and found Crazy Carl's room at the end of the hall. Inside, chaos reigned. Carl, a wiry 80-year-old with patchy gray hair and wild, dark eyes, thrashed in his wheelchair, his hospital gown flapping as he swung at a male orderly--Tom, a stocky guy in his thirties, wrestling to hold him still. "No bath, no bath!" Carl bellowed, his voice a gravelly slur, arms flailing, knocking over a tray of soap and sponges.

"Easy, Carl," Tom grunted, pinning his wrists, sweat beading on his brow. He glanced up as Megan stepped in, confusion flashing across his face. "You're up? He's a mess today."

"I've got this," she said, setting her clipboard down, her tone calm but firm. She tugged her scrub top over her head, revealing the white bra beneath, her C-cups snug against the fabric. Carl's thrashing slowed, his eyes locking on her chest, his breathing hitching as he went still, a crooked grin splitting his weathered face.

Tom blinked, grip loosening. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's fine," she assured him, folding the top and setting it on a chair. "I know what I'm doing. Kevin's orders. You're not needed now. I'll call if there's trouble." She nodded toward the door, her confidence unshaken, and Tom hesitated, then shrugged.

"Alright, your funeral," he said, stepping back. "Yell if he flips." He slipped out, the door clicking shut, leaving her alone with Carl, who stared, docile now, his wild energy tamed by her bare skin.

Megan paused, hands on her hips, eyeing Carl's twitching fingers. Kevin's "same treatment as Marvin" echoed--was it just the top, or the full deal? Bra off, handjob, or what? Carl's arms jerked back to life, a low growl rumbling as she stepped toward the tub. Too erratic--he'd never make it in like this. She sighed, decision clicking: Marvin calmed when she went all in. She unhooked her bra, letting it drop, her C-cups bouncing free, nipples tightening in the cool air. Carl's eyes widened, his growling stopped, replaced by a slurred, "Pretty girl," his body slumping, pliable now. She smirked--tits out did it--and guided him to his feet, his gown slipping off. That's when she saw it: fourteen inches of thick, veiny cock, hanging heavy between his legs, balls sagging like grapefruits. World record, she thought, in two departments, Kevin's hint snapping into place.

She eased him into the tub, warm water already sudsing, and he sank in, grinning wide, calm as a kitten with his eyes locked onto her tits. "Nice man like you deserves a proper bath," she murmured, grabbing the soap. She lathered her hands, skipping the sponge, and ran them over his bony shoulders, down his chest, suds trailing over his dark, wrinkled skin. She worked slow, massaging his arms, his knobby knees, keeping him relaxed as water sloshed gently. "Good boy," she cooed, rinsing him off, her hands dipping lower, brushing his thighs. His cock twitched, half-hard now, and she paused, soap dripping, noting its sheer size with a mix of awe and curiosity.

She soaped up again, wrapping both hands around his shaft--too thick for one grip--and started slow, a teasing slide up and down all fourteen inches. "Big boy, huh?" she said, amused, her focus locked on the job: bathing Carl. To her, this was about control--cleaning him was the goal, and the rest was a lever to pull if he turned difficult. Carl groaned, a low "yessss," his hips shifting, and she kept it steady, suds slicking her fingers. Her bare tits had him docile for now, and she lathered his chest, scrubbing his ribs with firm strokes, water sloshing gently as she worked down to his bony arms, then his knobby knees, keeping the bath on track.

But the calm didn't hold. Carl's hands twitched, then lunged, shoving her soapy fingers back to his crotch, splashing water over the tub's edge onto her sneakers. "No, Carl, let me wash you," she said, sharper now, prying his wrists away to soap his shoulders again. He growled, jerking free, splashing harder, suds splattering her scrubs. She exhaled hard, grabbing his cock once more, stroking slow to settle him. "Stay still, big guy--gotta get you clean." He groaned, louder, but didn't cum, his energy spiking instead, hands flailing in the water. "Lipsss," he slurred, voice climbing, then booming--"Lipsss, pretty girl!"--yelling now, a gravelly roar bouncing off the tiles.

The door cracked open, Tom poking his head in, eyes popping at her bare chest, hands pumping Carl's cock. "You okay? I can sedate him."

She shook her head, steady. "No, please go, I've got one more trick." Tom nodded, stepping back, the door swinging shut. She waited, listening--his footsteps faded, silence settled--and only then leaned in, parting her lips over Carl's swollen head. Through the crack, just as the door clicked tight, Tom caught a glimpse--her mouth engulfing the tip, sinking down--and then it was gone. She took him slow, smooth, her tongue swirling the head, tasting soap and salt as she bobbed, inching down to seven inches, her throat relaxed, no strain yet. Carl's yell melted into a long, shuddering moan, his frantic edge dissolving as she worked.

She settled into it, head dipping and rising, a steady rhythm--up, down, up, down--her hands gliding along the base in sync, suds slicking her grip. Ten minutes stretched out, her lips sliding effortlessly, the massive shaft filling her mouth but not hurting, not aching. She felt a thrill bubble up--Ryan'd lose his mind over this story, this fourteen-inch legend tamed by her lips. He'll love it, she thought, picturing his jaw dropping, his dick hardening as she'd spill every detail. She would have never considered using such a "tool" without Ryan's recent confession and his response to her blowjob video. Carl's groans rolled deep, steady, and she kept going, sucking with a calm focus, lips stretching wide, tongue flicking the underside, her breath warm against his skin. Her excitement hummed--smooth sailing, no gagging, just control--and then, after a slow build, his balls tensed. He came, long and slow, a thick stream pouring into her mouth, a generous flood but not overwhelming. She swallowed it down, gulp after gulp, a steady rhythm matching his release, a warm weight settling in her stomach, as she wondered if it would ever stop. She finally pulled off, wiping her lips, a few drops leaking to her chest, grinning at how easy it'd been, but also marveling at the sheer amount of semen that just came out of such an old man.

Megan returned to working through the typical motions of the bath, making it about three quarters the way through the typical process. Then Carl's eyes flared, splashing and muttering again. "More, more," he slurred, cock back completely hard. "Hold up, just a little bit more" she said, grabbing the soap, determined to finish the bath. She lathered his legs, scrubbing his thighs, suds trailing over his dark skin, but he thrashed, knocking her hands away, water sloshing onto the floor. "Fine, you win," she muttered, wrapping her hands around his shaft again. Her annoyance turned to determination with a flip of a switch. "Such a stud--let's keep you calm." She sucked harder this time, pushing deeper--eight inches, then nine--her throat rasping as she tried to speed it up, jaw starting to ache from the stretch as she tried to hustle through the act. Five minutes in, the soreness crept in, a dull ache in her jaw, and her deepthroating faltered, spit pooling as she gagged lightly, but fortunately, his second load hit, thicker. A heavy shot spilling past her lips, a fraction dripping to the floor beneath her knees. Mistake, she noted, swallowing most, her stomach almost appearing to round slightly--like she just ate a large lunch, subtle but there. She grimaced, throat tender, jaw stiff, then remembered Saturday--rubbing her pussy really helped. It got her worked up, which then had dulled the pain and fueled her focus. If necessary, next time, she'd have to use it to get through the ordeal.

He settled for a moment, and she grabbed the soap again, rinsing his arms, murmuring, "Good boy, almost done." She got to the last stretch, just the reaching around to his back and washing his hair is left. But Carl started to jerk, splashing wildly, "More lips!" booming out, his hands clawing the water. She sighed, but happy for an excuse to visit her crotch. She stood up, to adjust, causing him to start to lose it again as her touch disappeared. She quickly slipped her scrub bottoms and panties down to knee height, presenting the site of her pussy to his dark, crazy eyes, immediately taming him once more. After squatting back down next to the tub, in front of the small puddle of cum for the earlier mishap, she gasps, "Fuck, you're huge," as her eyes find their way back to his cock standing tall. She instinctively reached down, scooping the spilled cum from the floor, smearing it into her pussy as she started rubbing circles around her clit. The heat flared, her clit buzzing, and the soreness faded--jaw eased, throat opened. She pushed deeper, ten inches now, lips stretched tight, tongue pressed flat, sucking with a steady pull. Her fingers circled her pussy, lust drowning the ache, but he came too fast--another thick shot, her belly swelling to dinner-sized--before she could get off. She swallowed, frowning as she stood up with a few more strums to her clit. Disappointed, she returned to her bathing, leaving the cum on her lips, chin and clit to slowly dry.

At the completion of the bath, Megan was almost disappointed he didn't act up, she just needed 5 more minutes to get off. "All clean, big guy, let's get you out." But, Carl fussed again, splashing, growling, "More!" She grinned--finally, a chance to cum too. Sure she was done and could call the muscle back in to deal with the rest, but she felt as though she needed this. "Alright, you asked for it," she said, diving in gladly, scooping more floor cum to rub into her cunt, her scrub bottoms low on her hips. She sucked deep, ten inches sliding smooth, throat still tender but ignored over the fireworks in her clit, her tongue swirling the head, lips locked tight. Her fingers worked her pussy fast, slick with his cum, and she moaned around his shaft, the vibration humming through him. Five minutes stretched to ten, her head bobbing relentlessly--up, down, slow, then fast--spit dripping, suds mixing with the mess. Her clit throbbed, heat coiling, and as his balls tensed, she pushed harder, eleven inches now, gagging softly but riding it out. He came--somehow of equal size as before, a similar intensity, and, of course, a steady stream. She pulled the head out of her throat, to taste the cum, which she started to associate with her own orgasm after the events with Ryan's coworkers. With the flooding in her mouth, and her pleasure building down low, her orgasm started. Her pussy clenching as she swallowed gulp after gulp, Her stomach feeling stuffed, like a full meal with dessert, a warm weight pooling inside. She pulled off, gasping, triumphant, a dribble on her chin, her orgasm still buzzing through her.

Carl slumped back, spent, a blissful grin spreading as his cock softened, balls shrunk from grapefruits to plums--she noted it with a quick glance, satisfied. She rinsed him off, breath ragged, and helped him into a fresh gown, wheeling him to bed. "Pretty girl," he mumbled, docile, curling up with a sigh.

At 9:45 a. m., Megan returned to Kevin's office. He waved her in, hunched over a monitor, security footage flickering--her on her knees, scooping cum from the floor with her fingers, rubbing it into her clit as she bobbed on Carl's cock, masturbating with intent. "Well, damn," he said, tone professional but impressed. "Crazy Carl's unprecedentedly calm. Your performance was outstanding--textbook patient stabilization, Megan."

She shifted, flushing as he paused the footage, zooming on her cum-rubbing. "Uh, yeah--rubbing myself like that gets me worked up, helps me push through a rough blowjob. His size was hard to manage, and, well, it took 4 times to calm him down. I didn't think I could make it through that ordeal if I didn't, you know, do that." Megan's heart pounded as she waited for his response, unsure if she broke a huge rule.

He nodded, unfazed. "No concern--results justify it. You're getting a substantial raise. Carl was lined up for a $7,000 MRI--suspected testicular cancer, no kin to foot it, plus specialist fees. You drained those balls to normal, literally, they look like any other set around here. His expensive Urologist now is getting the boot. Saved us big, like tens of thousands."

Her eyes lit up, pride swelling. "Seriously? Ryan's gonna flip when I tell him about the raise!"

"You're my ace in the hole now," Kevin said, smacking her butt with a meaty thud, like a football coach to a player. "Gonna need you a lot--keep it up." He turned back to his papers, and she bounced out, mind racing with the win and the tale for Ryan.

---

Ryan sat at his desk, the faint hum of his laptop fan cutting through the stillness of the law firm's eighth floor. It was 5:55 p. m., the day's end creeping closer, and the office around him had emptied out--phones silent, footsteps faded, just the distant whine of a vacuum somewhere down the hall. His tie hung loose, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the brief on his screen blurred into meaningless lines. He'd been staring at it for hours, fingers idle on the keys, his mind elsewhere--snagged on Saturday's chaos, the video, Megan's eager mouth on his coworkers' cocks. Guilt gnawed at him, a dull throb behind his ribs, tangled with that sick heat he couldn't shake, no matter how much he hated it.

The door banged open, shattering the quiet, and Carson, JP, and Cory spilled in, their laughter a jagged edge slicing through his fragile calm. Carson strode ahead, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his stride cocky and deliberate. JP trailed him, hands in his pockets, a grin curling his lips like he'd just heard the punchline to a dirty joke. Cory brought up the rear, his heavy steps thudding against the carpet, shirt untucked and stained with what looked like ketchup from the break room. They filled the small space, their presence a wall Ryan couldn't push past, and his stomach twisted.

"Closing time, virgin boy," Carson said, voice sharp with mockery, leaning against the wall near the desk. "Thought we'd check in--see how our favorite cuck's holding up after the weekend."

Ryan's grip tightened on his mouse, eyes fixed on the screen, pretending to type. "I'm working," he muttered, low and clipped, hoping they'd take the hint and fuck off.

JP snorted, dropping into the guest chair with a creak, legs sprawling wide. "Working? Bullshit. You're thinkin' about her, ain't you? Little Megs, all bent over, takin' orders like a champ Saturday night."

Cory chuckled, hovering near the door, scratching at his gut. "Champ? Shit, she's a pro. You train her for that, Ry? Or she just naturally dumb enough to suck anything we tell her to?"

Ryan's jaw clenched, heat creeping up his neck. He knew what they knew--him and Megan, virgins, bound by her parents' rules: no sex, no nudity, no touching 'til the wedding. They'd sniffed out her gullibility fast, exploited it, and pegged him as so pent-up he'd crack under their games. But they didn't know the half of it--Tyrone, her job, the raise. Just Saturday, their dares, and the video. He forced his voice steady. "Get out. I've got shit to do."

Carson smirked, stepping closer, his shadow falling over the desk. "Oh, we're not goin' anywhere 'til we talk about the main event. That video, man. You watched it yet? Tell me you didn't pop that cherry boner of yours to it."

Ryan's pulse spiked, the memory of yesterday's unzip loud in his ears--her on her knees, Carson's dick in her mouth, his own cum splattering his shirt. He shook his head, fast and stiff. "No. Didn't watch it. Don't care."

"Liar," JP said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting. "You're so backed up, I bet you couldn't help it. Her slobberin' all over us--bet you rubbed one out the second she sent it."

"I didn't," Ryan snapped, louder now, his chair scraping as he shoved back an inch. "Drop it."

Cory laughed, a wet, wheezing sound. "Oh, he's touchy. Bet he's savin' it up for the big day--whenever the fuck that is. How long you gonna wait, man? She's out here givin' it away for free, and you're sittin' on your hands."

Carson's grin turned cold, and he leaned in, palms flat on the desk, close enough Ryan could smell his overpriced cologne. "Here's the thing, Ry. We don't believe you. You're too wound up--years with no pussy, watchin' her play our little games? No way you didn't jerk it. And if you're lyin', we'll just ask Megs ourselves. She'll spill--girl's too dumb to hide shit. And if she says you did, oh, man, we're gonna make it real bad for you."

Ryan's breath caught, panic flaring. Ask Megan? She'd beam and nod, proud she'd turned him on, oblivious to the leverage it'd hand them. The Kendall clip burned in his mind--Carson's ace, the blackmail keeping him leashed. He couldn't let them near her, couldn't risk the truth cracking open. "Fine," he spat, voice breaking, hands balling into fists. "Yeah, I watched it. Jerked off. Happy now?"

Carson straightened, triumphant, clapping slow and loud. "There it is! Knew it, you horny bastard. Pent-up little virgin couldn't resist--her suckin' us off got you good, huh?"

JP hooted, slapping his thigh. "Fuckin' gold. You hear that, Cory? He's whackin' it to his own girl gettin' used. That's some twisted shit, Ry."

"Twisted and hot," Cory added, grinning wide, teeth yellowed from too much coffee. "She's a keeper, man. Dumb as a brick, but those hands? That mouth? You're welcome."

Ryan's face burned, shame and rage boiling, but he bit it back, glaring at the desk. "You got what you wanted. Now leave."

"Not yet," Carson said, tone shifting, sharp and deliberate. "Tomorrow night's the real deal. Clear your schedule--hers too. We've got somethin' lined up, and it's gonna blow Saturday outta the water. Tell her to dress hot--somethin' tight. She's got the body for it."

"What's that mean?" Ryan asked, head snapping up, dread pooling in his gut.

"Means you'll see," JP said, standing, stretching his arms with a lazy smirk. "Gonna be fun. She's so easy to play--bet she'll do anything we say."

Cory nodded, lumbering toward the door. "Anything. You're in for a treat, virgin boy. Don't fuck it up."

Carson lingered last, tapping the desk with a knuckle. "See you tomorrow, Ry. Don't be late--or we'll start without you." He turned, sauntering out, their voices fading down the hall, leaving Ryan alone, chest heaving, the clock ticking to 6:00 p. m.

He shoved his laptop into his bag, hands shaking, and bolted, the firm's sterile corridors a blur as he hit the elevator, then the street. The walk home was a slog through dusk, the March air sharp, horns blaring around him. Tomorrow night--something big. His mind spun--more dares? Public shit? Worse? They had the video, the power, and now this vague threat loomed, another knot in the web he couldn't untangle. He needed to warn Megan, control it somehow, but how, without spilling everything?

The apartment building rose ahead, its grimy brick a grim welcome, and he hustled toward the door, keys out. But Tyrone was there, slouched against the stoop, a hulking shadow in his tattered coat, cigarette smoke curling from his lips. The stench hit--piss, sweat, something rancid--and Ryan's stride faltered.

"Yo, lawyer boy," Tyrone rasped, voice rough as gravel, pushing off the wall. "We gotta talk."

"Not now," Ryan muttered, stepping past, but Tyrone sidled in front, blocking him, his bulk a wall of filth.

"Nah, now," he said, exhaling smoke into Ryan's face, eyes narrowing. "What's your deal, man? You just a pussy, or you one'a them freaks who gets off watchin' men feel up his girl?"

Ryan stiffened, keys biting into his palm. "Neither," he shot back, voice tight. "Pieces of shit like you got nothing to lose--why waste my time fighting trash?"

Tyrone's laugh was a low, guttural bark, cigarette dropping to the pavement. "Trash, huh? I don't buy it. Saw you yesterday--boner poppin' while I worked my finger into her wet little cunt. You liked it, didn't ya? Hard as fuck watchin' me grope her."

The memory stung--Megan's yelp, Tyrone's glistening hand, the bulge Ryan couldn't hide. "Fuck off," he growled, shoving past, but Tyrone grabbed his arm, grip surprisingly strong.

"I'm gonna ask her, man," Tyrone said, leaning close, breath hot and sour. "Straight up--does her boy like it? And if you're lyin', if she says you don't, I'll make you pay. Maybe I'll finger her right here, see how you squirm then."

Panic surged, Ryan yanking free, heart pounding. "Stay away from her," he snapped, voice cracking, but Tyrone just grinned, stepping back with a lazy shrug.

"We'll see, pretty boy. We'll see." He shambled off, cackling into the shadows, leaving Ryan frozen, breath ragged. Ask Megan? She'd buy anything Tyrone fed her--her trust was a goddamn trap. If he pressed, if she doubted Ryan's story, the whole lie could unravel--Carson's video, the blackmail, all of it. He fumbled the keys, nearly dropping them, and bolted inside, the door slamming shut.

Megan was sprawled on the couch when Ryan pushed through the door, her legs tucked under her, still in her snug pale blue scrubs from the hospital. The living room glowed faintly with the TV's muted flicker, some cooking show she wasn't really watching, and her blonde hair spilled loose over her shoulders, a little tangled from the day. She looked up as he stepped in, her face splitting into a wide, guileless grin, eyes sparkling despite the late hour.

"Ry! Oh my goodness, you're finally home!" she chirped, bouncing to her feet, her voice bubbling with excitement. "I've been waiting forever to tell you about work today--it was huge! Sit, please, you've gotta hear this!"

Ryan dropped his bag by the door with a thud, his legs feeling like lead after the gauntlet of Carson, JP, Cory, and Tyrone. He forced a smile, thin and brittle, and sank onto the couch, the cushion sagging under him. "Yeah? What happened?" he asked, his tone flat, exhaustion and dread still clawing at him, but her brightness tugged at something--a faint curiosity he couldn't kill.

She plopped down beside him, keeping that careful inch of space between them, her hands clasped tight in her lap like she could barely contain herself. "Okay, so it was the best day ever at work--like, maybe the biggest in my whole career so far! Kevin called me into his office this morning, and I thought, 'Oh no, am I in trouble?' But no--he gave me this super special job! And guess what? I got a huge raise out of it! Like, tons of money saved for them, and now I'm, like, a hero or something!"

Her giggle was pure, childlike, and she rocked forward, eyes wide with pride. "Isn't that amazing, Ry? I mean, we can maybe fix the faucet now, or--or get better groceries! I couldn't believe it when he told me. I'm still all shaky about it!"

Ryan's fingers dug into the couch, Tyrone's threat--"I'll ask her"--and Carson's "tomorrow night" still pounding in his skull. But her joy was infectious, a flicker of normalcy in the mess, and despite the torment, a part of him--masochistic, maybe--wanted to know. "That's... wow, Megs. Big day. How'd you pull that off?" he asked, voice low, bracing for the jealousy he knew was coming, unable to stop himself.

She beamed, scooting closer, her innocence radiating. "Okay, so Kevin says there's this patient--Crazy Carl, he's really old, like eighty, I think--in the special wing. He's all wild and yelling, and Kevin goes, 'Megan, you're perfect for this 'cause pretty girls calm him down.' And he told me to do what I did with Marvin--you know, that nice bath thing I told you about? Where I took my top off to keep from getting wet?"

Ryan's stomach twisted, the memory of Marvin's shaky hands on her bare skin flashing hot and bitter, but he nodded, throat tight. "Yeah, I remember."

"So I go in, and Carl's, like, swinging at this orderly, Tom--poor guy was all sweaty trying to hold him! I told Tom to go, and I took off my scrub top--and my bra too, 'cause Carl was just too jumpy to even get near the tub. And, Ry, it was so funny--soon as I did that, he stopped! Just sat there staring at me with this big, silly smile, like I was his favorite nurse ever." She giggled again, mimicking Carl's goofy grin, her hands fluttering as she acted it out, oblivious to Ryan's knuckles whitening on the cushion.

"Then I helped him out of his gown to get him in the water, and--oh my gosh, Ry, you won't believe this--his, um, his dick was so big! Like, fourteen inches long! I've never seen anything like it, hanging there all huge, and his, uh, balls were like grapefruits! I just said, 'Wow, you're a big boy,' 'cause it was so surprising, but I stayed calm and got him in the tub, started washing him with the soap."

Ryan's breath hitched, the image searing--her small hands on that monster, her chest bare, her voice so chipper about it. "Yeah?" he croaked, barely audible, jealousy simmering under his skin.

"Uh-huh! But then he kept getting all wiggly, splashing water everywhere, and he'd grab my hands and pull them to his, um, dick. I tried to just wash his arms and stuff, but he wouldn't stay still--he started yelling 'Lips!' over and over, like he was asking for you know what. And I thought, 'Ry would actually like that!' You know, from Saturday? And Carl's this old, kinda dirty guy, all senile and messy, and I know you're into that too, right? So I figured... if you were there, you would want me to do it.... for you."

She tilted her head, eyes searching his, earnest and unguarded. "So I, um, I put my mouth on it--just a little at first, then kept going down to test myself, probably like seven inches, 'cause it was just so big, a real test! And he calmed right down, Ry! It was easy, and he, uh, he finished really fast--way more than I thought an old guy could produce! I swallowed it all, 'cause I didn't want a mess, and it was comical how much there was."

Ryan's head spun, her innocence twisting the lewdness into something almost absurd, Tyrone's threat roaring louder in his ears. She kept going, oblivious, her voice light as air.

"I got back to the real work, but he didn't stay calm for long--he kept getting, um, big again, splashing more. It took a few times... Four! Ry, four! By the third, my jaw was so sore, and I remembered Saturday--what the boys made me do while trying to take them when they were being a bit rough. They taught me to rub my clit to get into it, and it really helped me get through it and even enjoy it. So I pulled my scrubs down a tiny bit, got going, and it worked! Made me all tingly, took the ache away. And the fourth time, I felt so good--like, fireworks good--right when he shot off to, something about drinking cum really intensifies my own climax, and on top of that, I basically got paid to get off!"

She clapped her hands, grinning wide, pride blooming. "Kevin saw it all on the camera later and said I saved them so much money--Carl's, um, those grapefruit parts went back to normal size, and they didn't need some expensive doctor to look at his oversized balls anymore! He gave me a huge raise, Ry! It's all 'cause I went with your little fetish--your friends made me brave enough to try it, and it turned into the best day ever at work! Thank you, Ry--I owe you big for that!"

Ryan stared, her words a gut punch--fourteen inches, four loads, her cumming with some filthy old man's cum going down her throat, all framed as a sweet gift for him. Jealousy burned white-hot, Tyrone's "I'll ask her," Carson's plans, her pure, clueless gratitude crashing over him like a wave. It was too much--he couldn't take another second and had to get out of there in a way to avoid suspicion of his pain. "Megs, that's... God, you're turning me on so much," he blurted, half turth spilling out, a desperate bid to escape the flood. "I need to--uh--go watch that video again. Just a minute, okay?"

Her face lit up, a delighted squeak bursting free. "Oh, Ry, really? Yay, I'm so glad you like it!" She grabbed his arm, tugging him up with a bounce, her confidence soaring. "Come on, I'll help you--I don't wanna do laundry again too soon, you know?"

He stumbled after her, numb, as she led him to his cramped office-bedroom, the twin bed still a mess from last night, blinds slanted and dusty. She darted to the kitchen, snagging a paper towel from the roll, and pressed it into his hand with a shy little wink. "Here--for, um, you know. Have fun, Ry--I'll be out here if you need me!" She nudged him inside, shutting the door with a soft click, her footsteps padding back to the couch.

Ryan stood there, the paper towel crinkling in his fist, the dim room closing in around him. His phone felt like a brick in his pocket, the video a taunting pulse. Tyrone's threat, Carson's vague menace, Megan's story--they choked him, a suffocating tangle, and he couldn't think straight. What the hell, he thought, unzipping his pants, the act half-surrender, half-drowning, a way to shut it all out.

The screen flared to life, the clip kicking in--her dancing, skirt flaring, the blur over her crotch as she flashed, cheers loud and raw. Then the spanks, her ass red over Carson's lap, their cocks dangling free. His dick twitched, hardening despite the bile in his throat, and he gripped himself, slow strokes matching her swaying hips. She dropped to her knees, naked, the blur hiding her chest, Carson's nine inches sliding into her mouth, JP's ten in her hand, Cory's nine in the other. Her rhythm was eager, their groans filling the audio--"Take it, Megs"--and Ryan's hand sped up, the paper towel crumpled beside him. Then he heard Megan's bright an bubbly voice pierce the thin wall, "I bet I can get that video from Kevin and have your friends edit it up for you, my treat!"

Ryan had no explanation for why that pushed him over the edge. A loud groan, with nothing held back, not worrying about the ear pressed to the door--he'd forgotten the towel again, too lost in video and her words. "Oh fuck! Uhh," made its way to Megan as thought it was happening right next to her.

----

Tuesday.

The hospital buzzed with its Tuesday morning pulse--monitors chirping, footsteps scuffing, the faint clink of trays drifting through the halls. Megan stepped off the elevator at 8:15 a. m., her pale blue scrubs clinging tight, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. Her blonde hair hung in a loose ponytail, slightly mussed from a restless night, and her clipboard tapped her hip as she headed for the nurses' station. Yesterday's triumph with Crazy Carl--and that fat raise--still hummed in her chest, a quiet thrill she couldn't shake. She'd barely glanced at her patient list when Kevin's voice crackled over the intercom, gruff and clipped: "Megan, my office, now."

She turned on her heel, curiosity flaring, and strode down the corridor, the sharp bite of antiseptic growing stronger as she neared his door. Kevin's office was a cluttered pit--filing cabinets crammed against the walls, papers avalanching across the desk, a harsh fluorescent bulb flickering overhead. He slouched behind the chaos, his 300-pound frame dwarfing the chair, a pen spinning lazily in his thick fingers. The monitor glowed behind him, muted but vivid--yesterday's footage of her with Carl looping slow: her bare chest, lips gliding down his fourteen-inch cock, fingers smearing his cum into her clit. No sound, just a silent showcase of her "skills."

"Mornin', Megan," Kevin said, his bearded face cracking into a broad grin as she stepped in. He gestured to the chair opposite, its ripped vinyl wheezing as she sat. "Got some big news for you. After that Carl stunt yesterday, I talked with the higher-ups about a problem that's been looming over us--real nasty issue, been bleeding us dry. We hashed it out, and they agree with me: you might just be the solution we've been scrambling for."

Her eyes widened, a shy smile tugging her lips. "Oh, wow, really? Me?" She glanced at the screen, her head tilting slightly, no hint of shame--just a flicker of pride, like she'd aced a test.

"Damn right," he said, leaning back, the chair groaning under his bulk. "This place is state-funded, see--we're stuck taking every degenerate the system spits out. High offenders, troublemakers, guys nobody wants near 'em. Staff burn out, lawsuits stack up, costs go through the roof--it's been a nightmare. But you? What you pulled with Carl yesterday--that's the kinda fix we need. The brass saw the numbers, saw him calm as a lamb, and they're ready to bet on you."

Megan's grin bloomed, hands twisting in her lap, her voice soft but eager. "So, like, I'd be helping with the tough ones? The ones everyone else can't handle?"

"Bingo," he said, leaning forward, elbows thudding onto the desk, his tone smooth and deliberate. "And we're making it worth your while. Board's offering another 20% bump on your pay--on top of yesterday's raise--if you take these problem patients exclusively. Your own roster, just the worst of 'em. Keeps the state happy, keeps us in the black. All you gotta do is say yes."

Her jaw dropped, a delighted squeak slipping out. "Oh my goodness, another 20%? That's... that's huge, Kevin! Like, me and Ry could save up so fast--maybe even move somewhere nicer one day!" Her hands clapped together, excitement spilling over, her eyes darting to the screen where her image sucked Carl deep, oblivious to the stakes.

Kevin's grin tightened, a glint of strategy flickering as he slid a stapled stack of papers across the desk--an employment contract, thick with fine print. "That's the plan. You'd be our ace--high offenders only, your show. All it takes is your signature right here." He tapped the bottom page, a blank line glaring up, his voice easy but pressing.

She grabbed it, flipping the first page, her brow creasing as she skimmed the dense text--"exclusive assignment," "discretionary duties," "non-disclosure"--none of it registering as a trap in her trusting mind. "Wow, this looks so official," she said, giggling nervously. "I bet Ry could help me with this--he's a lawyer, you know! He's always reading boring stuff like this. I'll show it to him tonight!"

Kevin's face stiffened, his pen freezing mid-spin, panic flashing in his eyes. A lawyer boyfriend? That wasn't on the radar--he'd counted on her signing blind, locking her into a deal ripe with vague clauses and exploitable gaps, a leash dressed up as a promotion. A lawyer could shred it in ten minutes flat. "Uh, hold on," he said, coughing to mask the stutter, leaning closer. "Your boyfriend, huh? That's... swell, but maybe not the best move to have him peek at this."

Megan tilted her head, confusion knitting her brow. "Why not? He's super good with this kinda thing."

Kevin forced a chuckle, scrambling. "It's a conflict of interest, see. He's your partner, right? If he's digging into this, he might nudge it toward what's good for him--like keeping you home more, or tweaking stuff for his own sake, not yours. A lawyer's gotta be neutral, and he can't be, not with you two so tight. Could muddy things up here--make it seem like you don't trust us, y'know?"

Her eyes widened, his logic sinking in slow and heavy, her faith in authority swallowing it whole. "Oh... oh, wow, I didn't think of that," she said, chewing her lip, the contract trembling in her hands. "I don't want him to, like, mess it up--or think I don't believe in myself. That's smart, Kevin."

"Yeah, spot on," he said, relief seeping in, though his smile stayed taut. "You're sharp enough to figure this out solo--just read it over, no hurry. We want you happy with it." He leaned back, hoping she'd sign before second thoughts hit, but she folded the papers, tucking them into her scrub pocket with a nod.

"Okay, I'll check it later," she said, standing, her voice bright but firm. "Gotta get back to work anyway--those patients won't calm themselves, right?" She giggled, smoothing her scrubs, the contract crinkling against her hip.

Kevin nodded, hiding his frustration with a gruff, "Yup, get to it. You're a star, Megan." She turned to leave, but paused, her gaze flicking to the monitor where the Carl video looped--her on her knees, cum-slick fingers circling her clit, a faint flush on her cheeks as she sucked him deep. She tilted her head, excitement sparking.

"Hey, Kevin," she said, spinning back, her tone soft and curious. "That video--could I maybe get a copy? For Ry, my boyfriend. He's, um, really into stuff like that--I told you yesterday, right? He'd love to see it, I bet."

Kevin's gut lurched, his mind reeling. A copy? Loose in the world? With a lawyer boyfriend poking around? The hospital was already dodging a lawsuit--some neglect claim threatening to unearth footage. This, unedited, tied to her "methods," could ignite a firestorm--HIPAA breaches, coercion allegations, game over. He barked a laugh, stiff and loud, stalling. "Uh, that's... a tall order, Megan. You sure? It's sensitive--patient privacy and all."

She nodded fast, oblivious to his dread. "Oh, totally! He'd keep it hush-hush--he's real careful with private stuff, being a lawyer and all. Just for him, y'know, 'cause he likes it."

His jaw clenched, the noose tightening. "Right, right," he said, grasping for control, then swerved. "Here's the deal--let's table that 'til the contract's done. Gotta keep it clean, you know? Legal stuff's dicey. I'll mull it over, see what's doable once you're signed."

Megan's face dipped, but she shrugged, trusting as always. "Okay, that makes sense. I'll let you know about the contract soon!" She glanced at the screen once more, a little grin tugging her lips, then perked up as Kevin shifted gears.

"Oh, speaking of work," he said, standing, his tone brisk to redirect her. "Marvin's due for his bath--think he's getting fidgety in 4B. Why don't you head there now? Keep that magic rolling."

Her grin widened, pride flaring fresh. "Got it! Marvin's a breeze after Carl--I'll have him clean in no time. Thanks, Kevin--this raise thing's amazing! Ry's gonna be so proud!" She bounced to the door, tossing him a wave. "See ya later--and thanks again for the opportunity!"

"Anytime, kid," he called, forcing a smile as she slipped out, the door clicking shut. He sank back, exhaling hard, the Carl footage still looping--her bare ass squatting by the tub, cum glistening on her fingers. His relief curdled fast. No signature, a lawyer in the mix, and now the video request. He rubbed his temples, muttering, "Fuck me," as the gamble's weight pressed down. She was a goldmine--but a goldmine with a fuse.

Megan strode down the hall, the contract a warm bulk in her pocket, her steps light with glee. Another 20%--just for doing what she already rocked! She couldn't wait to tell Ryan, see his jaw drop when she spilled the news--and maybe Marvin's bath story, too. He'd eat that up, she thought, picturing his flustered grin, that weird way he got hard when she shared her "tricks." The video nagged at her--Kevin's dodge felt off--but she let it slide. He'd cave once she signed, right? For now, Marvin awaited, and she hummed softly, ready to dive in, her innocence a blind shield against the tightening web.

---

Ryan slumped at his desk, the law firm's eighth floor cloaked in an oppressive, late-day stillness that did nothing to dull the knot twisting in his gut. It was 5:10 p. m., the glowing red digits of the clock on his laptop screen taunting him, each sluggish tick dragging him closer to the confrontation he knew was coming. His tie hung limp around his neck, a wrinkled noose he'd loosened hours ago, and his shirt sleeves were shoved carelessly up to his elbows, exposing forearms tense with nervous energy. The brief on his screen--a dense wall of legal jargon about some petty contract dispute--blurred into a meaningless smear; he'd been staring at it since lunch, fingers frozen over the keys, his mind snagged on the inevitable. Carson would storm in soon, primed to hammer him about tonight--round two with Megan, another twisted game Ryan couldn't escape, the leash of blackmail tightening with every breath.

The day had been a relentless assault of Carson's temper, his voice a jagged blade slicing through the office walls at random intervals. It started at 9 a. m.--"You incompetent fuck, fix it!"--a bellowed insult hurled at some poor bastard on the phone, followed by the crash of a stapler against drywall. Then noon, another eruption--"What the hell do you mean, delayed? Get it done, asshole!"--punctuated by the sharp crack of a chair kicked across the room. Each outburst rattled Ryan's nerves, a storm brewing next door that he couldn't outrun. Now, at 5:15 p. m., it flared again, louder, closer, seeping through the thin partition like smoke under a door. "How did you fuck this up so badly?" Carson roared, his voice raw and venomous, the words echoing down the empty hall. A deafening slam followed--the phone, Ryan pictured it, picturing Carson's fist smashing the receiver into its cradle, plastic splintering under the force. His pulse jolted, hands clenching the mouse until his knuckles whitened, the latest tantrum spiking his dread higher. Carson had been a live wire all day, and whatever was tanking the Home Away from Home case--Megan's employer, the linchpin tying this mess together--was clearly the match to his fuse.

Ryan's stomach churned, a sour, acidic swirl that hadn't let up since morning. The office around him was a tomb--phones silent, the last of the paralegals and secretaries long fled, leaving only the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner humming somewhere beyond the corridor. He'd heard the whispers at the coffee machine earlier--Home Away from Home's imploding, discovery's a shitshow, Carson's losing it--and a bitter, fleeting hope had flickered: maybe it'd bury them, Carson, JP, Cory, all three fired, disbarred, gone. But that fantasy curdled fast; if it sank, Megan's job might go down with it, and Carson's wrath would only lash harder, the Kendall clip his trump card to ruin Ryan's life. The clock ticked to 5:20 p. m., and he braced himself, every nerve screaming for the door to stay shut, knowing it wouldn't.

At 5:30 p. m., it burst open, hinges groaning under the force, and Carson strode in, a storm in human skin. No suit jacket, his tie yanked loose like a hangman's knot undone, his face a flushed red, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead--rage simmering beneath the surface, not loud now, but etched into every line of his 26-year-old frame, a peer to Ryan in age but a tyrant in presence. He didn't yell, not yet; his eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto Ryan, pinning him where he sat, and his voice came out sharp, a blade honed to cut. "Get your ass over here, dipshit," he snapped, jerking his head toward his office across the hall. "Move it."

Ryan's legs obeyed before his mind could argue, chair scraping loud against the carpet as he lurched to his feet, throat dry as sandpaper. He trailed Carson, each step a lead weight, the air thickening with the stench of stale coffee and sweat as he crossed the threshold into the chaos of Carson's office. Papers littered the desk in haphazard piles, a cracked coffee mug teetered on the edge, brown stains streaking its side, and the phone sat askew, its cord tangled from the earlier slam. Carson dropped into his chair, the leather creaking under his lean frame, and raked a hand through his damp hair, his breaths shallow, controlled, but edged with fury. "You set her up yet?" he demanded, voice low and harsh, cutting through the silence like a whip. "Megan. Tonight. Tell me you fucking did it."

Ryan shifted on his feet, hands jamming deep into his pockets, fingers curling tight around lint and loose change. His voice came out thin, unsteady, a thread about to snap. "Uh, no, not yet--I'm sorry, man. I was gonna, I swear, I just... I procrastinated. It's not her, she'll do it, no problem convincing her. I just haven't texted her yet. I can get her in that dress again, the black one from Saturday--same deal. Me and her, we'll meet you out, wherever you say."

Carson's lip twitched, a sneer curling slow and deliberate, his red face gleaming under the fluorescent buzz. "Un-fucking-believable, the same fucking dress," he muttered, his tone biting, each syllable a jab. "I'm drowning in idiots who can't follow a goddamn order--you, JP, Cory, all of you worthless." He leaned forward, elbows thudding onto the desk, palms pressing into his temples as if to crush the headache pulsing there, then exhaled hard, a rough, guttural sound. His eyes flicked up, narrowing as a thought sparked, the anger softening into something colder, sharper. "You know what?" His sneer morphed into a smirk, sweat beading on his upper lip as he leaned back, fingers drumming the wood. "I got a better idea tonight, she needs to dress like the proper slut that she is going to become, and I might has well hit two birds with one stone. I'll take her shopping, a night out on the town."

Ryan nodded, now almost hopeful since change of pace seems somewhat promising than whatever the hell was going to happen behind closed doors in a private place. Carson's smirk widened, a wicked glint flaring as he straightened, voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl, the sharpness fading into glee. "It will be a nice change of plans since JP and Cory are fucked--Home Away from Home's a disaster, some bullshit I'm not unpacking for you. They're stuck here all night digging us out, so it's just me. But her lousy wardrobe, we're leveling it up." He clapped his hands once, loud and sharp, the sound bouncing off the walls. "Text her now--tell her to meet me at the fashion end of Fifth Avenue. I'll send her the address. She's gonna get a make-over, trust me, you will love it. Is she at work?"

Ryan's gut plummeted, a cold sweat prickling his neck as the words sank in. "Uh, ya, she doesn't get off until around 7. I--I don't--" he stammered, voice cracking, but Carson cut him off, thrusting out a hand, palm up, expectant.

"Leave your credit card, genius," he said, tone light now but still edged, a predator toying with prey. "You two dress like sheltered pussies--zero clue how to show her off. I'll fix that, but I'm not shelling out a dime. Drop it here."

Ryan's heart thudded, a dull hammer against his ribs, but he fumbled his wallet from his back pocket, fingers trembling as he fished out the card--his last shred of control, a flimsy plastic lifeline already stretched thin. He slid it across the desk, the soft scrape of it on wood deafening in the quiet, and Carson snatched it up, pocketing it with a grin. "Good boy," he said, mockingly sweet, then tilted his head, waiting. "Well? What about you--gonna ask if you're tagging along?"

Ryan swallowed, the question he'd dreaded bubbling up, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, uh--what about me? Am I coming?"

Carson laughed, a short, barking sound that ricocheted off the cluttered walls, his face lighting up with cruel amusement. "Fuck no, dipshit. Just me and her--solo mission. I'll take her shopping, have a little fun, and send her back with videos tomorrow. Full coverage--plenty of footage for you to jerk your sad little dick to. You'll thank me, won't you, perv?"

Relief hit Ryan like a rogue wave, sudden and overwhelming, washing out the dread for a fleeting heartbeat. Tonight had loomed like a guillotine--Carson, unhinged from the Home Away from Home mess, dragging him along to watch Megan twist further into this nightmare? He'd escaped the live show, spared the gut-punch of standing there while Carson ran the game. A dark, petty hope flared hotter--Let that case tank you, asshole. You, JP, Cory, all fired, fucked, out of my life--and he clung to it, nodding slow. "Yeah, uh, sure, sounds good," he muttered, pulling his phone from his pocket, thumbs hovering over the screen as Carson waved him off.

"Go text her, tell her to head that way right when she gets off work," Carson said, already flipping through a file, his mood noticeably lighter, the sweat on his brow starting to dry. "Get it done, and don't fuck it up--I've had enough screw-ups today."

Ryan shuffled back to his office, the door clicking shut with a soft thud, sealing him into the dim, claustrophobic space. He sank into his chair, the cushion sagging under his weight, and stared at the blank wall, the silence roaring in his ears. His phone sat heavy in his hand, Megan's name glowing under his thumb, the weight of Carson's scheme pressing down like a physical thing. Fifth Avenue, alone with him, my card. He exhaled shakily, typing slow, each letter a surrender:

Ryan: Hey Megs, I forgot to bring this up last night, but I was hoping you could hang out with Carson again tonight, but just you two. If you can, meet him right when you get off work at the fashion end of Fifth Ave. He'll text you the address. Shopping trip, new outfit. My idea.

Her reply buzzed back in seconds, her bubbly energy leaping through the text, oblivious to the undertow:

Megan: Ohhh, shopping?! That sounds so fun! But you're not coming with us? :(

Ryan: Nope, just you and him this time. Don't worry I asked him to record anything cool tho--send it to us tomorrow. Gonna be a blast, you'll see.

A beat, then her response flared up, bright and trusting, her innocence a knife twisting deeper:

Megan: Okay, yay! Videos are perfect--love that you'll get to enjoy it too! Oh, and Ry, I've got a HUGE surprise in the works for you--just wait, it's gonna blow your mind!

Ryan: What is it? Come on, spill!

Megan: Nope, not yet--it's not 100% real 'til I lock it down. You'll love it tho, pinky swear! Gotta keep you on your toes ;) But here's a little treat to get you going...

A photo loaded, slow and grainy, then snapped into focus, slamming into him like a freight train. Megan, on her knees beside a tub, topless, one hand cupping her breast to shield her nipples, the other buried in her half-down scrub pants, fingers clearly working her crotch. Marvin--old, stooped, naked--stood in the water, mid-orgasm, thick ropes of cum splattering her open mouth and dripping down her chin, a sloppy red scribble from the iPhone editor slashing over her chest and crotch. Her eyes sparkled, caught mid-moan, lips glistening with his load. A follow-up text pinged right after:

Megan: If I'm out late tonight, maybe this'll tide you over ;) Tried to get the security footage with Carl from Kevin, but he's being all weird, so Marvin snapped this quick for you during our bath time. I have a video, but I need Carson to edit it, I dont know how. Enjoy, babe!

Ryan's breath hitched, his dick stiffening traitorously under the desk, a hot flush warring with the jealousy clawing his insides. God damnit, this shit again? Her hand on her pussy, his cum on her face, who the fuck cums that much, why are all these men somehow packing mutant cocks? The crude censor, the casual filth of it--she thought this was a gift, a tease to "help" him.

He typed back, fingers shaking, forcing the lie through gritted teeth:

Ryan: Holy fuck, Megs, that's insane--so hot. Thanks, gonna need this tonight. Have a blast with Carson!

Her reply buzzed--a winking emoji, a heart--and he dropped the phone to the desk with a clatter, the clock hitting 5:58 p. m. The office would lock up soon, and he shoved his laptop into his bag, hands unsteady, the photo searing into his brain like a brand. Relief at dodging tonight's live show tangled with the dread of what Carson would do--with her in public, his card, his rules, filming God-knows-what. Let Home Away from Home bury you, he prayed again, bitter and fervent, and bolted for the elevator, the empty firm a hollow echo at his back.

---

The fashion end of Fifth Avenue pulsed with life as Megan stepped off the 7 train at 7:15 p. m., the crisp March air biting at her cheeks as she emerged from the subway stairs into the glittering chaos of Manhattan's elite shopping strip. Neon signs blazed above storefronts, casting kaleidoscopic reflections across the sidewalk--Chanel, Gucci, Versace--each window a shrine to excess, dripping with sequined gowns, leather jackets, and lingerie that shimmered like liquid metal. Her pale blue scrubs clung to her frame, wrinkled from a long shift at Home Away from Home, her work bag slung over one shoulder, its straps digging into her skin under the weight of a water bottle, clipboard, and spare sneakers. She'd swapped her usual ponytail for loose waves that tumbled past her shoulders, blonde strands catching the streetlights' glow--a choice spurred by Kevin's praise, his words about her looks being key to taming patients echoing in her mind. Her makeup, too, was dialed up: a sweep of mascara lengthening her lashes, a flush of pink on her cheeks, a glossy nude lipstick she'd swiped on in the hospital bathroom mirror, feeling bold, beautiful, useful. She adjusted the bag, her sneakers scuffing the pavement, and scanned the storefronts for the address Carson had texted--an upscale boutique called Vixen Vibe, its name pulsing in hot pink cursive above a glass facade lined with mannequins in scandalous dresses and lace.

Inside, the store buzzed with a frenetic energy that hit her like a wave--pop music thumped low and sultry through hidden speakers, racks of dresses gleamed under recessed lighting, their fabrics ranging from sheer silks to skin-tight velvets, every hemline daringly short, every neckline plunging deep. Lingerie hung like art on the walls--bras with satin straps, panties cut high and thin, garters dangling in provocative promise--while the air carried a mix of floral perfume and the faint musk of leather. Shoppers milled about: women in stilettos clicking across the polished floor, men lounging on velvet benches with bored smirks, their eyes flicking toward the dressing rooms where curtains swayed with each exit and entrance. Megan's heart skipped, excitement bubbling up as she pushed through the glass door, the bell chiming a bright welcome. She felt out of place in her scrubs, a utilitarian smudge against the store's glossy decadence, but her freshly done hair and makeup lent her a quiet confidence, a glow that turned a few heads as she stepped inside.

Carson leaned against a rack near the entrance, arms crossed, his lean frame casual in a half-unbuttoned dress shirt and dark jeans, the tie from earlier gone, his damp hair slicked back from the day's stress. His face was still faintly flushed from the office blowout, but he'd wiped the sweat away, his dark eyes lighting up as he spotted her. He straightened, a grin spreading--half gentleman, half predator, the charm a thin veneer over his usual edge. "Well, damn, Megs," he drawled, stepping closer, his voice smooth but carrying that familiar bite. "Look at you--fresh off the clock and still a knockout. Been a dog-shit day, total fucking mess, and I need a big kiss from a beautiful woman to turn it around. C'mere."

Megan beamed, her cheeks warming at the compliment, and bounced forward, leaning in for a quick peck--her usual chaste gesture, lips barely brushing his. But Carson wasn't having it; his hand snaked to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and he dove in, mouth crashing over hers in a full-on assault. His tongue pushed past her lips, hot and insistent, tasting of coffee and something sharper--whiskey, maybe--his grip tightening as he angled her head back. She stiffened, a jolt of shock freezing her spine, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides, unsure where to land. He pulled back after a beat, smirking at her wide-eyed flush, his thumb brushing her hip. "Whoa there, stiff as a board," he teased, voice low and mocking. "If you wanna blow Ryan's mind one day--y'know, when you're finally allowed to touch him--you gotta learn how to kiss like you mean it. That was rookie shit. Wanna try again?"

Her breath hitched, embarrassment mingling with her eagerness to please, Ryan's flustered reactions to her stories flashing in her mind. "Oh, um--yeah, okay," she said, nodding fast, her voice small but determined. "Let's try it." She stepped closer this time, initiating it, her lips parting as she pressed into him, tentative at first but mimicking his lead. Carson grinned against her mouth, diving back in, their tongues tangling for a solid ten seconds--wet, messy, her hesitance melting under his pushy confidence. His hand slid up, quick and bold, cupping her breast through her scrub top, a firm squeeze that made her gasp into the kiss. He pulled back, chuckling, his fingers lingering a beat before dropping. "There we go, that's the spirit," he said, winking. "Now, ground rules: whatever we buy first, you're wearing out. Gotta look hot for the NYC streets--and dinner after. Let's get moving."

Megan's head spun, her lips tingling, but she nodded, excitement overriding the fluster. She wandered toward a rack, her fingers brushing a modest navy dress--knee-length, high-necked, safe. "Ooh, what about this one?" she asked, holding it up, her voice bright with hope. Carson snorted, snatching it from her hands and tossing it back onto the rack with a dismissive flick.

"Nah, that's for prudes--church-lady shit," he said, his tone sharp but playful. "You're not here to play it safe, Megs." He pivoted, scanning the store with a hunter's eye, then yanked a cocktail dress from a nearby display--pink, thin as gossamer, the material shimmering under the lights. It echoed Saturday's black number but kicked it up a notch: a deeper V-neck that promised generous cleavage, a skirt so short it'd barely graze mid-thigh, the fabric clinging like a second skin. "This," he said, thrusting it at her, his grin wicked. "This is what we're starting with. C'mon, dressing room's this way."

She clutched the dress, the silky texture slipping through her fingers, and trailed him toward the back, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. The dressing area was a hive--curtained stalls lined a narrow corridor, velvet benches packed with men waiting for their partners, their chatter a low hum punctuated by laughs and the occasional whistle. Carson led her to an end stall, pushing the curtain aside with a flourish and stepping in after her, the space tight, mirrored walls bouncing their reflections back. Megan hesitated, clutching the dress to her chest, her brow furrowing. "Um, wait--you're coming in?" she asked, voice soft, uncertain. "Ryan's never... I mean, he's never been in with me, obviously."

Carson smirked, leaning against the mirror, arms crossing casual but his eyes glinting. "Yeah, 'cause Ryan's either a pussy or stuck on those dumbass rules you two live by--'no touching 'til the wedding,' right? Fucking pathetic. Me? I'm not a pussy, Megs. I'm showing you the kind of man he needs to be when you're hitched. Now strip--let's see what we're working with."

Her cheeks burned, but his confidence--crude as it was--nudged her forward, her trust in his lead unshaken. She set her work bag in the corner, kicking off her sneakers, and peeled off her scrub top, revealing a clunky white bra, its straps thick and practical. The pants followed, sliding down to pool at her feet, exposing matching panties--cotton, full-coverage, the kind she'd worn since high school. Carson's smirk faltered into a scoff, his head tilting as he appraised her. "Jesus, really? Granny gear," he muttered, then nodded at her underwear. "Lose it--all of it. That dress won't work with that shit underneath."

Megan swallowed, her fingers fumbling at the bra clasp, the hooks popping free after a moment's struggle. She shrugged it off, her C-cups bouncing slightly as they settled, nipples tightening in the cool air. The panties came next, a slow shimmy down her hips, leaving her bare, goosebumps prickling her skin as she stood exposed in the cramped stall. Carson's grin widened, a hungry edge to it, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Hold up--gotta get this on film," he said, propping the device against her bag in the corner, angling it to catch her fully, the red record light blinking on. "Ryan's gonna lose his shit over this."

She froze, arms twitching to cover herself, but his casual command kept her still, the dress dangling in her hands. "Oh, uh--okay, whew wish I had a few drinks on the way here," she murmured, stepping into it, the thin pink fabric sliding up her legs like a whisper. She tugged it over her hips, the skirt hugging tight, the V-neck dipping low to frame her breasts, no bra to blunt the outline of her nipples against the remarkably thin material. She turned to the mirror, smoothing it down, her breath catching--she looked wild, sexy in a way she'd never dared, the hem barely covering her ass, every curve on display. "Wow, I love it," she said, spinning to face him, her grin shy but genuine.

Carson nodded, stepping closer, his eyes raking over her. "Fuck yeah, me too--perfect fit. But those panties you've got? Trash. You said Saturday's thong was your only one, right? That Ryan picked out?" She nodded, oblivious to the lie--he'd planted that seed, not Ryan--and he clapped his hands again. "Alright, I'll grab some options. Stay put, keep that dress on." He ducked out, the curtain swaying behind him, and returned minutes later with a handful of thongs--black lace, red satin, a sheer nude pair--dangling from his fingers. He stepped back in, but this time, he only half-closed the curtain, leaving a ten-inch gap, the buzz of the dressing area spilling in louder now, men's voices sharpening as they noticed the sliver of visibility.

Megan glanced at the gap, her brow creasing. "Um, the curtain's--" she started, but Carson waved it off, tossing the thongs onto the bench beside her.

"Got hung up on the track--shit happens, plus it will make it hotter for Ryan, he loves this exposure shit," he said, shrugging, his tone too casual. "Anyway, let's try these. That dress needs to go commando--panty lines'll ruin it--but you need thongs for the rest of your sad little collection. Get that dress off, I think its a keeper, and let's see which thongs you look good in."

She hesitated, her eyes darting to the gap where shadows shifted--men craning for a peek, their murmurs growing bolder--but his reassurance nudged her along. "Oh, okay," she said, peeling the dress off, letting it pool at her feet, her nakedness stark under the harsh light. She grabbed the black lace thong first, stepping into it, the thin straps cutting high on her hips as she tugged it up. Carson nodded, smiled as he notices the heads turning. "Oh wow, that is perfect."

She bent to swap it for the red satin, her cheeks flushing as she caught glimpses of eyes peering through the large gap--older guys, some in suits, others in jeans, their stares brazen now, a low whistle cutting through the hum. "Um, Carson, they're looking," she said, voice trembling slightly, her hands fumbling with the thong.

He grinned, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, savoring it. "Of course they are, Megs--you're fucking sexy as hell. Don't sweat it, curtain's stuck, no big deal." The phone's lens stayed steady, recording every move--not just her posing in the thongs, but the faces leering in, their smirks and hungry eyes framed in the shot. She swapped to the nude pair, her embarrassment mounting as the crowd thickened, a few more men drifting closer, their phones slipping out for sneaky snaps.

Her face burned, the attention sinking in, and Carson stepped forward, his tone softening but laced with glee. "Hey, don't be shy--turn away if it's bugging you. Here," he said, casually he toss his handful in a pile on the floor in front of her. "I'm gona sit back, I put all the ones you haven't tried at your feet."

Megan nodded, grateful for the out, and bent to pick up the another black lace number, her back hunching instinctively as she dipped down. Carson clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Nah, not like that--arch your back, Megs. Sexy women like you gotta show off that perfect ass, accentuate it. Pleases your man--huge for sex, too, trust me, you don't want a big old hump when doin' doggie." She paused, then adjusted, spine curving as she bent deeper, her ass jutting out, pussy flashing fully from behind as she swapped thongs. A flash popped--someone's camera--then another, the clicks multiplying as she straightened, her cheeks now crimson.

Megan, no newbie to public exposure, but usually in more intimate settings, this was reminding her more of the most embarrassing moment of her life, when she ran topless fleeing from a bug in her bikini top on high school spring break. She had to focus on Ryan's enjoyment to get through this.

She froze, the red satin thong halfway up her thighs, her voice a whisper. "They're... taking pictures."

Carson chuckled, low and dark, his eyes glinting as he glanced at the growing cluster of onlookers. "Yeah, they are--let 'em. This bit? Huge kink of Ryan's, Megs. He was hammering me to catch this exact shit tonight--public stuff, you showing off. Don't worry, it's all for him." The lie rolled off his tongue smooth as silk, and she swallowed, nodding slow, trusting him despite the heat in her face, the thongs sliding on one by one--black, red, nude--each pose drawing more flashes, more eyes, the phone capturing it all: her bare ass, her flushed humiliation, the crowd's leering delight.

Megan straightened from pulling up the nude thong, her thighs trembling slightly as the flashes from the onlookers' phones popped like firecrackers beyond the half-open curtain. Her cheeks still burned, the heat of a dozen pairs of eyes prickling her skin, but the sting of embarrassment was starting to dull--she'd been exposed in some way plenty by now, hadn't she? Carl, Marvin, Raj, highschool, the hospital--strangers staring wasn't exactly new. She exhaled shakily, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, and glanced at Carson, his grin wide and wicked as he leaned against the mirrored wall, soaking in the scene and her humiliation. The thongs--black lace, red satin, nude sheer--lay scattered at her feet, the pink dress pooled beside them, and her bare skin gleamed under the dressing room's harsh light. She shifted her weight, the cool floor biting at her soles, and cleared her throat, her voice soft but firm. "Um, Carson, I think I need a drink--like, now, and more than one. Can we get dinner right after this? Then maybe come back for more shopping? I feel like I'm being all stiff, and... I don't wanna let Ryan down."

Carson's eyes flicked to her, the predatory glint softening into something almost approving, though the sadistic edge lingered, curling his lips. "Dinner? Yeah, good call--refuel, loosen you up," he said, nodding slow, his tone smooth but laced with glee. "But hold up--one more thing for Ryan, since you're so worried about him. He's gonna love this, trust me. Dump some stuff outta your work bag--y'know, accidentally, real clumsy-like. Then get on your hands and knees to pick it up, nice and slow, after you ditch that last thong. Take your time, Megs--really let 'em get a good look. Ryan'll nut like five times just watching it, I swear."

Her breath caught, the idea landing heavy, but a spark of resolve flickered in her chest. She wanted to be sexy for Ryan--wanted his jaw to drop, his eyes to light up, and since it wouldn't be from actually seeing her, it needs to be from seeing those people's faces. She nodded, a small, determined smile tugging her lips. "Okay, yeah--for Ryan," she murmured, steeling herself. Her hand drifted down instinctively, fingers brushing her clit, strumming it quick and light for a few seconds--just enough to shift some warmth from her flushed face to her clit, a little pulse of heat blooming low. The move was automatic, a trick she'd picked up from the hospital baths and Carson. His grin widened, his voice a low growl of approval.

"There you go, that's the spirit," he said, stepping back to give her space, his eyes darting between her and the phone propped in the corner, its red light still blinking, capturing every second.

Megan bent to grab her work bag from the floor, the worn canvas sagging under its load, and tipped it with a deliberate flick--not too much, just enough for a show. A water bottle rolled out, clattering loud against the tile, followed by a pen, a crumpled granola bar wrapper, some loose change, and the stapled stack of her employment contract, its edges curling, Home Away from Home bolded in stark black at the top. She kicked off the nude thong, letting it drop to her ankles, and sank to her hands and knees, her bare ass lifting high as she crawled forward. The air hit her skin, cool and sharp, her pussy more exposed than ever as she reached for the scattered items, her movements slow, exaggerated, every shift a performance she imagined Ryan drooling over.

Outside the curtain, the men--seven or eight now, a mix of suits and casuals, ages ranging from grizzled forties to cocky twenties--pressed closer, their phones raised like weapons, lenses glinting in the dim light. Her ass swayed as she stretched for the pen, pale cheeks parted slightly, the pink slit of her pussy peeking out, glistening faintly from her earlier touch. A bearded guy in a blazer snapped a burst of photos, the shutter clicking rapid-fire, his buddy beside him--an acne-scarred kid in a hoodie--filming with a shaky hand, zooming in tight on her spread thighs. "Holy shit, look at that," the kid muttered, loud enough to carry, his voice cracking with awe. Another flash popped--a silver-haired man in a tailored coat, his phone tilted low to catch the curve of her ass from below, her blonde hair brushing the floor as she lingered over the wrapper, dragging it out. Their murmurs swelled--"Fuck, she's hot," "Zoom in, zoom in"--a chorus of lust and disbelief, their screens filling with her: ass high, pussy bare, tits dangling free as she shifted, nipples grazing the tile when she leaned too far.

Halfway through, her resolve hardened--she was sexy, damn it, and Ryan deserved the best. She widened her stance on her own, knees sliding apart another inch, her butt jutting higher, spine arching sharp like Carson had taught her. She squeezed her eyes shut, picturing Ryan's flushed face, his hand down his pants, groaning as he watched this later, and the thought fueled her, drowning out the crowd. The flashes doubled--three, four, five in a row--the bearded guy muttering, "Never have I ever," his video panning slow from her ass to her face, catching the flush on her cheeks as she grabbed the water bottle, rolling it back toward her bag with a teasing slowness. Another guy, a burly type in a Mets cap, snapped a pic so close the curtain brushed his arm, her pussy framed dead center, wet and pink against the stark white tile, her thighs trembling faintly from holding the pose.

She peeked up mid-crawl, expecting Carson's approving smirk, but his eyes were locked elsewhere--on the contract, now in his hands, plucked from the mess she'd dumped. His brow furrowed, the playful glint gone, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus as he flipped the first page, scanning fast. Her stomach dipped, he's not even looking--Was she screwing this up?--and she spread her legs wider still, desperate to pull him back, her legs splayed practically wide open now, pussy lips parting enough to draw a sharp gasp from the Mets guy, his phone clicking triple-time. "Carson?" she called, voice soft, a little pushy, as she grabbed the last item--the pen--and rocked back to her knees, snagging the pink dress. She slipped it on slow, sensual, standing to let it slink over her bare skin, the thin fabric hugging her curves, nipples poking through, the hem riding high as she twirled once for the onlookers, pretending they weren't there, all for Ryan's imaginary gaze.

He didn't look up right away, his thumb tracing the contract's header, lips moving silently as he read. She stepped closer, hands on her hips, the dress swishing, and nudged his arm. "Hey, Carson--do you like it? The dress, I mean? Did I do okay?" Her tone was insistent, almost pouty, craving his attention back.

Carson jolted, his head snapping up, the contract crinkling in his grip. "Huh? Oh--fuck yeah, Megs, you're killing it," he said, flashing a distracted grin, but his eyes darted back to the papers, widening slightly. "Wait, hold up--is this an employment contract they just offered you? From Home Away from Home?" His voice sharpened, all traces of play gone, replaced by a lawyer's edge, the kind Ryan sometimes got when he sniffed out a win.

Megan nodded, tilting her head, oblivious to the shift. "Yeah, Kevin gave it to me today--said it's for a big promotion, 20% more pay! I haven't signed yet, though--I'm gonna read it tonight. I was going to let Ryan check it out, but they said it would not be a good idea," She beamed, proud, missing the storm brewing in his expression.

"I bet," Carson muttered under his breath with a grin as his jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the pages harder as he skimmed, muttering under his breath, the words too low for her to catch but heavy with intent. He flipped to the second page, then the third, his eyes racing over the text, and his mind churned, legal gears grinding fast. This wasn't just a contract--shackles for sexual servitude; for him, a legal Molotov cocktail, an ace in the hole that would instantly revive his crumbling case against Home Away from Home into a blazing victory. The language was beyond damning, dripping with intent so blatant it'd make any DA salivate. "Patient-preferred uniforms, subject to change as needs evolve"--code for encouraged exposure, even spelling it out. "Exposure integral to role performance"--Jesus, they'd written it in black and white, her nudity basically a job requirement. And then, the kicker: "Responsibilities include ensuring testicular health of assigned patients"--not spelling out blowjobs or handjobs, no, but dancing so close to the line it might as well be a neon sign. Put a naive, beautiful blonde like Megan on the stand, blushing through tears as she recounted her "duties," and it'd be a slaughter--criminal charges, not just civil, aimed straight at the top.

His pulse quickened, the dots connecting fast. The signature at the bottom--Dr. Johnson, known through their current legal proceedings as an equity holder in the retirement home, a name he'd been chasing in discovery for weeks, the bastard slipping through every gap in their failing lawsuit. This was his hand, his ink, tying him to a system of extreme sexual harassment--top-down, baked into the fucking letterhead. Carson could see it: Johnson crumbling under cross-examination, the board scrambling, equity stakes seized as evidence mounted. Harassment? This was exploitation, coercion, a conveyor belt of abuse with Megan as the poster child--innocent, trusting, too guileless to see the trap. A good prosecutor wouldn't stop at managers; they'd gun for the C-suite, the owners, prison time dangling over their heads. His case, teetering on collapse, now had a silver bullet--and it'd landed in his lap by dumb, beautiful luck. He can exchange this contract in for his own, as partner of the firm.

Outside, the men hadn't stopped--their phones still clicked and whirred, a few zooming in on Megan's dress now, the thin pink fabric clinging to her bare ass as she shifted, oblivious to their stares. The bearded guy muttered, "God, please try on more dresses," his video panning slow across her hips, then up to her chest. The Mets fan snapped another pic, her nipples sharp against the V-neck, the flash bouncing off the mirror behind her. She smoothed the dress, turning to Carson again, her voice cutting through his daze. "So, dinner? I need booze--and I think I can really let loose for Ryan."

Carson blinked, shoving the contract into her bag, his grin snapping back into place, though his eyes gleamed with something new--triumph, not just lust. "Yeah, Megs, dinner--on me, let's pay for this dress. You're a fucking natural now, trust me. Ryan's gonna lose his mind." He grabbed his phone from the corner, stopping the recording, and slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her out past the gawking crowd, their flashes trailing her like paparazzi. She blushed, but with a playful giggle as Carson lifting up the back of her dress for one last show as they stood at the cash register, slipping his hand up underneath, rubbing both the entrance of her pussy and asshole from behind.

Arm around Megan's shoulders as Carson led her out of Vixen Vibe, her new pink dress clinging tightly on her thighs, the thin fabric stretched across her bare tits as they crossed Fifth Avenue's bustling sidewalk. The night air stiffing her nipples. The buzz of the shopping strip--honking cabs, chattering crowds, neon lights flashing--kept her warm, her sneakers scuffing alongside his polished boots. "C'mon, Megs, dinner's on me," he said, steering her toward a sleek restaurant-bar two blocks down, its curved glass facade glowing gold under the sign Luxe Lounge. The place screamed upscale--valet drivers in crisp vests, couples in tailored coats spilling out onto the curb, the faint thrum of jazz seeping through the doors.

Inside, the bar dominated the space, a massive crescent of polished mahogany arcing through the room, elevated on a platform that put its high stools a good foot above the sunken dining area behind it. Pendant lights dangled low, casting a warm amber glow over bottles of top-shelf liquor lining the back wall--crystal decanters glinting beside rows of bourbon and gin. The tables below buzzed with chatter, men in suits and women in cocktail dresses sipping martinis, their eyes occasionally flicking up to the bar's perch. Carson claimed two stools near the curve's apex, the leather creaking as they climbed up, Megan's dress riding higher as she settled, her bare ass grazing the cool seat, no panties to blunt the sensation. She swung her work bag onto the bar, its canvas thudding softly, and grinned at him, her blonde waves catching the light. "Okay, I need something strong," she said, her voice bright but edged with a lingering nerves. "That was intense back there."

Carson flagged the bartender--a wiry guy with a sleeve tattoo--and ordered with a lazy grin. "Shot of tequila for her, and a bottle of the good stuff--Veuve Clicquot, the Brut." The bartender nodded, sliding a shot glass her way, the amber liquid sloshing, then popping the champagne with a crisp pop, pouring Carson a flute of bubbling gold. Megan tossed the tequila back fast, grimacing as it burned down her throat, then snatched Carson's glass, downing it in two gulps, the fizz tickling her nose. She exhaled hard, slamming the flute down, her cheeks flushing pinker. "Oh, wow--way better now," she said, giggling, her shoulders loosening as the alcohol hit.

Carson smirked, leaning closer, his elbow on the bar. "Prove it, then--spread those legs for me, Megs. Face me, nice and open, let's see how loose you're feeling." His tone was casual, teasing, but the glint in his eyes sharpened, daring her.

Megan hesitated a beat, then perked up, the booze smoothing her edges. "Okay, for Ryan, right?" she asked, swiveling her stool to face him, her knees parting slow and deliberate. The dress's short hem slid up, exposing her bare pussy to him--and, by extension, most of the restaurant behind her, the bar's height giving a clear line of sight to the tables below. Her lips glistened faintly in the low light, the pink folds stark against her pale thighs, and she held the pose, her grin widening. "How's Ryan gonna see this, though?"

Carson's grin turned wolfish, and he slid off his stool, pulling out his phone. "Watch this," he said, striding toward the entrance, the device already recording as he framed her in the shot. He started at the double doors, panning slow across the room--the clinking glasses, the jazz riff, the murmur of voices--then zoomed in as he approached, her figure sharpening on the screen. Her legs stayed wide, pussy fully exposed, the bar's curve framing her like a stage, and the camera caught every angle: the way her dress bunched at her hips, the faint sheen of arousal on her inner thighs, the oblivious tilt of her head as she sipped a fresh champagne he'd left her. Halfway back, he swung the lens slightly, picking up audio from a table of three guys--mid-thirties, ties loosened, beers in hand--muttering loud enough to carry. "Fuck, look at that pussy--wide open, man," one said, his voice gravelly with a Jersey edge. "What a whore, just sitting there flashing it," another chimed, chuckling, his phone sneaking a pic under the table. Carson smirked, letting the mic linger, then finished his walk, sliding back onto his stool beside her, the footage still rolling.

"See? Crystal clear--Ryan's gonna lose it," he said, showing her the screen, her exposed cunt filling the frame as the guys' voices crackled through. She giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth, the alcohol blurring any shame into delight.

"Oh my gosh, that's wild," she said, then paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "Hey, can I ask you something? Why were you so into my contract you picked up?"

Carson's eyes flicked to her, his grin fading into a curious tilt, the contract still burning a hole in his back pocket. "Ya, I wanted to bring that up, actually--why'd they give it to you if you're already working there?"

She shrugged, sipping more champagne, the bubbles popping on her tongue as she leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "It's for a recent change of events--kinda had to do with you, I mean indirectly, since Ryan's fetish changed how I handled stuff at work." She giggled again, the tequila loosening her tongue.

Carson's brow arched, his tone staying light, casual, masking the lawyer sharpening behind it. "Me? How's that? Clarify, Megs--give me the rundown."

She nodded, twirling a strand of hair, her words spilling easy now. "Okay, so it started with me and a few other girls--basically the pretty ones, people kept saying. They made us change uniforms to these super tight scrubs, like, way clingier than before. Gropes started happening a lot--patients grabbing us, y'know? Reporting it didn't go over well--got them in trouble, which then tanked my patient reviews, and that messes with my pay and bonuses. So I just... let it slide more and more. Then one day, I'm giving a big old guy, Marvin, a bath--he's splashing me, soaking my top, and asks me take it off since he can't help the splashing. I do, and my bra pops off too, accidentally, and I finish the bath topless. He asks me to wash his penis with my hands 'cause the sponge is 'too rough.' Don't worry, it is some what common with some of the men, but my first time with Marvin. Well it was the first time this had happened at all, maybe it was my tits, because he just starts cumming on my tits, big mess. Kevin walks in right then, sees me topless with cum dripping down, and he's like, 'Great job, Megan, keep it up.'"

Carson leaned in, his voice low, probing but cool. "Wait--topless, cum on your tits, and Kevin, your boss, says that? While it's happening?"

"Yup," she said, nodding fast, oblivious to the weight. "Right there in the room. So anyway, then you guys happen--Saturday, Ryan liking this stuff--and I figure, okay, I'll lean into it, for him and to make my bosses happy. Kevin calls me in yesterday, says he's got this high-needs, hard-to-control patient--Carl--I need to calm down and bathe. Tells me to offer the same 'services' as Marvin. I go in, get topless, and Carl asks me to put my mouth on his giant cock. I know Ryan's into it now, so I do it--takes four times, he's a lot. After, Kevin pulls me in, congratulates me, gives me a bonus, says I'm 'finally getting it.'"

Carson's pulse quickened, but he kept his tone loose, fishing deeper. "Hold up--how'd you know Kevin was cool with that? With Carl, I mean--what'd he do to make it clear?"

She grinned, tapping the bar with a finger. "Easy--he had the security footage up on his computer when I walked in. Me, topless, sucking Carl off, even rubbing my pussy and cumming while I'm drinking his load for the fourth time. Kevin's pointing at the screen, going, 'This, Megan, this is what I mean--you're doing a great job.' He made it pretty clear."

Carson's mind exploded--security footage, explicit approval, on company hardware--a legal jackpot so perfect it was almost cartoonish. He masked the grin threatening to split his face, waving the bartender over with a snap. "Fuck it--Wagyu filet, two of 'em, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon, the '96 vintage, now." The guy nodded, hustling off, and Carson pulled out his own card--Ryan's be damned--this was a celebration. The food came fast: seared scallops dripping in butter, truffle risotto, a $500 bottle of champagne poured into fresh flutes, the golden liquid sparkling under the lights. They ate, Megan moaning at the flavors, the alcohol sinking deeper, her giggles louder, her posture slumping into a carefree sprawl with legs even wider. Carson toasted her, clinking glasses, his mind racing with the contract's implications, the meal a victory lap he couldn't yet explain.

Stuffed and buzzed, they stumbled back to Vixen Vibe, Megan's steps wobbly, her dress askew as she laughed, the champagne flushing her cheeks rosy. The store still hummed, the dressing area alive with late-night shoppers, and she strutted to the same stall, yanking the curtain, herself, wide open this time--no half-measures, full exposure. "Let's do more," she chirped, stripping the pink dress off in one fluid tug, standing naked as she rifled through racks Carson dragged in--dresses, bras, thongs, heels, a lacy black lingerie set with garters. She tried them on slow, sensual, arching her back, popping her hips, tossing her hair--sexy, overt, but not pornographic, just a tease dialed to eleven. A red halter dress clung to her curves, a sheer bra lifted her tits high, a stiletto pump stretched her calves taut--she posed for the phone, still recording, her nudity frequent but playful, acting like the growing crowd of men didn't exist, their flashes and murmurs a background hum she ignored.

They settled on a haul--five dresses, three thongs, a bra, the lingerie, two pairs of heels--and hauled it to the register, but Carson stopped her before closing up, his dick straining against his jeans from the show. "Curtain in a bit, Megs--one last thing," he said, voice husky, nudging her back up against the curtain. She giggled, stripping naked again, and sank to her knees as he unzipped, her asshole winking from beneath the curtain's foot-high gap, visible to the floor outside. She took him in her mouth, lips stretching around his cock, sucking slow and deep, her tongue swirling as he groaned, one hand bracing the wall, the other holding his phone. Halfway through, footsteps approached--the manager, a lanky guy in a black polo, his face stern until he peeked in. "Hey, you can't--" he started, but Carson waved him over, grinning.

"C'mon in, man--join the party," he said, and the guy hesitated, then slipped inside, as discreet as the buzzing store allowed. Carson nodded at Megan, her mouth full. "She's game--blow him too, Megs." She pulled off Carson with a wet pop, turning to the manager, his fly already down, and took him in, sucking one then the other, alternating until both groaned, her hand diving between her legs to rub her pussy, syncing her rhythm. They came together--Carson first, then the manager--hot spurts flooding her mouth, a few stray globs hitting her forehead, cheek, chin, nose. She shuddered, cumming hard as she rolled the combined load over her tongue again and again, the rest glistening on her face, her fingers slick as she pulled back, panting.

Carson grabbed his phone, framing her--naked, cum-streaked, grinning--as she posed, mouth open to show the load before gulping it down, then blowing a kiss to the lens. "Keep it on," he said, and she nodded, slipping the pink dress back on, the cum streaking in sticky lines on her face as they checked out. The manager, still flushed, tapped the register. "25% off--uh, thanks," he muttered, bagging their haul. They stepped outside, Megan strutting now, cum on her face, one nipple slipping free again as Carson recorded, the sidewalk parting around her--shocked gasps, wolf whistles, stares trailing her like spotlights. She giggled, swaying her hips, the dress barely containing her, and they flagged a cab, piling in with bags spilling over their laps.

"Here's the address" Carson said as he leaned forward showing the screen of his phone to the driver, a grizzled guy who glanced at Megan's face in the rearview, smirked, and pulled off. She leaned against Carson, legs wide, buzzing with champagne and adrenaline, oblivious to the cabbie's leer.

The cab screeched to a halt outside Ryan's apartment building, a squat brick tenement tucked between a bodega and a laundromat, its flickering streetlamp casting jagged shadows across the cracked sidewalk. Megan stumbled out first, her heels--new from Vixen Vibe, black and strappy--clicking unevenly as she adjusted her grip on the shopping bags, the pink dress riding high, one nipple still peeking free from the dislodged V-neck. The cum on her face--Carson's and the manager's--had dried into sticky patches, glinting faintly under the sodium glow, her blonde waves tousled from the night's chaos. Carson followed, slamming the door shut, his phone in one hand, the other hefting her work bag, the contract still tucked in his pocket like a loaded gun. The cabbie peeled off with a grunt, tires spitting gravel, leaving them in the quiet hum of the late-night street--empty save for the distant clatter of a trash can and a figure lurching toward them from the alley.

Tyrone emerged from the shadows, his lanky frame draped in a stained hoodie and ripped jeans, a wild grin splitting his weathered face as he clocked Megan's outfit. "Holy fuck, girl--that dress!" he hollered, his voice a gravelly boom, eyes bulging as he staggered closer, the stench of cheap beer and unwashed clothes trailing him. His gaze snagged on the cum streaking her forehead and chin, then flicked to Carson--decidedly not Ryan--looming beside her. "Oh, shit, you slut--whose load is that? I'm grabbing that ass tonight, watch me!" He lunged forward, hands outstretched, fingers wiggling like he'd already claimed her.

Carson's grin vanished, his jaw tightening as he stepped in front of Megan, dropping the bags with a thud. "Back the fuck up, asshole," he snapped, closing the gap in two strides and slamming Tyrone against the brick wall, pinning him by the shirt with a meaty fist. The fabric bunched under his grip, Tyrone's sneakers scraping the pavement as he flailed, his bravado crumbling fast. "You don't touch her unless I say so--got it?"

Tyrone's hands shot up, palms out, his grin morphing into a shaky laugh. "Whoa, whoa, easy, man--sorry, shit, I'm cool, I'm cool!" His eyes darted between Carson's glare and Megan's wide-eyed stare, his tone flipping to a placating whine. "I'm friends with her, swear--right, Megs? Just messin' around."

Megan tilted her head, the champagne still buzzing in her veins, and nodded slow, a small smile tugging her lips as she watched the scene unfold. "Yeah, he's Tyrone--he's always like this," she said, her voice light, almost amused. "Way different with you, though. With Ryan, he's all big talk, grabbing me anyway, but you? He's a puppy now." She giggled, the stark contrast hitting her--Ryan shrinking under Tyrone's taunts, Carson towering over him like a brick wall.

Tyrone squirmed under Carson's grip, his laugh turning nervous but eager. "See? Told ya--we're tight. She gives me shows sometimes, lets me get grabby--ain't that right, Megs?" Carson loosened his hold, stepping back with a smirk, letting Tyrone slump against the wall, brushing his shirt like he could dust off the humiliation.

"Seriously?" Carson asked, glancing at her, his tone shifting to dark humor, one eyebrow cocked. "That true, Megs? You let this clown cop a feel?"

She shrugged, twirling a strand of hair, her grin sheepish but unashamed. "Kinda, yeah. I tried avoiding it at first--he's always out here, y'know, being loud. But since Ryan likes it, I don't mind so much now. Makes him happy, I guess." Her eyes flicked to Tyrone, then back to Carson, the night's looseness keeping her candid.

Tyrone's face lit up, a triumphant cackle bursting out as he slapped his thigh. "I fucking knew it! Told Ryan he was into this shit, and he's all, 'Nah, man, you're crazy'--fucking liar!" He straightened, eyeing Carson with fresh curiosity, his grin widening. "Wait--you cucking him, bro? You and her?"

Carson chuckled, a low rumble, crossing his arms as he leaned back on his heels. "Yeah, kinda--close enough, anyway. Ryan's eating it up, trust me." His eyes glinted, catching Tyrone's excitement, the gears in his head spinning fast. Tyrone's energy shifted, a hungry edge creeping in--he'd pushed Megan before, sure, but knowing Ryan was into it? That was a green light to go harder, no fear of blowback.

Carson's smirk widened, a sudden idea sparking. "Hold up--got one last thing for the grand finale," he said, pulling out his phone, the red record light blinking on as he angled it at Megan. "Ryan mentioned something like this, a specific request--didn't click 'til now, but this is it. Megs, show Tyrone some pussy--no one's around, street's dead. Tyrone, you behave yourself, might get a nut out of it. Make it good for the camera."

Megan's breath hitched, but the night's vibe--champagne, shopping, the bar, the blowjobs--had her buzzing, eager, her skin prickling with anticipation. She wanted this, wanted Ryan's eyes popping out when he saw it, his dick hard in his hand. "Okay, yeah--for Ryan," she said, her voice bright, a grin spreading as she stepped forward, bags still dangling from one arm. She bent over slow, deliberate, her back arching sharp like Carson had taught her, and hiked the pink dress up over her hips, the thin fabric bunching at her waist. Her bare ass jutted out, pussy lips peeking between her thighs, pink and glistening under the streetlamp's harsh glow. She turned her head to the camera, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, and spoke straight to it, her tone sultry, playful, like Ryan was right there. "Hey, babe--look what I've got for you tonight. Tyrone's gonna love it too--hope you're ready."

Tyrone's eyes bugged, a low, "Oh, fuck," slipping out as he fumbled with his fly, yanking out his cock--a thick, dirty thing, unwashed and veined, easily nine inches even half-hard. He gripped it tight, jerking fast, his knuckles whitening as he stared at her, his breath hitching. "Goddamn, Megs--fuckin' unreal," he muttered, his hand pumping, the sound of skin on skin loud in the quiet street. Megan grinned wider, her confidence surging, and reached down, fingers sliding between her legs to strum her clit, slow circles that made her pussy glisten wetter, her other hand tugging the dress lower to free her nipple completely. She pinched it hard, rolling it between her fingers, her eyes locked on Tyrone's frantic stroking, urging him on.

He groaned, a guttural sound, his hips bucking as he jerked harder, his dick swelling, the tip beading with pre-cum. "Fuck, Megs--gimme somethin', please--mouth, pussy, hands, anything, I'm beggin' ya!" His voice cracked, desperate, his free hand clawing the air like he could grab her from five feet away.

Megan glanced at Carson, her fingers still working her clit, her nipple pink and stiff under her pinch. "Can he?" she asked, breathless, eager to push it further for the camera, for Ryan's fantasy.

Carson snorted, shaking his head, the phone steady in his grip. "Hell no--not touching you with that filthy thing, no telling what diseases he's hauling. But for Ryan, for the video-- Tyrone, you can cum in her mouth, few inches back, no contact. Make it quick."

Tyrone nodded fast, a manic grin splitting his face. "Fuck yeah, that's good--real good. Megs, talk dirty to me, beg for it--open that mouth wide, c'mon!" His hand flew faster, his cock twitching, the dirty length pulsing as he edged closer, staying just out of reach per Carson's rules.

Megan's pulse raced, the thrill of it all--Ryan's imagined moans, the camera's red eye, Tyrone's desperation--lighting her up. She spun to face him fully, dropping the bags with a clatter, and splayed her legs wide, one foot planting firm, the other lifting slightly to balance on its toes, her pussy spreading open, pink and slick under the light. Her fingers plunged deeper, two sliding inside now, pumping fast as her thumb rubbed her clit, her free hand kneading her tit, tugging the nipple hard. She locked eyes with Tyrone, her mouth dropping open, tongue lolling out, and let loose, her voice low and filthy, dripping with want. "C'mon, Tyrone, give it to me--shoot that big load right in my mouth, I need it, please, cum for me, I'm begging you--fill me up for Ryan, do it!" She rocked her hips, fingering herself obscene, her pussy squelching faintly, her tit bouncing as she pinched harder, her tongue curling out to beckon him.

Tyrone's groan turned feral, his hand a blur, his cock throbbing, veins bulging as he teetered on the edge. "Fuck, Megs--here it comes, take it, take it!" he rasped, stepping closer but keeping the gap, his tip inches from her lips. His hips jerked, and the first thick rope of cum shot out, splattering hot and heavy across her tongue, the salty tang hitting her taste buds as she held her mouth wide, eyes gleaming with triumph. She squeezed her eyes shut, savoring the moment, the heat of it sliding down her throat, her fingers plunging faster into her pussy, thumb grinding her clit as her hips rocked, chasing her own peak.

Before she could react, Tyrone's hand shot out, rough fingers tangling in her blonde waves, gripping tight as he yanked her forward. His cock--thick, dirty, still pulsing--shoved past her lips, sinking deep, the head lodging most of the way down her throat, his balls smacking against her chin with a soft thud. Her eyes stayed tight, no bulge of panic, no flicker of distress--just a low, muffled moan vibrating around him as he unloaded, hot spurts pumping straight down her gullet, bypassing her tongue entirely. Her body responded instantly, hips bucking wild against her hand, her orgasm crashing through her as she feverishly rubbed her clit, fingers slick and frantic, her free hand clawing at her nipple, pinching hard. She gyrated, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around her digits, cum dripping from her core as she rode the wave, lost in the heat of it, Tyrone's thrusts a rhythm she matched with her own.

Carson's jaw clenched, fury flashing in his eyes--"No contact, asshole," he'd said--but the scene unfolding was too damn good, too raw, too perfect for Ryan's twisted reel. He kept the phone steady, the red light blinking, capturing every second: Tyrone's cock buried in her throat, her lips stretched wide, her hips humping the air as she came, mascara-streaked cheeks glowing under the streetlamp. "Fuckin' idiot," he muttered under his breath, but he didn't stop it, the footage gold despite the breach. Tyrone groaned louder, pulling back an inch, then pumping back in, shallow thrusts as his orgasm tapered off, thick globs spilling down her throat, his balls twitching against her chin with each pulse. Megan's climax stretched, her moans humming around him, and as he started to soften, she grabbed his hips, pulling him back into her mouth, sucking hard to milk her own finish, her pussy spasming one last time before she shuddered, spent.

Tyrone staggered back as she released him, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, glistening with her spit, a thin string of cum dangling from the tip. He panted, grinning like a lunatic, zipping up his jeans with shaky hands. "Goddamn, Megs--fuckin' legend," he rasped, wiping sweat from his brow, oblivious to the storm brewing in Carson's stance.

Carson snapped the phone off, pocketing it fast, and stormed forward, his fist cocked before Tyrone could blink. "You deaf, motherfucker?" he barked, and swung--a single, brutal punch, knuckles cracking against Tyrone's jaw with a sickening thud. Tyrone's head snapped back, eyes rolling white, and he crumpled to the pavement, out cold, sprawled across the sidewalk like a discarded rag. Carson shook out his hand, flexing his fingers, then turned to Megan, his scowl softening as he took her in--cum-streaked face, dress askew, legs still trembling from her orgasm. He grabbed her arm gently, steadying her as she swayed, and hauled the shopping bags up with his other hand. "C'mon, Megs--inside," he said, voice gruff but warm, guiding her toward the building's chipped glass door.

She giggled, leaning into him, her heels clicking unevenly as they crossed the threshold into the dim lobby--flickering fluorescents, peeling paint, the faint hum of a TV leaking from upstairs. "Whoops--guess he got carried away," she said, her tone light, unfazed, the champagne and adrenaline keeping her buoyant. Carson smirked, punching the elevator button, the doors creaking open with a groan.

"Yeah, well, you handled it like a champ, just be sure to brush your teeth, like 3 times, to night, and again in the morning, for my sake," he said, ushering her in, the bags rustling as he set them at her feet. The elevator lurched upward, and he leaned against the wall, eyeing her with a mix of admiration and amusement. "Ryan's a lucky guy, Megs--seriously. That was some next-level shit out there. You're a natural."

Her grin widened, cum still glistening on her chin as she smoothed the dress, tugging it back over her nipple--though it slipped free again almost instantly. "Thanks, Carson! I hope he loves it--I tried so hard for him," she said, her voice earnest, eyes sparkling with pride. The elevator dinged, opening to Ryan's floor, and they shuffled out, her heels echoing down the narrow hall to his door--3B, its brass numbers tarnished but legible.

Carson handed her the bags, stacking them in her arms, the lingerie and heels peeking out from the top. "Here's your haul--earned every damn piece," he said, then fished his phone out, waving it slightly. "Thanks for everything tonight, Megs--fucking wild ride. I'll edit these videos, clean 'em up best I can, get 'em to you tomorrow. Gotta talk to Ryan first, square some shit up at work, but I'll see you soon, yeah?"

She nodded fast, balancing the load, her free hand brushing hair from her face, smearing the cum on her cheek a little more. "Totally! Thanks for the dinner, the clothes, everything! You're the best, Carson." She flashed a dazzling smile, fishing her keys from her work bag.

He chuckled, stepping back toward the elevator. "Anytime, kid--go get some rest. Or don't, your call." He winked, the doors sliding shut on his grin, leaving her alone in the hall, bags in tow, cum drying on her skin, and a night's worth of footage about to set Ryan's world ablaze.

Megan fixed her dress, and tucked her nipple away, then fumbled the key into the lock, the door creaking open to Ryan's dark apartment. Dropping the bags to the floor, she flicked on the light, relieved to see that Ryan is likely asleep because she can't keep her nipple from popping out of the dress.