The Position Pt. 02

The next morning, I wore my flats on the tube.

The Louboutins were in their box, wrapped and padded and tucked carefully inside my work tote like they were sleeping royalty. I couldn't risk scuffing them on the pavement. Not with what they cost. Not with what they meant. They were my office shoes, after all.

People didn't look at me the same. Not this morning. The coat - long, belted, cashmere - cinched my waist just right. The emerald green dress beneath it wasn't visible, but I could feel it, cool and slinky against my thighs, hugging the outline of my breasts, clinging like it wanted to be unwrapped.

I walked through the lobby like I'd been rehearsing all night. Like I hadn't come so hard the evening before that I had to yank my sheets off. The receptionist looked up and gave a polite smile. One of the interns gave me a once-over. He didn't recognise me. Good.

I pressed the elevator button with a steady hand. My heart wasn't steady. It was thudding in my throat, loud enough to feel behind my eyes. When I opened the door to his office, I still had my flats on. He was at his desk, phone to his ear. He nodded to invite me in, but kept talking.

I stood before him.

Slowly opened my tote.

Took out the shoes.

The moment I slipped off the flats and slid my foot into the first stiletto, I felt it all. His eyes. His approval. Still on the call, but watching, now. Taking in the arch of my foot, the curve of my calf, the slow, deliberate buckle of the strap. I did the second one just as slowly for him. I didn't want to look awkward. I wanted to be elegant.

Then I stood. Tall. Balanced. Dangerous. And I waited.

He hung up. The silence that followed was... exciting.

He leaned back in his chair. Took me in. From the heels up - bare legs, green silk clinging to the softest part of my thighs, the way the neckline dipped just enough to tease. The way my hair hung down.

He didn't smile. Just nodded once.

"Good," he said. "You understood."

My skin tingled.

He gestured to the desk beside his. "You'll work from here, when you need to."

I walked to it slowly, letting the heels click sharp against the floor. I could feel his eyes follow the movement of my hips. I sat. Crossed my legs. My thighs kissed just above the knee.

He stood.

Crossed the room in two quiet steps.

Placed a hand on the back of my chair. Leaned down - not touching, not yet.

"You're mine now, Ruby," he said softly.

I shivered.

"Let's get going."

He handed me a tablet inside a leather folio. No explanation - just a screen already glowing with notes, names, directives.

"Start with finance," he said. "Then legal. Then HR. Ask for exactly what's written. No changes, no apologies. If anyone doesn't understand who you are, you call me."

I blinked. "But what if..."

He raised an eyebrow. One look. One don't test me tilt of his head.

"Then deal with it, Ruby."

I realised then that I wasn't just going to be delivering memos and arranging his diary. I had something I didn't expect. I had authority. And I knew he only wanted to hear one thing.

"Yes, Mr Duncan." I said it and stood to leave. He didn't follow. Didn't offer support. Just turned back to his desk and left me to it.

I walked through the halls of that office like I didn't notice the way people looked at me - like they hadn't seen me yesterday in Primark shoes and a too-tight ponytail. They noticed me today. My heels bit into the floor with every step, sharp and rhythmic. The wrap dress shifted as I walked, whispering against my thighs. Every time I passed glass, I caught my own reflection and flinched. She didn't look like me. She looked dangerous.

At Finance, I delivered a request for a report - immediately, no summary. They moved. No questions.

At Legal, I passed along an instruction to review a clause Mr Duncan had flagged. The senior partner nodded like I'd grown a cock and a Rolex.

At HR, I was asked if I wanted a coffee. Me! I said yes. I didn't even drink coffee, but I sipped it anyway and tried to look composed. This was who I was now. They wanted to do things for me. To keep me happy. To keep US happy.

Back in the lift, alone, I felt the rush between my legs grow hot and thick.

They had listened to me.

Because I was his.

Not because I earned it. Not because I was qualified. But because he'd marked me. Elevated me. Picked me. The thought made me press my thighs together.

God, I was wet again. I wasn't just horny I was drunk on it. The power. The borrowed gravity of his name on my lips.

Every time I said "Mr Duncan would like-" something inside me twisted. It was like fucking him, in public, fully clothed. Like I was walking through the building with his cock inside me.

And everyone knew it.

At the end of the day, I returned to his office. The sky was darkening. The city had begun to glow, windows flickering like static across glass towers. I didn't knock. Just walked into his office like I belonged there. I already felt like I did.

He was behind his desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled. Forearms thick, veined, commanding. He looked up slowly, as though he'd been expecting me.

"Well?" he said.

I swallowed. "I did everything you asked."

"I know," he replied. "You were excellent." A beat. I could feel my chest rising, already too proud. "But you understand," he continued, standing slowly, "that the perks..." He walked around the desk. "... come with responsibilities."

He passed me. Walked to the doors. Clicked the lock. My heart thudded. He turned back. Stepped close, behind me. Not touching. Just imposing.

"Take off your dress." I blinked. "Now."

I had been waiting for this.

The command in his voice unzipped me more than the hidden clasp at my hip. My hands obeyed before my brain caught up. I peeled it off - slowly, breathlessly - until the silk pooled at my ankles.

Underneath: sheer black mesh bra. Chain-trimmed G-string. Louboutin heels. I stepped out of the dress and stood there, ankles apart, feeling the curve of my ass. I knew I was on display, and I wanted to make sure he saw something he'd enjoy.

His eyes travelled. And lingered.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Then his hands were on me - not rough, but firm. One slid around my waist, the other fisted gently in my hair. He walked me forward, step by step, until I felt the cold kiss of the window on my skin as he pressed me against it.

The glass was cool. His hands were hot. One palm flat between my shoulder blades. I gasped at the contact, my nipples grazing the window as my body arched reflexively. From this height, the city blinked beneath us. Down below I could see men and women leaving through the main entrance. They looked like ants.

"Look at them," he said, his voice a low heat in my ear. "All of them." The skyline blinked like a circuit board. "They'll all do what you tell them to," he whispered. "You speak with my voice now." His hand slid down my side, thumb brushing under the band of my bra. "You're in charge of everyone out there."

I moaned, softly.

"But in here..." He pushed his hips against mine, letting me feel the weight of him, the inevitability of what was coming. "I'm in charge of you." I nodded. A whimper caught in my throat. "Say it, Ruby."

"You're in charge of me, Mr Duncan." His hand slid down my stomach, between my legs. I gasped.

"Good girl," he said again. "Let's make sure you never forget that." He stepped back. Just far enough to let the air return between us. Just far enough that I felt its absence.

"On your knees," he said. I sank without thought. The carpet was thick beneath my palms, soft but humbling. My dress lay in a heap nearby, forgotten. My heels stayed on. I felt absurd and powerful and exposed. He walked a slow circle around me.

"Crawl," he said. My breath hitched.

"Where?" I asked, voice small, eyes lowered. He stopped behind me.

"Don't ask. Just do it." I crawled. Forward, toward his desk. My hips swayed naturally, the lace between my legs clinging wetly as I moved. I was aware of everything - how my arse must look tilted upward, how my heels shifted with every stretch of my calves, how my tits swayed inside the bra with each motion forward.

Behind me, I heard him breathe. I reached his desk. Paused. He didn't speak. So I kept going. Slowly turning, crawling back toward him. His trousers now at eye level. Thick fabric. Broad thighs. I imagined what he looked like hard. No, I knew. I'd pictured it last night with my fingers stuffed so deep in my cunt I thought I might scream.

He stepped in front of me.

"Look up."

I did.

His expression was unreadable. That same cool dominance, that same heavy silence that let me fill in the blanks with shame, with longing, with heat. His hand brushed my jaw, thumb slipping along my cheekbone like he was checking the quality of something he'd just acquired.

"You understand now, don't you?" he murmured.

"Yes, Mr Duncan," I whispered.

"Say it."

"I'm yours."

His smile was slow. Dark.

"Good girl." His hand paused at his zipper. The tension crackled in the space between us. Then, he softened. "You know you don't have to do this, Ruby." He didn't sound disappointed. He didn't sound eager. Just... assured. Like whatever I chose, it wouldn't change him. "You can walk away." His voice dropped lower. "Right now. No repercussions. No punishment. You'll still have the job. You'll still keep what you've earned so far."

My lips were already parted. I was practically hyperventilating. Bare. Exposed. The city lit up behind me like a witness, or maybe an accomplice. It was all I could do not to pull his trousers off with my teeth right there. He lowered his zipper, gradually.

"But if you stay. If you open your mouth and take what I give you," his thumb brushed my bottom lip, "Then you'll get everything you want." He smiled then, slow and devastating. "You won't just belong in this company. You'll run it."

I groaned at the thought. He reached into his trousers. His cock - so dark, so impossibly thick, veined and hard, wrapped in velvet skin - now inches from my lips. Still untouched. Still mine to accept... or deny.

My thighs trembled. My chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. He waited. Silent. Certain. He'd taken a naive ditz from Shoreditch and turned her into some kind of high-class office hooker in one day. I couldn't wait to see what he'd do with me next.

I looked up at him. And my mouth opened.

I thought I'd feel degraded. That there'd be something hollow in the act - giving in to a man who held all the power. But it wasn't like that. It was worse. I liked it. In that moment - NEEDED it.

I leaned forward and kissed the base of his cock with reverence. I wanted to be good for him. To show him I could do this. I'd sucked cocks before, of course, but now... now I was performing fellatio. He was already half-hard, thick and heavy and perfect. I let my lips close, dragging them slowly up his shaft. I could feel the blood surging beneath his skin. I tasted the salt of him, and it was like tasting control - his control.

He was watching me. Not with lust. With calculation. Like he wanted to see what kind of thing I was. Whether I was worth building. Or just another hole. I moaned around the head of his cock. Not for his benefit, but because I couldn't not. My tongue licked the slit, greedy, eager, dizzy with the smell and taste of him. My hands cupped his balls instinctively, cradling them like I'd always known how.

And he still hadn't said a word.

His fingers slid into my hair. Not yanking. Just claiming. Guiding. I let him. God, I let him.

When he pushed deeper, I opened wider. I gagged once. And didn't stop. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. My throat stretched. My mascara smudged. But I felt beautiful. Sexy. I was feeding on him like he was oxygen. I was his asset. His assistant. His fucking property. And every inch I took in made me more real in his eyes. More useful. More his.

He was so big. So Black. That word hit different down here. I'd never said it out loud during sex. Never thought I would. But now, on my knees, staring up at him with his cock resting wet and heavy against my tongue, it echoed in my skull like a dirty little drumbeat. You're sucking a Black man's cock, Ruby.

He wasn't just a man. He was my boss. My better. My fucking owner. And the fact that he was Black - that he'd caught me out for being a dumb little privileged white girl just a day earlier. God, it made it worse. Better. Dirtier. I'd grown up pretending not to see it. Pretending I didn't notice. Pretending everyone was the same, while secretly keeping myself clean, safe, white.

And now here I was, spit and tears streaming down my face, mascara fucked, dress on the floor, taking him as deep as I could - because I wanted him to break me. I wanted to be that girl. His girl. The one who gave up all her rules. Who forgot how to talk unless he told her what to say.

Who came thinking about his voice, his grip, his skin against hers. He didn't moan. Of course not. He grunted once, deep in his chest, when I forced my nose flush against his abdomen. He smelled like sweat and cologne and sin.

And then I felt him swell.

I knew what was coming, and I wanted it.

I didn't care what anyone thought. I almost wanted them to know. He picked me. He chose me. And now I was kneeling for a Black man who owned my body, my future, my fucking name.

I pulled back just enough to look up at him - lips stretched around the head of his cock, spit and lipstick and desperation smeared across my chin - and I knew what would make it good for him.

"Please, Mr. Duncan." I said, in my most professional, most innocent voice.

He came like he meant it. Hot. Violent. Endless. I caught the first spray in my mouth then put him back in my throat. I swallowed all of it. Didn't flinch. Didn't spill. I wanted him to see me take it. To see me choose this.

And when it was over, I sat back on my heels. Wiped my mouth. Looked up at him again.

Not for approval - for instruction.

He zipped his trousers slowly. Adjusted his cuffs. No rush. No praise. Just that maddening, effortless control.

I was still on my knees. Still flushed. Still catching my breath with his taste on my tongue and my cunt pulsing like it had been edged by the sound of his voice alone. He looked down at me - unmoved, unreadable.

Then he said:

"Now we can really begin."