Chapter Text
Seated in the stiff chair in the hallway outside your boss’s office grimly reminds you of being in trouble with the principal, your stomach twisted in knots as your brain runs through all the possible outcomes of this meeting. Nerves claw through your body, causing your leg to bounce and arms to cross, and if this wasn’t so important you would’ve ditched the scene fifteen minutes ago. You didn’t have a choice. It was time for your yearly performance evaluation, and even more importantly you had finally worked up the nerve to make some demands.
Not that you want to, but there’s no way around it. Your landlord bumped up your rent, and your current salary just isn’t enough to pay the bills. As much as you hate being in the same room as The Boss, you’d hate not having somewhere to sleep even more.
You almost jump out of your seat when the door to his office opens, your attractive coworker walking out looking pleased as punch. You can see your boss’ large hand on the doorknob as he congratulates her again and anger slowly rises up in you just from being in his presence. A small voice in the back of your head tells you that you’re jealous of the coworker, but you stamp it down. You hate this man, jealousy? Pffft. No way. Absolutely not. He pops his head out to see who else is left, and his eyes land on where you're sitting alone. You swear his eyes shine when they land on you, and it makes you sick. You stand, wondering how a person can be as positive as him without going crazy. It's sickening.
Your boss waves a hand into his office, holding the door open for you until you walk in. "Last review of the day! I'll try and make it quick. Don't wanna waste any more of your time than necessary." he says chipperly, either ignoring your tense mood or he's just too stupid to pick up on it. You take a seat as the door clicks shut, sealing you to your fate. He whistles as he makes his way around his desk, his chair creaking under him when he sits. You stay quiet as he rifles through stacks of paper, a smile spreading across his face when he finds yours. "Here we are... Oh. Oh, that's... Hm..." he says as he scans the paper, your heart dropping to your stomach when he frowns. You thought you did great this year, what the hell could have Captain Positivity looking so forlorn? You listen closely when he speaks again.
"I hate to say this, but your report... Looks great! You did a wonderful job this year. It's too early for award ceremonies, but between you and me, if we had one coming up? You'd be Employee Of The Year." He winks to you at the end and once the shock wears off, all you can feel is anger. Anger at the situation, anger at the fact your boss is a fucking imbecile, and anger at the fact that you'll have to bargain with this absolute clown. You give a half-hearted polite chuckle and Mr. Afton looks pleased with himself, fixing his glasses as he reads through the rest of your review.
"Honestly, this all looks great. You have rave reviews from customers and staff, perfect attendance, great attitude, you're a star employee. So, I don't wanna keep my best employee longer than I need to. Do you have any questions?"
He watches you expectantly, and saint that you are, you give him a couple of seconds to say 'Psyche!". He never does. He sits there, giving you that same dopey smile like he's patiently waiting for you to bow down and thank him for his overflowing charity. It's infuriating. If you're that good of an employee, why the hell isn't he handing you a promotion? Whatever. Fine, if that's how this idiot wants to play it. You'll just have to do this the hard way.
"Actually, I do have a question. About my pay. " He has the audacity to look confused for a moment, but he nods, urging you to continue. Prick. You take a breath and continue. "I believe as one of the most valuable workers in this establishment, my pay should reflect that."
"A pay raise? I'm sorry, but you're already being paid all that we can afford. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
So he wants to play dumb. You expected this. Time for Phase 2. Play confident.
“With all due respect, sir, I’m the most competent worker you have.” His eyebrows raise at that, amused. A silent 'Oh, really?' that makes you hate him ten times more. You double down. “If a pay raise won’t work, I want a promotion. Preferably, the head of a department.”
“Really, head? I’m not sure I can swing that.” Mr. Afton rubs a hand through his beard as he leans back, the old chair squeaking a bit from the new weight distribution. He looks you up and down and up again, his eyes meeting yours in a way that makes you uncomfortable and tense. You thought this would be easy, but the mild-mannered superior you're used to is slowly disappearing. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I can't help you. My hands are tied."
You really needed the money. He's left you no choice. Pride be damned, time for Phase 3. You have to beg. You put on your best pathetic pout and dive into the sympathy pool head first.
"Sir, I can't afford rent anymore. If I don't get this pay raise, I'll lose my home." You're not on your knees yet, but with the tone you've pulled from your soul, you might as well be.
"I'm sorry, I can't-"
“Please, sir, I’ll do anything.” you simper, rage boiling deep in your gut at the humiliating show you're putting on. Even worse is the fact that as soon as it's out of your mouth he perks up, an eyebrow raising.
“...Anything?”
That's unsettling as hell. But what choice do you have? You nod, putting on your best abandoned orphan pout as you look up at him with big, stupid doe-eyes. “Anything, sir.”
One more appraising look over your body and he spreads his legs subtly, one large hand falling to his inner thigh. "Well... I think I'd need to see your head skills firsthand before I can give you the position."
What the fuck? What the fuck?
Internally, you're shocked your jaw doesn't drop. Has your boss been replaced? This can't be the same guy who helped a little girl find her puppy, and who once drove for half an hour in the middle of a party to buy something vegetarian for one of his workers. The man in front of you was an imposter, a manipulative creep in your boss' skin.
Honestly?
You kinda dig it. Freud would have a field day with you.
To the disappointment of psychologists everywhere you slowly slip out of your chair, trying to do it in a way that makes you seem like a sexy nymph. Unlike reality, which is more like a sweaty minimum-wage worker who's about to sleep with your much older boss for a couple of pity bucks. What has your life come to? You're so lost in self-deprecation that you almost don't notice Mr. Afton shaking his head, but you freeze. You felt like a deer in the headlights, staring death in the face as he scrutinizes you. Fuck. Did you just humiliate yourself for nothing? A wry grin slips onto his face before he speaks.
"Crawl."
Damn him. Damn him to the fiery pits of hell where he belongs. You want to disobey, but if all that stands between you and a pay raise is your morals... Well, you're taking the cash every time. You fall to your knees, grimacing when your hands touch the floor. You feel disgusting as you crawl around the desk and in between his legs, not helped by the fact he's leering down at you like you're a piece of meat. His slacks are doing nothing to hide his arousal, his cock straining against the fabric. Mr. Afton uses one of those big hands to flick the button open, unzipping the slacks and slowly pulling his hard cock from its confines. He uses his hand to maneuver the head to your mouth, and you barely have time to open your mouth before he sinks it halfway in. He chuckles as your eyes water and you gag around him. "Poor thing. I figured you wanted it over fast. You want me to be more gentle?" You try to nod but he squeezes your cheeks with one hand, holding you in place as he shallowly thrusts into your mouth.
"I can't promise, but if you keep bein' good for me I'll try my hardest, sweet thing."
The atrocious pet name wakes your mind back up and you remember where you are. You hate this guy! How could you let him have the upper hand like this? If this is gonna happen, it's gonna happen your way. You look up at him with half-lidded 'fuck me' eyes before sinking down further onto his cock, sticking your tongue out to run further underneath it. He groans, leaning his head back and exposing his throat as you work him over. Checkmate, asshole. You use every trick you know, swirling your tongue around the head when you pull back, suctioning your lips around his shaft when you go back down, squeezing your throat around him right before he goes too deep. You want to ruin blowjobs for him forever, and apparently, you've succeeded. He grabs you by the hair and rips you off of him with a grunt. He takes a moment to collect himself and you smirk up at him from the floor, ignoring the ache in your jaw. What's the worst that could happen if you stoke the flames a bit?
"What... can't take it? Need a break, old man?" You quip, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand without breaking eye contact. He has a strange look in his eyes, and he takes just long enough to respond that it unnerves you. You're about to ask if he needs to pop another Viagra before Mr. Afton suddenly drags you to your feet by the back of your shirt, turning you around, and pushing your chest onto the desk. You can't even ask what's he doing before a loud crack echoes around the office. The searing pain of his hand hitting your ass has you biting down a cry. The only break you get is him ripping your slacks down to your knees before he hits you over and over and over and over and over until you're sobbing and begging him for mercy. Not begging him to stop though. Fuck, if you'd known he could be this cruel you would've asked for a raise months ago. There's something deeply wrong with you, but you can't get enough. He slowly rubs his hand over the inflamed skin and you pant against the desk. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're being sexually defiled on top of everyone's reports, but neither of you cares enough to fix it. He flips you onto your back and you hiss as your irritated ass supports your weight on the wood. He pulls your pants to your ankles before slithering in between your legs, kissing from your knee to your inner thigh, back to the inside of your knee, teasing you until you have to beg for him to put his mouth where you really want it. And you will. You will beg.
You'll beg over and over, and you'll get a better-paying position, one where he can see you even more often.
With you as a technician hidden in the back, he'll get to hear your pretty begging however and whenever he wants.