The late-morning sun pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp, accusatory lines across his desk. Derrick, tall and broad-shouldered, reclined in his leather chair, draped in a bespoke navy suit. His deep mahogany skin contrasted sharply against the crisp white of his shirt while his fingers drummed a restless rhythm across the desk. Sometimes, those fingers stroked his beard, a subtle gesture betraying his unease.

Friday night was playing in his head on a loop—Vanessa’s shocked face, the frantic rustling of clothes, and Emma’s mortified gasp after taking his cock out of her mouth. It was all very unexpected. Not his cock in Emma’s mouth. That had been a frequent occurrence for months. Vanessa showing up at his office? That was shocking.

His gaze shifted to his phone, where security footage from his home played out like a poorly scripted reality show. The first phase of damage control was underway—dozens of crimson roses being arranged at the front door by a florist who looked as disinterested as he felt. Jewelry and gifts would follow—he had gone all out as usual. The extravagance was less an apology and more a transaction, hoping to buy Vanessa's forgiveness. And not for the first time.

A knock at the door pulled him back. It was Emma again—blonde, young, and impeccably put together. The catalyst of his current mess.

"Mr. Jameson, the board meeting," she said.

Her voice a careful blend of professionalism and lingering tension.

He nodded, rising with a practiced nonchalance. As he passed her, the air seemed to crackle between them, but he had no time for that now.

The boardroom was a symphony of monotony. Discussions on quarterly earnings and marketing strategies droning on like a broken record. His mind, though, was on another broken track, replaying his indiscretions and calculating the odds of his wife’s forgiveness. This wasn’t the first time he had wandered off, nor was it the first time he had attempted to patch things up with expensive gestures. He could think of four other occasions off the top of his head. Or was it five?

Whenever he could, he checked his phone. Phase 2 had arrived, a dozen or so shopping bags dropped off at his house. That would be the clothes and jewelry. The door opened and the deliverymen carted everything inside.

Maybe it’s working…

It better, because Vanessa was muted and subdued. On previous occasions, there was fire. Hell to pay with screams and shrieks and countless shattered objects. This time, it was like she was doused in cold water. A different reaction, perhaps indicating a different course of action to come.

Should I get a lawyer?

And that itself could be hell. Clothes and jewelry were hardly an expense worth fretting about considering the worst that may be in store.

When the meeting finally adjourned, he made his way back to his office. Emma informed him that Sharlene was waiting.

Great. More in the way of torture.

Inside, he found a young woman, the next big talent the label was banking on. She was looking at his shelves crowded with memorabilia until he called her.

"Sharlene! Best kinda surprise for the morning."

She turned and he took it all in.

"I sure hope so, Derrick," she replied.

She was irresistible from head to toe, her long, dark curls cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes held a smoldering intensity, while her high cheekbones and sculpted nose added to the symmetry of her features. Her full lips, painted a luscious shade, parted slightly in a knowing smile, knowing that she was the most coveted prize in the world right now. A vibrant yellow dress clung to her curves with grace, its daringly deep neckline held together by a series of small buttons. Layered necklaces rested gently against her chest and rings sparkled brightly on her fingers, adding a touch of bohemian elegance.

On another day, Derrick would have brought out his inner Casanova, and his cock was begging him to. Not today.

Their conversation was supposed to focus on her future with the label. He had a billion dollars sitting in front of him. The rare find that appeals to teen girls in braces wishing for their first kiss and menopausal women in search of a second start. Her lyrics were embraced by everyone, a purity that translated across all ages. Outside of her music, though, she sung a different tune.

That’s where Derrick’s thoughts lingered. Mostly on what was underneath the woman’s yellow dress. He was primitive that way, a caged bull waiting to be let loose. On his rise to the office of CEO, many a woman had entertained those instincts. It was mostly transactional for them, but that didn’t stop them from relishing what he had between his legs: a beastly symbol of raw power and uncompromising masculinity.

Sharlene had already secured her financial fortune. Presumably, she was after the latter.

He found it hard to remain focused amidst her efforts. He dialed back the charm, maintaining a facade of professionalism. He glanced at his phone a few times to express his disinterest more prominently, catching the sight of phrase 3.

The masseur had arrived. Vanessa loved her spa visits, so he thought he’d give it to her right at home.

A young man, who looked like he was plucked from a surfing community, rolled out a massage table from his van, his light blonde locks bouncing on his shoulders every now and then.

Save me now, kid.

More like wishful thinking without much belief. Derrick thought he looked like someone shuttling between jobs. A lifeguard on the weekends and a masseur during the week, perhaps moonlighting as a bartender when the night comes around. Hardly seemed old enough to be a professional. The only thing that seemed as it should was the white collared t-shirt and equally white pants. Exactly as it would be in a movie.

"Derrick? Would that work?" she asked.

"Uh, oh, yes. That’d be perfect," he mumbled, as if just waking up.

"Ummm, ok."

He got up to go for a hug but she was already on her way to the door. No matter. Vanessa was more important.

His eyes were back on the phone. No sight of the kid at the entrance. He switched to the camera overlooking the patio, fixed atop the back door. The wooden table and furniture remained to the right, as it was in the morning when he had his coffee outdoors. To the left, an open-air fireplace. Nothing in the middle. Beyond that, a small glimpse of the manicured garden and water fountain.

The kid emerged, dragging his table. He looked around for a suitable spot and decided on the very center of the patio. Plenty of space there after all.

Then, Vanessa came through the door wrapped in a towel, her hair a mass of untamed curls, her breasts ready to spill out, and revealing as much of her chocolate brown skin as she could. Even on that small screen on the phone, he could see it, and so could the kid. He seemed transfixed for a long few seconds.

She lay down on the table and adjusted herself, the man shifted the towel accordingly before getting to work, hands moving methodically over his wife’s back. Over and over and over.

Alright then.

He didn’t need to see anymore and decided to have lunch at an Italian restaurant. A few others from the top brass joined him. The place held memories of another tryst with his secretary, far off in the dimly lit corner booth. With the guys, though, he decided to sit some place where the lights were bright.

———

Lunch was louder than the board meeting but equally as ineffective. His worries weren’t silenced. Between the pasta and wine and laughs, nothing was accomplished. So, he checked his phone again.

Vanessa was still on the table and the kid’s hands were creeping dangerously low. The towel was draped just below the curve of her lower back, skirting the line where her spine met the soft swell of her hips. Derrick zoomed in. Its edge rested tantalizingly close to the crease, revealing just enough to tease the boundary of modesty while leaving the rest to his mind’s eye. She was glistening, too, with enough oil to cover her arms and legs and back. The kid had been at it for a while.

He put his phone away.

———

At the office, more dreariness. Another tepid "welcome back" from Emma and a cursory update of all the calls that came in. Some newcomers from Dallas looking to get more radio airplay, a cohort from Seattle trying to revive Alternative, and the latest numbers from Streaming. The reports may have woken him up on another day. Today, it was just noise.

Inside the office, he collapsed into his chair, following it with one giant inhale and exhale. His eyes closed for a few seconds, which then turned into minutes. By the time he opened them again, he was onto his phone for the nth time.

The towel was hardly there, just covering the left side of his wife’s rear. On the other, the kid's fingers kneaded into the soft flesh, each motion deliberate and slow. Sometimes, they’d travel all the way down her leg to her sole and then back up again, a rhythmic motion that danced across her skin.

Did her toes curl?

Soon, it was the other side, as the kid shifted the towel over to the right. Rinse and repeat. His wife was going deeper into a tensionless state. Him? In the opposite direction.

He tried to sift through the files on his desk, reading them and making a few calls to get back on track. He could finalize the concert dates and locations for Sharlene’s upcoming tour.

That’s right. That’ll occupy me.

Sixteen cities in North America. Starting in Miami and ending in Los Angeles. In between, there was New York, Philadelphia, Dallas, and Nashville.

Nashville.

He loved being there. Without fail, there was always a fun time with a snow bunny or two. They loved his type and he loved theirs. The Dixie Chick kind with a bit of the rebel in them, willing to try something new—strong, confident, and Black. During his last visit, he remembered checking on one of his artists’ concerts, making sure the lad received the VIP treatment. He was rolling the red carpet for the country crooner all week, in person and across the company’s media platforms. The VIP treatment extended to the man’s wife, with Derrick taking good care of her in a closet while the man was on stage.

Those times would have to wait.

He went into his pocket again and out came the phone. Vanessa had turned over, and the masseur was working on her arms, his fingers gliding gently up and down across the skin. She spoke to him, at length, and he nodded. This was followed by an eyebrow-raiser. He slipped her towel away so that it only covered her sex.

Hold on.

The kid grabbed a bottle from nearby and squeezed it all over Vanessa's body, lathering her in oil. Next, he was massaging her torso and stomach, daring to get closer to her bush. Vanessa loved a small patch of garden, neatly trimmed. It was peeking from under the towel, just enough. He noticed the kid’s hands travel up again and graze her breasts, forcing his wife to open her eyes momentarily before resting shut again. The hands stayed there, doing their best to cup the ample size. This was not an accident.

No…

Derrick grasped at his collar, fingers tugging at his tie knot. The fabric resisted for a moment before giving way. He could feel the heat rising in him, the sweating clinging to his neck and his forehead.

The kid moved to the head of the table, his crotch pressed against his wife’s hair, his hands kneading her breasts while the thumbs circled her tits. Her body seemed to welcome the extra attention. Her legs were fidgeting a little, then swaying gently to and fro, and that was when her right hand slid underneath the towel.

This fucker’s getting it from me!

Derrick sprang to his feet and rushed to the door, only to have it opened in his face.

"We have a problem. It’s Sharlene." It was Emma, getting right into his face.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK" he yelled.

Emma recoiled. She hadn’t seen this side of him before. He let out one giant exhale to regain himself.

"What is it?"

"Looks like your meeting in the morning riled her up. Your “disinterest” rather," she responded.

"Fuck me… I’ll handle it. Where’s she?"

"Down in the studio."

And there he went. Derrick dismissed everyone from the enclosure, leaving just him, his coveted star, and her bruised ego.

"Thought ya had something else to deal with," she snarled.

"I did, and now it’s done. Let’s talk about you," he said, his voice trying to be a flowing river extinguishing the flames.

"That’s what it was supposed to be earlier."

"Well, it was."

"And how’s you being on the phone supposed to be that?" she shot back.

"Just finalizing a few deets that’ll help you out."

"And that would be?"

He paused. How quickly could he come up with a lie?

"Think a bigger tour, a longer tour, and one that takes you all around the world. Not just America."

At that, she perked up and her defenses stood down.

"There’s more for now, too, of course," he whispered in her left ear.

"The more" was Derrick indulging his primal ways for a good fifteen minutes, with Sharlene on top while he thrust away from underneath. He was like a mechanical bull trying to rid itself of its rider, and that only happened after he made her gush twice. Once the ride was over, the carpet beneath was drenched. And when Derrick pulled out, his cock was the same, giving it a polish and shine under the studio lights, still nodding its head in approval and ready to give it another go.

Just like Nashville, that would have to wait. Sharlene needed some R&R and Derrick’s mind was with Vanessa. He helped the young woman dress up, gave her a peck on the cheek while grabbing a handful of her ass, and left for his office. Right outside his door, Emma did her best to not notice him.

Inside, he could finally get back to dealing with his wife.

Phone out again, he switched to the patio camera, hoping that what he’d seen earlier was a mistake, his mind playing tricks on him after a string of sleepless nights.

There was no mistake. Only a confirmation with more damning footage.

The kid had his back to the camera, his pants pulled down to his ankles. In front of him? The massage table with Vanessa on it, completely naked, the towel cast aside on the floor. She wasn’t lying on her back anymore, but turned to one side, facing the camera, her left hand playing with herself while the right held the kid’s leg for support.

Her face remained hidden, covered conveniently by the fellow's bare ass. Even on that tiny screen in his palm, Derrick could see the details plainly, as the kid swung back and forth ever so lightly.

The trophy cabinet that Sharlene looked through earlier that morning took the bulk of his wrath. It created enough of a ruckus to bring Emma into the room. Yet before she could grasp the situation, Derrick stormed out, frenzied and blinded by rage. A blur clouded most of the next hour, as he went from the parking lot, through packed roads and highways, until he pulled up at his home.

The van was gone. Just inside his front door, pushed to the side, were all the bags of apologies he had sent earlier in the day. He rushed to the patio. No sign there, either. The massage table and the discarded towel, all gone. The only trace of evidence was the pungent scent of oils choking his nostrils. Otherwise, he couldn’t tell if anything had ever happened right where he stood.

Back in the house, he scoured every room on the ground floor, ready to catch his wife’s brazen act. Zilch.

I’m going to rip his dick off.

No sign of them anywhere downstairs. How could they be? No van meant no surfer boy. Still, it nagged him. A thought, a picture, a nightmare, playing throughout his brain in flashes. Vanessa naked on their bed, covered in oil and sweat and another man’s cum. He looked up the staircase.

She wouldn’t dare.

That would be worse for Derrick. That’s where the master bedroom was, and to think that a twenty-year-old kid rammed into his wife right where he sleeps? He couldn't have that.

Two steps at a time, he ascended. As he took a turn at the top, he found Vanessa, reading a book on a plush chaise lounge, draped in a flowing silk robe and nothing else. The glisten had been wiped off her skin, but now, it glowed in the warm hues of the setting sun. A sight of peace, accentuated by the softness of all her features. All of that against the chaos he had brought.

"Thank you for the gifts. They were...nice," she said, nonchalantly.

He didn’t respond, just walked up to her and hovered right above her with gritted teeth.

I could strangle you right now.

"Have you been good today?" she asked.

"What?"

It caught him off guard. He was expecting something else. A confession, an apology, or a simple “fuck you.”

Have I been good today???

She continued to surprise him as she felt the outline of his cock pressing against his trousers. Big, but limp. Sharlene had made sure of that.

"He looks tired," she mourned.

Derrick took a few steps back.

"That’s alright. I’m tired, too," she said understandingly.

And that was it. She went back to her book. Flipped a page and started reading.

Derrick? Stood planted a little longer and then retreated to the master bedroom. It looked unchanged from when he was there in the morning. He scanned the bed. Still perfectly made, not a single crease out of place. No sight of strewn clothes or the smell of scented oils. Everything appeared intact and unspoiled. At least that day, if not for the days to come.

That’s the thing with appearances. Everything can seem standard-issue on the surface. Underneath? Not so much.

Sharlene? A new star on the rise, singing of love and innocence to thousands on stage while taking a dick or two every other day.

Vanessa? A dutiful wife demanding the same of her husband, only to give up and reciprocate his own transgressions.

Derrick? An alpha in every possible sense of the word, whether in the boardroom or the bedroom. After this day, though, a new reality was setting in. A different persona wrapping its way around his mind and placing a crown of horns atop his head, one pushing him down to a place of lower standing.