“Fuck!” Mr. Callahan’s raised voice can be heard through the closed door, accompanied by a heavy fist landing on the desk. “Fuck!” Even louder this time.

I tense. Something has gone very wrong during the conference call he’s just had. It’s late. No one is left at the office but the two of us. We’ve been waiting for the Japanese to call.

I chance his temper by opening the door, peeking in. Mr. Callahan sits, hands fisted in his hair, head down. His suit jacket is haphazardly thrown to the side. His posture speaks of defeat and withheld anger.

He looks up when he hears me entering. “I need you, Miss Steel.” There’s a desperation in his voice that I’ve never heard before. I come closer, circle the table and stop in front of him. He pulls me closer to stand between his legs embracing me, burrowing his face into my abdomen.

“Five fucking months of preparation, only to be informed that we were never their first choice and that they have secretly been negotiating with fucking McGregor.”

I wince. McGregor Enterprises is our biggest competitor, and I know that losing the deal to them must have stung even more than the lost deal itself.

I stroke his hair as he rubs his face against me breathing deep. I can feel the turmoil in him and I desperately want to soothe him.

“Sir, anything I can do to ease your unrest?”

He looks up, his eyes turbulent. “You don’t know what you are offering. My control is thin, I don’t know if I can hold back.”

“I don’t want you to hold back.”

He inhales sharply, and I see something shifting in him before his demeanor changes. Gone is the successful, respectable businessman. In front of me now is a feral creature, a beast of a man.

My heart beats a little faster, in equal parts fear and excitement. I’ve been wanting to see this part of him, longing for it. But imagining it and experiencing it for real are two different things. I’m nervous. What if I don’t have what it takes to handle him this way. However, I want to, so desperately want to make him proud of me. Moreover, sensing this energy in him arouses me beyond belief. My insides shiver and my sex is clenching.

He points to the floor. “Kneel!” The one word is filled with command. His gaze is ominous, foreboding, telling of things to come.

Quickly I obey, dropping to my knees in front of him, quietly looking up at him. It scares me somewhat, not knowing what to expect from him. My hands twitch nervously in my lap.

“Stop that,” he sneers, indicating my hands.

I immediately still them, pushing my palms against my trembling thighs.

“That’s better,” he says in a hushed tone, stroking my hair, as if I’m a dog that has just learned a trick.

The movement is strangely soothing to me, making me relax, exhaling the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I trust him not to hurt me. In that moment I decide to give myself over to him completely and calm replaces the nervous twittering anxiety in my chest.

Mr. Callahan notices the shift in me and pulls me closer, making me rest my head on his thigh, stroking my hair with one hand. The other hand is unzipping his pants. His intentions are clear, he wants me to use my mouth on him.

I am elated to serve him this way, giving him pleasure, helping him release the pent up tension, giving myself joy by pleasing him.

His cock is gorgeous, rock-hard, with glistening pre-cum leaking from the tip. The way it protrudes out of his otherwise fully clothed lap is spellbinding. I look up at him, the devotion I feel shining from my eyes.

His features are stormy, eyes dark, jaw set. A growl rumbles deep in his throat as he looks down on me. He says one single word, with admiration and scorn all at once, “Slut!”

My breath hitches and my pussy clenches, adding wetness to my already moist panties. How can one word, said like that, make me feel so wanton?

Mr. Callahan grabs my head, hair in a fist, steering it towards the erection he is holding in his other hand. I open to him, moaning when I feel that first touch of his heated flesh against my lips. When the taste of him hits my tongue I hum in delight around him, the vibration traveling along his shaft. He groans and grabs my head harder.

This time is different. There is no gentleness. His hands guide my head up and down his stiff rod, setting a quick pace. It’s almost as if he's using my mouth to jerk off. But instead of being affronted by this, I am astonishingly turned on. My cunt is gushing fluid, soaking my panties. I desperately want to touch myself, but know better than to do that without being instructed to.

For every time I go down on his cock he pushes me down further, until I’m all the way down, forced to take his cock in my throat. It makes me gag. I’ve never experienced that before, and it scares me a bit.

I don’t want to disappoint him. I take it all, panting, blubbering, making a mess of myself and his lap. Suddenly he stops, yanking my head back, looking down on me with pride shining from his eyes.

With my face between his hands he pulls me up to meet him halfway. “Such a good girl,” he says, crushing his lips to mine. He kisses me hard, with ferocious hunger, not caring about my messy face.

The kiss stops as abruptly as it started. He stares at me with a wicked expression. “You want more, slut?” he asks.

“Yes please Sir,” is my breathy response.

I’m once more pushed down onto his throbbing dick, my head held in place while he works his hips, fucking my mouth with quick short strokes. I keep my mouth open to him, doing my best to ignore my gagging reflex. But when he pushes me down even further than before, holding me there, it’s too much for me. I try to pull away. He only holds me harder, slapping my face with one hand.

“Fucking slut, take it all!”

My cheek stings but not too bad. It’s the not breathing that has me panicking. I look up at him and what I see there; the passion and pleasure, the pride he has for me, awakens an ever more deep-seated need to please him. I push beyond the fear, making myself relax and try my best to do everything he demands of me. That is when he releases me, letting me draw a deep breath filling my lungs with oxygen.

“Such a good horny slut,” he croons, making me feel elated.

I beam up at him, glorying in his praise.

Mr. Callahan pulls my head away from his lap by the hair he has fisted. He stands, looming over me. Taking his cock in the other hand, he drags it along my face smearing my skin with a mixture of saliva and pre-cum.

Then he aims for my mouth again. I open to take him but he holds me back by the hair.

“Such a cock hungry whore,” he chuckles and smacks his cock across my face. “You want my cock that badly, whore?”

He is taunting me with it, several times getting it close to my lips but holding me back by the hair. He is telling me to beg for it, slapping it repeatedly across my face. It makes me wild with want. I try to push forward to get another taste of him, but only end up having my hair pulled harder.

“Please Sir, let me have your cock in my mouth again.”

At that he snickers, slaps my face once more before letting me have my price; his hard steel filling my mouth. I groan when he starts moving his hips. I don’t know what it is with him using me like this, but it has me losing all my wits, only leaving a carnal creature wanting to service her master.

He pushes himself deep again, grinding his hips when he’s far down my throat. Although his actions have me gagging and tears streaming down my face, I’ve never felt more beautiful and cherished. He chose me for this, chose me for relieving tension, to use this way, and that makes me incredibly happy. I look up on him trying to convey this feeling while he fucks my face roughly.

Something of what I’m feeling must have come across because the look on his face changes. A short moment of surprise, quickly replaced by feral greed. I’m pulled up to stand in front of him.

He stalks around me, grunting and growling, like a predatory beast appraising his prey. With one quick movement he rips my shirt open, the buttons flying everywhere. It’s pushed off my shoulders and yanked down my arms. Instead of taking it off, Mr. Callahan uses it to tie my hands together behind my back.

He likes me that way. I can tell by his satisfactory grin. He touches my exposed lace bra, grabbing at my breasts through the fabric, frowning at the material in the way of my flesh.

Reaching behind me he takes something from the desk. My eyes widen when I see the object in his hand, a pair of scissors. I open my mouth to protest, but a finger over my lips stops me from speaking. I hold my tongue while he slowly drags the pointed metal tip across my skin. I’m not scared exactly, but apprehensive to what he’ll do next.

I get my answer when he cuts my bra straps, pulling away the material from my tits. He fills his hands with my breasts, mauling them. Leaning down he takes a nipple in his mouth, suckling it, making it stiffen, before biting it.

I gasp, arching my back, pushing my breast towards him. He sucks, and bites, and pinches, leaving marks, hickeys and indentation of teeth, his brands on my skin. I groan at the thought of knowing they will be with me for days reminding me of his handling of me.

He admires his work on my breast, giving them a sharp slap each, seeing them redden from his administration. That seems to make him satisfied because he moves on, raising the hem of my skirt with the scissors. My panties come to the same fate as my bra, the pieces of them joining the lacy fabric already on the floor.

Mr. Callahan is still fully clothed, only his hard manhood protruding from his open zipper. He doesn’t appear to be planning to undress, his cock the only piece of his flesh that needs to be uncovered for what he has planned for me.

I’m manhandled in to position, a hand at the back of my neck pressing me down over the desk, his feet kicking mine apart. Without preamble he enters me. One quick thrust followed by hard fast strokes. He fucks me savagely, like a man possessed.

“You’re nothing but my dirty little whore, ready to get her fuck-holes destroyed by me, aren’t you?”

I can only moan in response, all my focus on the sensation of him filling me, of the ache of my arms bending backwards, of the hard wood of the desk pressed against my skin.

“You’re so fucking wet, you cunt. You love being my fuck-toy don’t you, love being nothing but my cum-rag to use and abuse at will.”

He slaps my ass repeatedly, making it sting. The pain adds to my already building sensory overload, all of it feeding my arousal.

“Say it, whore! Say it!” He yanks me up by the hair hissing in my ear, “I want to hear you say it, you fucking slut. Tell me how much you love it.” His hips never slow their tempo. He is brutally driving in to me, pounding my pussy.

“Yes I love it, to be nothing but your fuck-holes, your fuck-toy, Sir,” I howl.

Mr. Callahan lets go of my hair, and I drop down to the desk again. For a moment he pauses, not pulling out, but just keeps still. I try to turn my head to see what is going on, but his hand pushes my head back down. I hear a rustling, the unbuckling of his belt, then the snap of the leather it the air.

I tense for a blow, but it doesn’t come. Instead he puts the belt in my mouth like a bridle using it to pull my head back, arching my back for him.

And then, the real fucking starts showing me that up until now he’s still been holding back. His hard steel pistons into me, brutal deep strokes hitting my cervix. The taste of leather fills my mouth, the belt stretching my jaw open. It’s uncomfortable but at the same time it feeds to the carnal sensation.

He is no longer articulating full sentences. Grunting and growling he speaks in staccato words, “Cunt! Whore! Slut! Mine!”

I’m a rag doll in his hands, my body his plaything. My pleasure is a tightly wound ball in the pit of my stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his cock, with his every touch, grab, slap. When his fingers find my anus, pushing into my rear passage, it’s one sensation too many. I explode, my body on fire, legs shaking. I scream my pleasure through the belt, my saliva dripping down my chin, hitting the tabletop.

While I’m still trembling in aftershocks, I feel him spit in my ass crevice, dribbling saliva on my asshole. He pulls out of my sopping wet pussy and lines himself up to enter my rear. The invasion is not too gentle, him forcing himself in quite fast. It hurts and I whimper in timid protest.

“Just fucking take it, cunt,” he snarls and starts moving. “I know you love my cock in your ass.”

He’s correct. The pain soon turns into pleasure, making me build once again towards my peak, his hard fast strokes filling me just the right way. It doesn’t take long till I reach another climax, moaning loudly.

“I told you. You are nothing but a wanton slut, loving me to abuse her fuck-holes.” He pulls out and slaps my still quivering pussy, before pushing into it again.

I’m lost in the carnal bliss of him using me, alternatively fucking my pussy and my ass, now and again adding slaps, pinches or bites to different parts of my body, making me cum several times more.

Then suddenly, he pulls out, and manhandles me into kneeling before him.

“You want my seed you little cum rag?” he growls holding his throbbing cock. I can tell he’s close, on the verge of cumming.

“Yes,” I whimper, wanting that very much.

That earns me a slap to the face. I don’t immediately get what I did wrong. Then I understand and quickly amend my answer. “Yes Sir. Please, I want your seed on me, Sir.”

“That’s a good little whore,” he rumbles, stroking up and down his shaft once. That is all it takes. He cums hard, violently ejaculating all over my face and chest, using his cock to smear it into my skin, panting, “Fucking mine!”

He breathes hard. I’m pressed against his thigh, nuzzling it affectionate. He strokes my hair, crooning to me. Whispering sweet things, “My beautiful slut. My wonderful whore.”

It feels so right sitting there at his feet, covered in his cum, in marks made by his hands, mouth and teeth. I’m floating on the sense of I have found my place, my home. I’m content, blissfully happy.

Mr. Callahan kneels beside me. Tenderly, he takes my face in his hands looking deep into my eyes. His lips meet mine in a soft kiss. The contrast to his previous handling is immense. Suddenly, he is treating me like I’m made of fragile porcelain.

He pulls me close holding me to him, whispering, “You are my salvation.”

My hands are untied. Mr. Callahan massages my wrist and hands that are tingling after being restrained.

“Are you okay?” he asks me softly.

“Mhm” is the only thing that I can get out. I try to smile but only manage a feeble likeness.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Uhu?” I shake my head. I lean against him letting him stroke me, embrace me, murmuring sweet nothings to me. I am overwhelmed by the need to rest. I’m tired and I’m starting to shiver, now feeling the cold air against my clammy dirty skin.

He takes me in his arms, lifting me and carrying me to the couch. He leaves me there for a short while, coming back with warm wet towels and blankets. Carefully he scrubs my skin with the towels, drying me. When he’s done, he lies down on the sofa, unbuttoning his shirt. Mr. Callahan pulls me to his naked chest, pulling the blankets on top of us.

Resting against his skin, I hear his steady heartbeat. It’s comforting, peaceful, safe. We fall asleep like that, intertwined, breathing together.