Conner’s fingers twisted excitedly through mine as Linda, our head of HR, went over the instructions one last time. I pulled his hand behind my back so that she wouldn’t see the fervor of his anticipation.

“Remember,” said Linda, “we’re here to celebrate LFM Solutions as a whole, and most especially our team members’ accomplishments. This should be a chance for everyone to feel genuinely appreciated and proud of their work. Especially for the HR award, we really want to get the energy high. It’s easy for us to end up feeling like wet blankets over there, so the mood we’re going for is fun, upbeat, and just a little bit edgy. We’re all grateful to HR for helping to maintain a safe environment for everyone, right?”

“Right, of course,” I answered immediately, so Conner wouldn’t have to. I didn’t trust his voice to be any steadier than his vibrating grip on my wrist.

Linda crossed her arms across her curvy, hourglass middle, unconsciously cinching her generous chest a little higher in her tight-fitting, sequined evening gown. Her eyes scanned from my face to Conner’s and back again. To his credit, he managed an almost generic, happy-to-be-here smile.

“Good,” said Linda. “You two are going to be great for this. Being able to manage a personal relationship at work isn’t easy, and I know you’re an inspiration to plenty of your coworkers, proof that it’s possible to be a whole person living a whole life while working here. And proof that HR isn’t your enemy if you handle yourself responsibly.”

She pronounced this last word a little extra hard, with another back-and-forth glance.

“Just smile, stick to the script, and make it a great night,” she said. “Go ahead, get changed.”

I truly thought Conner was going to blow it, with the explosively eager way he took off for the dressing room, but Linda didn’t even notice, already taking off in the other direction to give final notes to some other act of the night.

I rushed after him.

As ever, the company’s annual gala was taking place in a particularly grand downtown Dublin venue, and though the stage was something of an afterthought to the rest of the banquet ballroom, more meant for live background music and simple presentations than elaborate theater, the dressing room we’d been directed to was frighteningly large and well-furnished. It felt like we might have to fight the whole chorus of Les Misérables for mirror space at any moment.

For now, though, we had the privacy we needed.

Hands all over each other to help with zippers and buttons (and grope a bit in the process), we stripped off his boring gray suit and my timid, high-necked cocktail dress, and then dug into the costume bag I’d been clutching under one arm.

A few of the items inside were actually Linda-approved — the fishnet stockings and black seven-inch heels — though of course, she’d approved them to go on me, coupled with an only mildly scandalous little black dress, not on Conner, coupled with… well, very, very little.

We’d had to get the centerpieces of both our outfits custom-printed. LFM Solutions would never have produced the teeny-tiny thong that just barely contained Conner’s package, or the matching thong leotard I had to wiggle myself into. Their logo did look rather handsome squeezed on both of our asses, though, if I did say so myself, and we’d been able to match their signature yellow and black hues perfectly.

I got my black thigh-high boots on just in time for the knock on the door that signaled one minute left and pulled on my matching elbow gloves as we hustled over to our mark at the side of the stage.

The MC, a graying man from accounting who was a bit overly fond of dad jokes, turned to the next notecard in his sweaty hands.

“And now to present the award for HR Employee of the Year, please make it loud for—”

We couldn’t even wait for him to finish our names before strutting out onto the stage with our hands in the air.

The applause started out polite and automatic, maybe slightly elevated compared with the other segments, thanks to the well-known tradition of putting a pinch of spice on the HR awards.

Once the eyes in the crowd actually started to drink us in, however, the clapping escalated into startled, uncontrolled whoops, whistles, laughs, and stomping feet.

Then the crescendo died down, and a smothering layer of shock settled in in its place.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I desperately wanted to lean in and give everyone a body roll and a hair flip for good measure, just to let off some energy and look more confident than I felt. And to make the most of it. I looked to Conner and thought I saw the same thoughts cross his face. It seemed such a waste to show everyone what he looked like in fishnets and heels and not actually let them see him shimmy that perfectly framed ass with the terrific speed and precision I knew he was capable of.

But we’d been working on this plan for months, and we’d both agreed it would be funniest, and safest, to stick with just the wardrobe change and play the rest out as if everything were normal.

I took the podium, and the envelope that lay waiting on it.

“Um, yes, well… yes.” The MC relinquished his place and staggered off into the wings, continuing to watch from just out of view of the crowd.

No one seemed capable of looking away from us. There were so many men, from 18-year-old file clerks to octogenarian executives, who looked like they wanted to eat me alive, in one way or another. The same range of women were a little more vocal about their enthusiasm for Conner, occasionally punching through the stuffy silence with a late shout.

There were also quite a few men eyeing his nicely defined quads, women biting their lips with gazes fixed to my cleavage. More, in fact, than I would have expected.

Janet from the front desk was giving me a look I could never in a hundred years have imagined on her face.

Huh. Good for her.

“Thank you, thank you,” Conner leaned over to speak into the microphone, voice barely wavering, raising a hand to acknowledge a few particularly hungry looks.

I broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the card.

“And the award goes to… Grace Kaplan, for exceptional fairness and thoroughness in mediating several tough situations over the past year, let’s give it up for Grace!”

The room accepted this new pretense to get loud again, but I couldn’t see a single gaze shifting as Grace climbed the steps. Only when I stepped aside to give her the podium did heads swivel and debate where to settle next.

“Thanks,” Grace mumbled into the mic.

Seeing how red her face was made me suddenly aware of the heat radiating from my own cheeks.

With a jolt of sudden recollection, the MC lunged forward to hold out a gilded plaque, without stepping back into view. I jogged over to grab it, very aware of the powerful click of my boots on the stage, the intimate way the leotard rode and rubbed with each step.

There was absolutely nothing to disguise how forcefully my nipples were pressing out through the thin fabric, and as I made my way back to hand the plaque to Grace, I could see that Conner’s thong was in real danger of failing to contain his full-blown erection.

“Yeah.” Grace cleared her throat, gripping the frame of the plaque with both hands. “Um, it’s been a tough year in some ways, but we really came together as a team...”

#

I don’t know how we lasted to the end of even Grace’s brief, restrained acceptance speech.

As soon as we made it offstage, Conner and I both sprinted back to the dressing room, not caring how easy or disastrous it would be to turn a heel in our towering shoes. All that mattered was getting that door closed behind us, so we could finally celebrate.

We’d done it. It had been on the horizon for so long, and now it was written into the truth of our lives.

Conner wrapped his arms around my waist, lifted me roughly onto the makeup counter, and kissed me hard against the mirrored wall. When he tried to pull himself back, to brush soft lips against my neck the way he knew I liked as a warmup, I dug my fingers into his back and pulled him firmly against me again. My whole body was buzzing, starving for the quickest, hardest closeness it could get.

He complied with obvious relief, digging teeth into my shoulder and searching automatically for where a zipper should have been on an ordinary party dress.

“I’ll get it,” I groaned at the seconds of separation the task would require. “Let me up.”

“I’m fine like this if you are,” he spoke near my ear, sliding his thumb under the neckline of my leotard, across my rock-hard nipple. He brought his other hand to the crotch, trying to push it to the side. It was tight, the fabric strung deep between my cheeks.

“Fuck it, just rip it,” I told him.

It wasn’t as if I had any plans left for the leotard after tonight.

Conner was fumbling for the right grip to do just that, when the door burst inward. He barely had time to turn his head before ring-adorned hands clamped onto his shoulders.

“Sorry, we’ll go, we’ll go!” he said, as he was pulled off of me.

“You have a lot of experience getting ejected by security, don’t you?” a familiar brusque voice spoke from the doorway, brusquer now than I’d ever heard it before. “Well, that’s not what’s happening, though it’s certainly still on the table.”

Roselle, the vice president of HR, spoke while holding the door for a couple more figures to enter.

I realized with a start that it was Linda herself who was currently pinning Conner’s hands behind his back.

Roselle jutted her sharp chin at me, prompting a couple of low-level administrators to detain me too… as best they could.

The two slight, mousy-looking women in baggy cardigans held my arms in grips about as sturdy as pie crust, and it wasn’t easy to hold back the animalistic impulse to ignore them, pounce back on Conner, and grind myself all over him, impractically wedged clothes be damned. But he was being sensible, cooperating, and I had enough sense of my own left about me to do the same.

After the two administrators, Roselle held the door for one more person — Grace, still red in the cheeks with her shoulders cinched up high — and then closed it with a click that felt more conclusive than any actual lock.

Linda watched all this with silent approval from behind Conner’s back. As usual, getting loud seemed to be Roselle’s job, not hers.

“Say the word,” Roselle snarled, glancing at me, then at Conner, “and I’ll call for the men in black suits and earpieces to see you out. I’ll fill out the report, and come Monday morning, you’ll both be in for a long, boring, long set of retraining modules. In fact, it might take more than just Monday. You could be in for a very tedious week, lots of delays and stressful catchup for your real work.”

“So… so we’re not fired?” Conner somehow picked the essential information out of this speech, with both hands literally behind his back, while I was still trying to chart the quickest possible course to a more secure fuck spot.

Roselle let out a bitter chuckle. “Oh no, you’re both far too valuable, and with nearly spotless records. You’ll come out fine in the end, even if we handle this the ‘right’ way.”

My head was finally clearing enough for me to start catching the vibe in the room. Under the pulsing current drawing Conner and me together, our mad frustration at being pulled apart, and the obvious indignant self-righteousness of these HR folk who had decided to do the pulling, there was something else.

They were angry with us, yes, but not disgusted, not in the least. They were angry in spite of the fact that they could feel the current as clearly as we could, or maybe even because they could.

And they wanted a piece of it.

“So, the ‘right’ way is safe and boring,” I summed up, breathing hard and not bothering to pretend otherwise. “But you have an alternative to propose.”

Roselle’s tongue traced her lips as they pulled up into a smirk. “We just want a little appreciation,” she said. “We want to know that you understand the importance of what HR does. And I think we can make that lesson sink in much quicker with a more unorthodox sort of retraining. What do you say?”

She was looking mostly at me. Not a surprise. Roselle was one of the few attendees I’d already known was queer. Fully out lesbian, in fact. I was more surprised by the tinge of excited calculation in the glances she tossed Conner’s way.

For the first time, I let my eyes wander Roselle’s body openly, not behind her back. She had quite lovely, smooth brown skin and a wiry little figure, lots of power packed into a small space. Quite the opposite of the two gawky assistants, or Linda’s soft curves. Not that I minded any of that, either.

I looked to Conner. His eyes were already on me, ready for the silent check-in that such a singular opportunity required.

It didn’t take long.

“We accept,” I said.

Conner nodded, a grin breaking through his discomfort. “Teach me a lesson, ladies.”

Quick as a whip, Linda pulled two pairs of gleaming handcuffs from her designer evening purse, snapped one around Conner’s wrists, and tossed the other to one of the assistants holding me.

She almost caught it.

The other one crouched down to retrieve it and placed the cuffs around my wrists, cinching them a little tighter than I was expecting. I twisted my neck and saw a little thrill cross the woman's face, as the engineered metal gave her a grip that her muscles, such as they were, couldn’t.

Linda guided Conner firmly to the far end of a long ottoman bench, where Grace waited to spring. She kicked the back of his leg with the speed of a coiled snake, prompting him to sink to his knees and lurch forward over the cushioned seat.

One of the assistants put an arm across my chest, like she thought I might interfere, and I leaned forward a bit, just to make her feel useful.

Conner was fine, clearly loving this, but fuck, I’d totally forgotten Grace was here. I felt a bit guilty about that, genuinely. She wasn’t bad looking either, cutely chubby with a voluminous cascade of red curls, it was just that she stood so still somehow, that her presence failed to disturb anything around her for minutes and minutes at a time.

“You brought handcuffs to a gala?” Conner laughed shakily into upholstery. “And you’re going to pretend that we shocked you?”

“I’m the Head of HR,” Linda said primly, dusting her perfect manicure against the bosom of her dress. “My personal threshold of shock has nothing to do with the standards I’m responsible for enforcing, for the good of company and everyone in it. Besides…” she tugged the chain between Conner’s cuffs, testing both their security and the flexibility of his shoulders, “you’re the ones who took your personal proclivities to the stage. If not for that, you would never have known these were here.”

Conner’s grin turned wicked. “So far, not much of a reason for me to behave better in the future.”

Roselle crouched down in front of him. “What do you think your retraining should involve?” She put a finger under his chin to steady his gaze level with hers. “Not that I’ll let you decide, but what are you expecting, right now?”

He bit his lip. “Well, you’re going to have to punish us, at least a little. And I guess—”

He sucked in a sharp gasp as the flat of Grace’s palm impacted loudly against one exposed cheek of his ass.

“Yeah, obviously,” said Roselle. “You’re going to be retrained and reconditioned with pain and humiliation, don’t you worry. But this is going to go so much deeper than that. You disrespected human fucking resources. You disrespected the social contract of decency and decorum that we stand for. And what that means is, for tonight, that contract will not apply to you. It will not protect you. But then, you never needed it anyway. It was just an annoyance to you. Right?”

I was sure Conner knew damn well how much protection he needed from the worst that society had to offer, but he took to his assigned role quickly and eagerly.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, with an attempt at a cocky head-tilt that ended with the next impact of Grace’s hand. “Yeah,” he grunted again, chin fully resting on the cushion now. “I don’t need your fucking rules. Just give me what you’ve got, and I’ll take it. Like a man.”

I wanted to laugh at his impression of the worst of our absent coworkers, but the intensity of the laugh that swept the rest of the room took me off guard.

“Right,” Roselle snorted. “We’ll see about that. You’ve got this?” she directed this at Grace and stepped away to rummage through the rack and boxes along the dressing room’s far wall. My eyes naturally tried to follow her, but one of the assistants grabbed me by the hair and turned my head forward again.

“Oh, no, you’re not going to pull focus from Grace’s big moment again tonight,” the assistant said, her voice quiet but sharp. “You’re going to watch every second of this.”

Grace had her award plaque in both hands now, and was swinging the flat wooden back of it down on Conner’s ass over and over again with all her strength, while Linda held his upper body down against the cushion.

“Do you have any idea how often anything in my life is about me?” Grace shrieked at him. “You took that from me, you fucking dick!”

She panted with the full-body effort, and her eyes sparkled with a satisfaction that seemed to surprise even her.

The assistant who wasn’t holding my hair spider-walked her fingers down my abs to my crotch, easily finding the shape of my lips through the thin spandex and flicking her fingertips back and forth across the region of my clit. My hips wriggled involuntarily, as if I could shimmy my best nerves out into the open air. The fabric suddenly felt suffocatingly clingy, intrusive where it dug into my ass.

“I don’t even know your names,” I told the two of them.

I wasn’t sure myself whether this was supposed to be a put-down, an accusation, or a request.

“Tina,” said the one holding my hair.

“Jen,” said the one teasing my clit.

“As if we know the names of everyone who’s ever touched us a little too closely,” Tina sighed.

“Now, that is an excellent point,” said Roselle, striding back over to us with a cardboard box gathered to her chest.

The little black dress I was supposed to be wearing was draped over her arm.

“And I have to admit, you two had a bit of a point yourselves.” She looked back and forth between me and Conner. “The original wardrobe planning was all wrong. All of these delicate, feminine touches,” she examined the dress and turned her tight-wound body firmly in Conner’s direction, “they were always much more appropriate for you.”

Conner’s body vibrated visibly with anticipation, and his hips wiggled from side to side, inviting more attention. Grace gave him another spank with her plaque and then set it down to knead his reddened flesh roughly with her hands.

“Aw, look at him smile,” said Roselle. “He likes being treated like a woman… or he thinks he does. He thinks it’s going to be all flowers and glamor and compliments. Ladies, why don’t you show him what it’s like the rest of the time? And remember, HR rules do not apply.”

Conner’s face grew paler with nerves, but he didn’t stop smiling. If it had, I’m sure someone would have told him to start again — that he’d look prettier that way — but it quickly became clear that these women had no shortage of other ideas.

“We have a saying in management about people like you,” Linda jumped in, putting on a deeper voice that I was sure must be an impression of a man I’d never met. “To get ahead, you gotta give some head.”

“It’s all yours,” said Conner, showing as much of his tongue as possible with each syllable, “But you’re going to have to come down here to get it.”

He shrugged his shoulders up Linda, who was still pinning him down hard with her roving hands, feeling all over his leanly muscled back for soft spots to pinch.

Without hesitation, Linda hiked up her sequined gown, slid off a surprisingly daring thong underneath, and straddled the ottoman bench, scooting forward until her soft thighs surrounded Conner’s face. She took him by the hair and guided his face to her pussy, firmly setting the pace for the strokes of his compliant tongue.

“Mmm, not bad,” she sighed. “That’s it. Show me how much you need my approval.”

Tina ran a hand over my breasts as we watched from against the wall, brushing the nipples with the centers of her palms as she traced the size of them.

“What’s it like for a pretty Barbie doll like you to have to share him with us mere mortals?” she asked me.

“Undress me and see,” I suggested.

Jen snorted and swatted my ass. “Nice try.”

She probed her fingers over where the leotard just barely covered my opening, pushing the thin fabric a fraction of an inch inward. It couldn’t possibly hold back or absorb the wetness steadily trickling down from inside me.

“Ooh, that had a nice sound to it,” said Tina. “Let me try.”

She took a turn slapping my ass, and Jen giggled.

“Do it again! I can feel her getting wetter in real time!”

They took turns administering slaps and running fingers over the further dampening fabric.

As I shuffled to try to loosen the grip of the leotard’s crotch just a little, Grace flaunted her freedom to slide her own plain, gray panties down to the floor.

“If you’ll do that for her, that means you’ll do it for me, too, right?” she asked Conner, her voice shrill and flinty. “Unless you think you’re too good for me, now that you’ve tasted management?”

The words of Conner’s response were inaudible from between Linda’s legs, though I could catch a lilt of game laughter in his tone.

“Oh, forgive me, Grace, dear,” said Linda. “You’re the one with the real apology to collect.”

She stepped off the bench, somehow managing to look perfectly dignified and in control, even during this normally awkward motion, with Conner’s saliva still shining on her lips.

Grace hopped into her place. Conner waggled his tongue, and Grace caught it for a quick pinch between her fingers before sliding forward to hump it.

“He looks so cute when he’s just doing what nature intended, don’t you think?” Roselle cackled, gesturing to invite Tina and Jen to join in, verbally if not physically. “When he’s not trying to be all tough and independent and ‘equal.’”

“Yeah, he shouldn’t be at a desk, he… he should be in magazines!” Tina decided, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Pfft, not like that, he shouldn’t,” said Jen. “But all he needs is a makeover. Get rid of those glasses and baggy clothes.”

Roselle blinked twice, at Jen in her glasses and cardigan, at Conner in his tiny thong, with his face mashed into Grace’s pussy.

“I mean, yeah… metaphorically, yeah,” said Roselle, pulling out a phone and turning it sideways. “And what’s the point of a makeover, without some before and after pics?”

Conner looked up at her, eyes flashing in playful defiance at the lens as the shutter sound clicked through her speakers.

I could only imagine the glory of the angle she must have caught, with his face in frame, tongue at work, LFM Solutions’ logo clear across the top of his red, pawed-at ass.

“Now that one’s worthy of the LFM Newsletter front page, don’t you think?” Roselle chuckled, angling the phone toward Linda. They both smiled slyly at her handiwork before she tucked it back in her pocket.

“Borrow this a sec?” Roselle asked Grace, grabbing Conner by the scruff of the neck. “Promise I’ll bring it back better.”

Grace sighed and nodded, bringing a hand down to hold Conner’s place with languid finger strokes along her own inner lips.

Linda staked a claim to the room’s most comfortable armchair and produced a petite personal massager from a sleek case in her evening clutch. She proceeded to draw circles around her own clit with it as casually as she might fidget with a pen in a meeting.

Fuck, I wanted thing for myself. Not just in this moment. It was nearly silent, blurry-fast, and must have cost a fortune. But in this moment especially, yeah, I wanted it.

Roselle pulled Conner upright on his knees, reached out for Linda’s key, and unlocked his hands just long enough to pull his arms through the straps of a tiny black pushup bra. I wondered if it was Roselle’s own, since it could never have fit me. She fastened and adjusted it, creating a gorgeous illusion of modest but tempting cleavage.

Then, with another brief unlock, she pulled the tight black dress over his head and zipped up the back, giving even more feminine structure to his shape. The dress was mostly stretchy, as clingy as the leotard I was wearing, but with stiff hourglass boning that his waist could barely squeeze into.

It was a perfect dress for looking semi-respectable and then hiking up for some satisfyingly dirty acts in a broom closet — or dressing room — but poor Conner didn’t get an instant of the first part. That skirt was hiked up over his fishnet stockings from the moment it was on him.

Roselle opened a neatly organized makeup kit, checked the color of a few lipstick tubes against Conner’s face, and picked a deep scarlet one.

“Open,” she ordered, and Conner obeyed.

Roselle ran a tissue over Conner’s lips and set about painting them with precise efficiency. She blotted them and leaned in close enough that I was half expecting her to test her work with a kiss. Instead, she blew over his lips with a focused breath to dry them.

“There,” she said. “Get your tongue back out there, and try not to mess it up.”

Conner dove back in, licking Grace’s fingers out of the way and taking over for them.

Roselle crouched down next to the ottoman, pulled a pencil from the kit, and put her hand to his cheek, pressing her thumb alongside his eye.

Conner made a questioning sound.

“Oh, learn to multitask!” Roselle taunted. “This is a lazy makeup routine, only ten products. You should be able to do it in the car.”

“While answering your emails,” added Tina.

“While fixing your lunch,” said Jen. “And everyone else’s.”

“While sucking a dick, easily,” Linda said, a little breathily. “Or eating pussy, situation permitting. I mean, that only takes half of your face, what are you even doing with the other half in all that time?”

Conner tried to say something more, but Roselle snapped her fingers for quiet.

“We’re all just as busy as you are, if not more, and you don’t hear us making excuses,” she said.

“It’s all about showing a little effort,” said Grace. “You don’t want the world to think you’re a slut and a slob, do you? And let’s be honest, the slut part is a lost cause for you.”

Conner licked Grace like his life depended on it, brushing his brilliant red lips only lightly against her skin, keeping his rhythm like an absolute badass as Roselle stretched and steadied his eyelid and drew a neat, flattering swoop of eyeliner across it.

“When you do this for him at home,” Roselle shot me a knowing smile, “do you think you do a better job?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed, my head far too light to allow sensible, analytical comparison. “I’m good… but… oh, fuck, you look hot right now, babe.”

“I think we’re losing her,” said Jen, tapping an infuriatingly wide circle around my clit, no longer daring to touch me more lingeringly. “She’s not going to be able to take much more.”

“Good,” said Roselle finishing a shimmery dusting of eyeshadow and moving on to trace over Conner’s natural blush with a deeper pink. “We’re almost done here. Get her out of that ridiculous outfit and spread her out for me.”

Linda passed them another key.

Jen and Tina released my wrists from the cuffs, took an arm of my leotard each, and pulled it down. I couldn’t resist; I reached down and tried to sneak in a few seconds of touching myself while they were busy dragging the fabric down my legs, not caring about staining my gloves, but they caught my hands quickly. I managed to keep myself from wrestling my way free.

I followed along as they led me to the other end of the bench.

I got one last direct glimpse at Conner, looking stunning and glam as hell, as Roselle pulled him upright to snap an “after” pic. The sounds of the camera app continued after she pushed his face back down into Grace’s pussy, and Jen and Tina did their best to pin my shoulders to the bench behind Grace’s back.

Thankfully, the wall-length mirror still gave me a pretty excellent view.

Roselle put the phone away again and rounded on me. She crouched down, pressed her hands against my thighs with genuine strength, and gave me the most infuriating half lick. It was mostly warm breath, with the lightest contact along my wet opening, stopping just short of the underside of my clit. My whole body shuddered, and for the first time, I felt almost weak under Jen and Tina’s grips.

“Anyone have anything more to say to him?” Roselle asked, sitting all the way up, taking her face a mile away from me to jerk her head at Conner. “Now’s the time.”

“Don’t be afraid to get in there,” said Linda, pressing her massager deep inside herself. “Pussy hardly has any calories. That tight little figure of yours is safe.”

Conner wasn’t exactly being shy with his licking before, but he stepped up his pace just a little to show he’d heard.

“Yeah,” I panted, to Roselle rather than Conner. “Don’t be afraid. It won’t bite.”

“I could use one of him under my desk,” said Tina. “Full-time. Can you imagine?”

“He’s getting an awful lot of compliments,” said Jen. “And he hasn’t said ‘thank you’ even once.”

“Thank you,” said Conner, barely lifting his head, but Grace grabbed his hair and pressed his mouth back down.

“Multitask,” she reminded him.

He repeated himself in a jumbled muffle.

“We shouldn’t let him get too full of himself,” said Linda. “He might be a pretty face, but that’s all he is.”

“Just another slut,” said Grace, thrusting her hips against him a little harder, and all the others joined in. Roselle gave me another half lick between each shouted insult they rained down on him.

“Whore!”

“Arm candy!”

“Bedwarmer!”

“Piece of ass!”

“Sissy f—”

Jen was the one who dropped a word in a rather different vein, one that brought the enthusiastic verbal barrage to an awkward dead stop.

I could feel my pulse in my clit in the sudden silence, and I hoped madly that this hadn’t all just gone completely off the rails. Conner had been called that word plenty of times before, including consensually in the bedroom, but the HR ladies didn’t know that.

“I… uh… I can’t say a man’s ever called me that one,” said Tina. “I mean, they could,” she gave one of my breasts an admiring squeeze in demonstration, “but they haven’t.”

“No, no, let’s be honest.” Linda waved her hand across the room, as if wiping away the discomfort. “We can’t just treat him like a woman, because that’s not what he is. He’s the only thing this world hates more. He’s a man who doesn’t act like one.”

Conner reddened noticeably, even under his full face of makeup.

Roselle looked practically giddy at the discovery of this soft spot.

“Keep licking, freak,” she said, punctuating her command with another shameless lick for me. “I’ll bet it’s all you’re good for. You haven’t even tried suggesting getting your cock involved in any of this. Why? Are you afraid we’ll all laugh? Is that why you like dresses and stockings and makeup, to distract from a sorry little dick that doesn’t even work?”

“Oh, it works.” Conner was getting better at the whole multitasking thing, dropping the T and lisping the S rather than withdrawing his tongue. “But you’re welcome to laugh anyway.”

Grace, of all people, let out a genuine giggle at his honesty, which then hitched into a high groan of ecstasy.

“Jealous?” Roselle asked me, stroking my obviously quivering thighs while Grace came rapturously behind me.

“What gave it away?” I sighed, helpless to deny it.

“You can have him back,” said Roselle. “You can have each other back. All you have to do is admit you were wrong.”

“We were wrong,” Conner jumped in, doing his very best with all those Ws and Rs, while Grace squeezed out every last second of pleasure against his tongue.

“Wrong how?” Linda prompted from across the room.

“We were wrong…” I should have been more capable of speech than he was right now, but finding each word was a process, “we were wrong to treat your department like a joke.”

“Yes, that,” Conner agreed, face flat on the cushion where Grace had dropped it.

Roselle looked around the room.

“It’s a start,” said Linda.

“But you can do better,” Roselle agreed, and gave me another tantalizing, too-light lick.

“We’re sorry,” said Conner.

“We hold you in the highest respect,” I said, too breathless to hold on to any sarcasm.

“And gratitude,” Conner added.

After a painfully long moment, Roselle straightened up and went to unlock Conner’s hands from behind him. She helped pull Grace to her feet as well, and nodded to Jen and Tina, who backed away, leaving us both entirely free.

Conner crawled forward and nearly collapsed on top of me in his rush, kissing his way up my abs, pulling his thong to the side under the already hiked-up skirt of that little black dress.

His cock was slick all over from being trapped, dripping, in its token scrap of clothing, and he sank it into me without a trace of resistance. He kissed me, with Grace’s taste still on him, and we moaned into each other with the relief of contact, and with anticipation of the deeper relief almost in reach.

“Sit up,” Grace’s voice said somewhere over us, and it took a moment for either of us to realize she was talking to Conner. “Show me those pretty faces again, you two. Those pinchable tits.”

Conner lifted his upper body a little way off of me with difficulty, allowing us both to look up into the lens of Grace’s phone. By the fluid way she moved with it, I could tell she was filming, rather than setting up a singular shot.

“Don’t worry,” said Grace with a sweet smile. “I would never distribute anything so indecent. I’m just going to steal a moment of yours for my own gratification. And by that, I mean, I’m going to watch this over and over, whenever I need a little private pick-me-up. Sound fair?”

Conner thrust into me with a little extra flare, pulling out further to show his length, relishing the invitation to put on a show. “Oh, completely fair.”

“Yeah.” I put my hands to my breasts, angling them toward the camera as I played with them. “What’s an apology without… at least… an attempt at… recompense?”

I felt like I deserved a plaque myself for stringing together so many syllables at once just now, and at the same time, I knew I was already in the thick of enjoying a better prize than anyone else in the building would be bringing home tonight.

Conner’s arms shook against the bench, and I could tell he was struggling to slow himself, for me as well as for Grace and the others.

I tore off my gloves and reached down between us, sliding a finger across my clit between his strokes, reveling in the bareness of my skin.

At some point, I heard Linda gasp softly, and, a few seconds later, put her massager back in its case.

Roselle said something about how Conner really was almost pretty, which, given the narrowness of her tastes, was probably very high praise.

Jen and Tina were… making out? Or maybe I was just delirious from the natural high saturating my blood.

Finally, the detonation swept through me, a shockwave with aftershocks, like the earth itself was shaking with me. Conner let out a long, grateful grunt, pushing all the way in and staying there, riding out a wave of tremors in his cock that needed no more help from his hips.

Linda stood up and dusted herself off, packed her cuffs and massager away, and immediately looked like the dignified, aloof department head we were accustomed to seeing in the halls.

“I expect everyone to look respectable in five minutes,” she said, still in her quiet, unhurried tone. “There are plenty more awards that deserve a full audience’s attention.”

***

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