Page 58 of Ctrl+Alt Submit

AARYN

I was worried AJ would take offense at a proposition to buy out the bar and keep him on as head cook, but Errol said he’d talk to him. So I let him handle that while I threw myself into the money part of this rescue plan.

I spent most of Monday and Tuesday on the phone with lawyers and loan officers, on hold with the tax department, then back on the phone with lawyers, then onto AJ’s accountant buddy —who I’m pretty sure isn’t actually an accountant at all.

But between Errol and I, we did it — yanked the bar from the jaws of tax-bureaucracy death.

We had grand plans to split a bottle of champagne and fuck to celebrate, but the past few days were so draining, we both just fell asleep on the sofa like a couple of old men.

I know Errol could’ve gotten a job somewhere else, but Finn’s is his place, and its regulars are his people.

As for myself, I might have technically bought my way into the fold, but paying off those back taxes and buying it out made me a regular all the same.

Got my own seat, even. It’s close enough to the power outlets that I can plug in my laptop, and the angle gives me plenty of opportunity to surreptitiously ogle Errol’s ass while he’s working.

One day last week, I walked in just as someone was about to sit down there, only to be shooed away by Mikey.

I overheard him telling the person he couldn’t sit there because that was where the owner’s boyfriend always sat.

I smiled to myself and gave him a little two-fingered wave of thanks as I sat down.

The bar is officially in Errol’s name for a bunch of boring tax and business-loan reasons, but I’m glad it worked out this way. Because every time I hear someone introduce him as the owner of Finnegan’s Wake, his eyes glow and he stands a little taller.

Errol’s read on AJ was a hundred percent right.

The big Viking is happy as a clam in the kitchen, cranking out dishes that manage to straddle the line between rib-sticking comfort food and elegant, deftly crafted flavors and textures.

I told him last week if he’s not careful, he’s going to turn this place into a proper restaurant.

We’ve invested in the building a bit, too, turning a weirdly-configured back dining room that nobody ever used into a proper office.

In the few months since he became the owner, Errol has been busting his ass.

Things have been just as hectic for me; I’ve had to go out to California a bunch of times both for my new job and to tie up a few more loose ends on the business sale.

But we still manage to carve out time for each other as often as we can.

Like tonight, for instance. After everyone’s gone, I switch off the main lights and lock up for Errol while he changes. He wanted to christen the new office with a sexy boss-and-assistant role-play.

“Miss Francis!” I bark as I swivel around in the desk chair. “Why didn’t you tell me my top client called three times? I should fire you for this!”

I can’t lie. I thought the scenario sounded a little silly when Errol suggested it; I just didn’t have the heart to turn him down once I saw the sparkle in his eyes.

But when he hustles into the doorway, wearing a blouse that flashes way more than a peek of his lacy black bra and a hiked-up black miniskirt showing off lace-topped thigh-highs, my dick doesn’t care about my brain’s opinion.

“That attire is highly inappropriate, Miss Francis,” I tell him sternly.

“But, sir,” Errol purrs, “None of my other bosses ever complained.” When he bats those big brown eyes at me, the only thought in my head is how I can’t wait to make his eyeliner run down his cheeks.

My cock presses against the zipper of the black dress pants I’m wearing.

I put on a tie, too — which I plan to put to good use later.

I pick up a metal ruler and crack it down on the desk. Errol jumps a little at the noise. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right now!”

Errol pushes his lower lip out in a pout and my dick strains in my pants. “You can’t fire me, sir! I need this job so badly — I’ll do anything to keep it.”

I narrow my eyes. “Anything?” I ask, my tone challenging.

Errol runs his tongue lasciviously over his lips. “ Anything , Mr. Knight.”

I part my legs and point between them. “Come over here and tell me that again.” Errol starts towards me. The slight unsteadiness that makes his hips sway as he tries to find his balance in patent leather stilettos has my cock leaking into my underwear.

“Stop!” I bark. Errol teeters a little. “Not very well practiced in those high heels, are you, Miss Francis?”

When he shakes his head, I sneer at him. “I assume that’s because you usually have your legs in the air and spread like a whore when they’re on your feet. Isn’t that right?” Errol bites his lip, and it’s so hot I have to fight not to break character.

“Never mind,” I say in the same sharp tone. I pick up the ruler and point to the floor. “Crawl to me.”

There’s nothing fake about the whimper Errol lets out.

“I changed my mind. Stay there —on your knees,” I command.

I keep him kneeling, blatantly ogling the bulge that swells obscenely underneath his tight little skirt, until he’s squirming and unable to hide how much this humiliation is turning him on.

“I’m going to guess that you’re such a dirty girl, you’re dripping into your panties for me. Am I right?”

The flush on Errol’s cheeks looks real, too. “Yes,” he whispers.

I smirk and point between my legs again. “Crawl. And keep your eyes on me.”

By the time Errol reaches me, his skirt has slid all the way up to his hips, exposing the sexy globes of his ass cheeks, barely contained by delicate lace that matches his bra.

The way he looks up at me through his lashes is so submissive and needy I want to just grab his hair and choke him on my cock until I blow my load down his throat.

I unknot and take off my tie. “Turn around,” I order. Errol obeys, letting out a little gasp when I pull his hands together and bind his wrists.

When I order him to face me again, I have my pants undone and my boxer briefs pulled down. “Since you’re useless for taking messages and managing my calendar, let’s see if you’re good for anything else.” I glare at him. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

“No, sir .”

Oh, holy shit. I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but that whispered sir does things to me I really wasn’t expecting. I run my tongue over my upper lip, watching Errol’s eyes track the movement.

“What do you call me?” My voice drops to a growl. “And what are you going to call me from now on?”

“ Sir ,” Errol says again in that same breathy voice. “Yes, sir.”

Leaning forward, I grab ahold of his blouse and yank it open, sending buttons flying.

I pick up the ruler and slap it hard into my open palm.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t spank your ass red until you’re crying, then make you crawl out of here with your makeup running down your face and your tits and ass hanging out. ”

Errol’s pupils are blown wide with arousal. His swallow bobs in his throat a moment before he drapes his tongue over his lower lip. The piercing catches the light as a long string of spit drools from the tip.

“Fuck,” I mutter, grabbing him by the hair and shoving my cock in his mouth before it can drip onto the ground. I use his mouth roughly, forcing my cock deep enough to choke him.

When I release him, his eyeliner is wrecked and he’s dripping tears and spit.

He blinks up at me through watery eyes, mouth wide as he pants for breath.

I pinch his chin between my thumb and forefinger, giving me a perfect angle to spit in his mouth.

As I let go of him to grab my dick, his eyelids flutter and he lets out a soft, needy sound.

It calls to something feral inside me. I need more of those sounds out of him. I lean over Errol and spit right in his face. He shudders and rewards me with a plaintive whine. The sound becomes choppy when I slap his face a few times with my cock.

“You like that, slut?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers. I lean forward and yank his skirt down to his thighs, trapping his legs together and giving me a hot-as-fuck view of his cock straining against the black lace of his panties.

“I bet those panties are soaked just from choking on my dick. Is that how you need to be used?”

“Yes sir — please, sir.”

“Like being my horny little bitch?” I ask in the same low tone. When Errol whispers another yes, I grin. “You like being degraded, Miss Francis? Tell me how badly.”

“Please, sir, degrade me however you want.”

“Open your mouth.” When Errol obeys, I spit into it because I want to see him shiver before I continue. “Turn around.”

I untie his hands, then use the tie to blindfold him. He makes a little sound. My hand comes down hard on his ass, which pulls a yelp out of him.

“Stand up, take those panties off and pull up your skirt to your hips,” I order. Errol follows my directions, wobbling a little between the sensory deprivation of the blindfold and the heels. I force two fingers into his mouth to pull his jaw down and shove his panties into his mouth.

“Thank me,” I order. Errol makes an unintelligible sound that sends a pulse of heat between my legs. “Spread your legs and bend over the desk for me.” He obeys with a muffled moan. I smirk as I play my fingers over his guiche piercing.

“Oh, look at this. Only a filthy slut would have jewelry in her pussy.” I lightly tug on that ring while I finger and lube up his hole until he’s squirming and his legs have started to shake.

“I’m sure you’ve got a sloppy, loose gape of a cunt, but I’ve got a big load I need milked out of my balls, so I guess I’ll take what I can get,” I say.