His thumb ran over my fly, and before I could think, I took a step back, away from him. He raised his eyebrows again, his lips pursing at the brink of a smile.

"Changed your mind so quickly?" he asked, and he sounded amused.

I still stared at him, now not only in fear, but also in horror.

"Should I call the police?"

His words made their way through my shock and reached my spinning head. I shook it again.

"No, please!"

"Well, then."

He glanced down and back up at me. I glanced down too and saw his hand was still there, like waiting for something to drop on it. A lump crept up my throat. I tried to swallow it in vain as I took the step I'd just retreated, landing my crotch on his palm.

Once more, his thumb brushed my fly, that covered the panicked peanut my cock had become after the last minutes. He met my eyes again.

"Breathe deep, mister Wallace," he said. Even softening his tone, it was a command that left no room to refusal.

So I breathed deep. His hand improved its grip on my crotch, and part of the palm brushed my fly down.

"Go on."

I kept breathing deep, and with every breath, his hand pressed and brushed gently.

"You better relax and play along, because you're not going anywhere until we're done here." Surely my face reflected my feelings, because he flashed a quick smile. "Convince me you don't deserve to leave the building in handcuffs."

His hand found what was supposed to be my cock and focused on it, fondling it in no hurry. Shit. I'd managed to spare myself from becoming some alpha's bitch in prison for two whole years. And here I was, being groped by the CEO. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I closed my eyes, because I didn't want to keep facing his dark eyes and his smug smirk. That, and the deep breathing, ended up adding to his fondling. Somehow, my crotch decided to leave my mind to deal with my fear and my rejection, and appreciate the attention. I would've chopped my cock off when it wagged in his grasp. He didn't made a sound, but started stroking it slowly and firmly. Soon he had me bulging with a mild boner.

"That a boy," he said. "Hump my hand."

Oh, I hated the son of a bitch. I had no idea what he had in mind, but I could only do as he told me. My hips moved an inch forward and an inch back.

"Keep going."

What choice did I have? I kept rubbing my crotch against his hand, that grabbed my cock and stroked it up and down until it was hard. His voice gave me a start.

"Lou, bring my soft bag to room twelve, please." I couldn't keep my eyes closed, and found him with his phone to his ear, his eyes always on me, that little smile on his face. "Yeah, it's in the restroom."

He disconnected and slid the phone in his pocket, smiling an inch wider as I grew even harder.

"Hold that thought," he said with one last stroking, before stepping away from me.

I let out a shaky gasp when he turned his back on me to open a door on the wall opposite the windows. My hand covered my crotch, and my fingers pressed my boner out of instinct. Damn, the son of a bitch had really got me started.

"Go home, Lou. Good night," he said, keeping the door to his shoulder in such a way that the person outside couldn't see me.

He turned back to me and his smile made me realize I was still touching my crotch.

"Come closer," he said, dropping a small soft bag on the table.

He met me halfway to the table and grabbed me again.

"Someone's in a hurry to go," he said, amused, resuming his fondling with a firm grasp. "Part your lips and keep them like that. I wanna hear you breathe. Now move those pretty hips."

Oh, the sick son of a bitch. My cock wagged, trying to escape my boxer trunks, as I pushed it against his hand for him to stroke. I couldn't keep my breathing from growing heavier. And when he stroked faster, my hips matched his pace out of their own volition.

I loathed his guts, yet mine were jerking for more.

"Stop," he said.

And I stopped as I was, with my hips upfront. The way he fondled my crotch pulled gasps from my parted lips, and my eyes fluttered closed. I hated him and I hated myself, but I couldn't help it. I was hard as a ram. If he kept going, he'd make me come in my khakis within a couple of minutes, and there was nothing I could do to help it. Maybe because being a guy himself, he knew damn well what worked best to push me to the edge.

And then he stopped, moving his hand away from me.

I didn't dare to open my eyes, frozen like the statue to the boner of the year, fists clenched against my sides, sweat drops trickling down my temples, my chest pumping.

"Look at me."

I didn't want to, but I did it anyway. I faced his burning dark eyes and his smirk, trying in vain not to pant softly.

His hands came up to the waist of my khakis and I felt him unbutton it and pull the zip down. A heartbeat later, his fingers sneaked inside the slacks to grab my junk over the underwear.

"That's better," he said.

My hips moved slightly back, helping him guide my throbbing cock up. The son of a thousand bitches placed it pointing up, the head showing out over the boxer trunks waist, that pressed on it to keep it like that.

"Don't touch it."

His words stopped my hand on its track, halfway to my cock. I forced it back down and pressed it to my side.

"What do you want from me?" I asked.

He smirked wider and didn't answer. Instead, his hand sank inside my slacks, covering my shaft on its way down to my nuts, where it paused to fondle them. The shaky sigh that escaped my mouth made him look up at my face. He seemed to like what he saw.

"Don't even think about coming until I tell you so."

I nodded slightly, more agitated by the minute. But I frowned in shock when he brought his other hand to my face and his fingertips reached out to my lips.

"Be a good boy to your big boy," he said.

A chill of rejection ran down my back as he dipped two of his fingers in my mouth, brushing the tip of my tongue. And another chill made shiver from head to toes a heartbeat later, feeling those wet fingertips brush the head of my cock.

"Oh, fuck," I heard myself mumble, closing my eyes while his fingers ran over the tense skin, his other hand still petting my nuts, my cock nodding and wagging in protest against the waist of the trunks choking it and my guts ablaze like a wild fire.

His hand left my groin, but the fingers kept teasing my tip, and that alone made me jerk inside. I could only think of pushing him away, grab my cock in my own hand and give it what it wanted.

Then his whole hand sneaked into my underwear, grasping my shaft in a fist that moved up and down a couple of times. Maybe my quivering gave me away, because he stopped and stepped away again. I opened my eyes to find him walking backwards toward the table.

"Please," I murmured. "Let me go."

"Let you go?" he repeated, grabbing the soft bag, and shot a mocking glance at me. "Or let you come?"

"Whatever?"

He unzipped the soft bag and produced a little flask of something that looked like Purell, using the small pump on the lid to pour some gel on his other hand. My knees trembled when he approached me again, rubbing his fingers together. He stood at my left, his tie brushing my arm, and looked down at my crotch.

"Keep your shirt bottoms out of the way."

I did, holding them against my belly above my navel.

"Let's give your skin a little something."

I shut my eyes tight when his fingertips brushed the tip of my cock. He closed his fist around it, covering the whole head. Shit! It felt good. Then he moved his fist up and down, but never past the waist band of my trunks.

"Oh, fuck," I mumbled once more as he stroke the head, spreading the gel over it. No, it wasn't gel. It was more like oil. Whatever. It made it feel even better.

And as he stroked, my skin covered in oil felt funny under his touch. Warm, but not only that. Like waves of that warmth rippled down my shaft. Nothing could have stopped my hips from humping.

"Please stop," I begged in a thread of voice.

"What, you don't like it?"

His hand sank inside my underwear, spreading the oil all over my shaft, stroking up and down with little pulls to the side, like my cock was the lid of a jar he wanted to unscrew. If it was, it was about to come out.

The touch of his warm skin mixed with the oil, setting my whole crotch on fire with his slow and firm jerking. Until, all of a sudden, he stopped and removed his hand. My head basked forward and I opened my eyes, never minding my panting, to face him like asking why the fuck he was stopping.

"Breathe, boy. You still haven't earned permission to come."

The twisted son of a bitch! My glare made him chuckle.

"Pull the trunks waist down," he commanded, pouring more oil on his hand.

He guided my spare hand to hook my thumb in the waist band and brought out my nuts. My cock wagged against my pelvis like a frigging wiper, hard and tense. And the hideous junk even nodded when he reached out to it.

"Something here knows what it wants, huh?" he mocked me. The sick sucker was having a great time.

I was about to loathe him some more, but his dry hand guided my cock down to rest his oiled fist against my tip. It slid on my cock but an inch, just enough to keep it in place.

"Ready for more?"

His fist stroke my shaft slowly down to its base and came back up. A muffled groan came out of my lips. He did it again, and again. It was killing me.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, please," I whined, letting my hips match his fist.

"I like to hear you," he whispered, so close to my ear it startled me. As to prove it, his fist stroked me a few more times, faster now.

I'd never felt anything like that over a handjob. That wicked rippling of warmth that seemed to reach my guts and spread inside of me. It was like fucking Steph in kinky lingerie and eating the best chocolate at the same time. The urge for relief and a rush of dopamine colliding right behind my navel and shaking me inside.

"Let me know if you're about to come."

"I'm about to come," I managed to mumble, gasping and trying to muffle the moans that struggled to escape my lips.

So he stopped, of course, and left me shaky and panting.

"Please!" I begged.

He raised his eyebrows. My heart sunk yet again when I felt his other hand on my buttocks. Oh, the twisted fucker wanted to fuck me. That was what this was all about. Foreplay to subdue me and then have my ass for his silence. I had to get out of there, away from him. I had to get home, grab Steph and leave town that very night to never come back.

His fingers fishing in my back pocket gave me a start. Only then I realized my phone was buzzing in there. Oh, shit! That was Steph! What was I to tell her? Pack and come pick me up? He took my phone and showed it to me, still holding my painfully hard cock in his other hand.

"Steph?" he asked, reading the screen.

"My girlfriend," I replied, looking at him in desperation. "I should be home by now."

"You better tell her you're going to be late."

He took the call and held the phone against my ear. I closed my eyes. There I was, standing in the middle of the conference room, holding my shirt up and my underwear down, my nuts hanging out, sore and full, my cock hard as to drill a hole in a brick wall. With Big Ellie, the unicorn, the all-mighty gazillionaire, the CEO, holding my cock. And the phone so I could lie to my girl.

"Hey, babe, sorry," I said before she could ask anything. "Something came up and I'm still in the campus."

I felt my throat squeeze when his oiled hand stroked me slowly.

"Oh, okay. I was scared something had happened to you," said Steph, the thought of me lying to her never even crossing her mind.

"Go ahead and have dinner. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay. But you're gonna pay for this. Dearly."

I fought back a shaky gasp as the stroking sent more rippling waves all over my lower body.

"Gladly," I was able to reply.

"Love you."

He didn't let me say me too. He pulled the phone away and disconnected, letting go of me only enough to throw it on the table.

"Where were we?" he asked, always with that smug mocking smirk.

"Please, I'm begging you."

"I know, and I like it."

I groaned when his fist covered the head of my cock yet again. But this time, his other hand went back to my butt and opened flat on it, his fingers spreading to grab my buttocks.

"Are you gonna fuck me?" I asked helplessly, my thighs shaking slightly and my cock in his fist.

He looked up at me, raising his eyebrows. "You want me too?"

I shook my head, not sure if I was about to cry, to come, to scream or all of the above.

"Then I'm not." His hand squeezed my buttock. "Nice ass. Maybe someday, if you ask nicely."

"Fuck you," I growled before I could stop myself.

"I'm afraid that's out of the picture." His fist pressed against my cock and his hand pushed me gently against it. "There, like that."

He guided my hips forward, and my cock into his fist, that didn't move. He made me push until his fist was against my pelvis, then guided me backwards. Then again, his hand keeping a firm hold of my buttock to direct my humping.

"Oh, fuck," I groaned, shivering in the rippling warmth. This was hotter than fucking Steph in the ass, but in an unnerving slow motion. I tried to rock faster and he pulled his fist away. It took me a moment to stop my own hips. "No, please."

He brought his fist back and squeezed the head of my cock hard and fast a few times before pulling away again. Every time, my hips kept rocking until I was able to restrain them, that wicked rush wreaking havoc between my navel and my thighs. I registered his hand fondling my buttocks, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore. I just wanted to come.

"I'm coming!" I mumbled, and the son of a bitch stepped away, leaving my throbbing cock thrusting in the air.

He approached me again, and his fondling of my butt was awful enough to distract me until I got a grip on myself. Then he started again. And again. And again.

I lost count of the times he pushed me to the edge, only to leave me fucking the cold air of the conference room. I could hardly stand on my feet anymore, out of breath, my legs shaking, covered in sweat.

"Please!" I cried at the brink of tears. I wanted it to end. I wanted it to last. I wanted to go home. I wanted more.

I frowned when he left my side to go to the table and sat down at the first chair, spinning it to face me. His elbows on the armrests, he crossed his hands before his chin, his burning eyes moving all over me.

"Come closer," he commanded.

It made me feel so frigging ridiculous, but I stepped up as I was, holding my shirt up and my trunks down, my khakis slipping down my hips to end up halfway to my knees. He reached out and signaled me to step even closer. I had to let go of my underwear to bring my cock down within his reach. His fingertips caused me a jolt as they rubbed and pinched my tip, making me forget about the damned waist of my trunks pressing behind my nuts like a cock ring, and about how pathetic and stupid I surely looked. His teasing seemed to pull from my hips and I tried to hump into his hand. He scoffed, leaving my cock throbbing and nodding for more.

"You can come now," he said.

I frowned down at him in disbelief. "What?" I cried.

"You wanna leave like that?" His chin pointed at my unwavering boner and he met my eyes. "Well, then. But careful. I don't want a single drop on the carpet." His wink was despicable. "Jerk off for me and I won't call the cops on you."

His words tugged like strings to set my body in motion. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the sick fucker watching me like I was a monkey in a zoo, and stroked my cock hard and fast. I didn't care about the grunts and gasps coming out of my mouth, nor about the way my hips pushed to go with my jerking. I just let go with a hoarse moan, feeling my muscles stiff in the relief I'd been sorely needing for the last hour. I took a moment longer to catch a little breath and wait for my legs to stop shaking.

"Here," I heard him say while I fought to keep it all in my fist.

Wasn't he nice, handing me a box of wet tissues.

He stood up, his eyes still on the gooey mess I was trying to clean off.

"You've earned a second chance," he said. "Use it wisely. Unless you can cross the border before midnight, do what I'll do: keep this to yourself and show up tomorrow like nothing happened."

He flashed one last smirk, his dark eyes on my lips, turned around and left.