The 40-Day Doll — 6
“...”
I had taken him for lazy and incompetent. He was neither. If anything, he was sharp.
“Isn’t that right?”
What reaction was I supposed to give? No matter how hard I turned it over in my head, nothing useful came to me. He, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly delighted—and just as he had on the first day we met, he began circling me in lazy loops.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“...”
“That you’re innocent. That it really was just a mistake.”
He perched on the edge of the desk and met my eyes.
“Or that you’re sorry.”
“...”
I felt like I was going out of my mind. No matter what I said, there was no way out of this. Worse—anything I said at all would only bind me tighter. And then—
It would be over.
For the settlement agreement to take effect, I had to stay employed through the end of the month. That meant no quitting and no getting fired. This felt like a crisis.
“…I’m sorry.”
I had to lower my head. Three weeks left. Too much to throw away.
“You’re tall.”
It had nothing to do with the situation, but I understood what he meant. So I moved slowly. Slowly.
I sank to my knees.
“I’m sorry.”
“See? You’re far too capable.”
There was a lot packed into that one line. I couldn’t answer. He smiled thickly and stepped in front of me, then unzipped. At the sound, my head—which had been angled toward the floor—lifted, and he rested his cock against my face. He didn’t say a word, but I knew.
“…Could we at least lock the door?”
“No.”
I forced up a hand that didn’t want to rise, took hold of him, and began to stroke at a measured pace. Blood started to fill the half-hard shaft; a few more passes and it stood stiff and upright.
“You’re good at this. Did a lot of it for your boyfriend, huh?”
“...”
I didn’t want to answer. All I wanted was for him to finish already. I kept the pace fast but controlled—I knew that was how to get it over with sooner. Before long, though, he stopped my hand.
“Use your mouth.”
I really, truly didn’t want to. Having a fully erect cock right under my nose was bad enough. Putting it in my mouth was worse.
“You’re not going to?”
“...”
I lightly gripped the shaft and slowly brought it to my lips. His hand settled on my head. With my mouth against the head, I looked up—and there it was. The expression of someone settling in for a show he’d been looking forward to. As if he meant to watch exactly how well I could do it.
“Do it.”
I held the base with one hand and pushed him in, slow and deep, until I felt the tip approach the back of my throat. Any farther and I’d gag. I hesitated—and he gave a little shove with his hips.
“Mph!!”
The sudden jolt made me pull off, coughing. Tears welled; spit stretched from my lips in a long, thin thread.
“Hurry up.”
I wiped the string of saliva with the back of my hand and looked at him again. Slick with spit, it looked even more grotesque. I glanced up to gauge his mood; he only nudged his hips at me again, as if to say get on with it.
“Please stay still.”
Thanks to the gamefication trait, not breathing wouldn’t actually hurt me. I only breathed out of habit. This time I held my breath—so even if he suddenly shoved, I wouldn’t choke. Slowly again, I took him in hand and began to work him with my mouth.
“Teeth.”
I opened wider and tucked my lips over my teeth like padding, forcing my mouth into an O so nothing would scrape.
“You’re sucking—so why isn’t your tongue doing anything?”
I added each of his demands one by one as I went. I’d never done this before, though; none of it felt natural. Then he pinched my nose shut with two fingers. Working him like that, I felt the vacuum form in my mouth every time I drew back. He let go and told me to breathe at intervals, but I tensed the back of my throat and closed off the passage to my sinuses myself.
“Oh~. You pick things up fast.”
“...”
I wanted to tell him to just finish already, but with his cock in my mouth I couldn’t say a word.
“Use your tongue too.”
I didn’t know how. I moved it around anyway, trying to give him as much stimulation as I could, and my hand at the base kept working as well. When I rolled my eyes up to look at him, his face was sliding into pure pleasure. Matching the pace of my fist to the pace of my mouth, I stacked the sensation higher and higher—until he was swollen to the limit. He seized my head.
And moved.
“Ngh!”
He held my head like a fleshlight and drove his hips in hard. The cock buried deep kept jabbing the back of my throat.
“Kh—ngh!… Brh… ngh…”
I felt him swell even thicker inside my mouth. That was definitely the sign he was about to come.
“Ngh…! Hh… ngh… ghk…”
I wanted him out, but he had my head locked; I couldn’t pull away, couldn’t speak. He sped up further, forcing himself all the way into my throat—then yanked me back by the hair with his left hand, pulled free, and came.
With his left hand fisted in my hair I couldn’t turn my face. He painted me with it in thick ropes, then milked the rest out with his right hand until every last drop was spent. When a bead clung to the tip without falling, he wiped it on my lips. The rank smell hit me at once; the semen that got into my mouth was salty and something I had no words for.
“Urgh!”
The thought that I had tasted it made me gag.
“Huu…”
When he finally let go of my head, I slumped sideways onto the floor. Sticky semen clumped and ran down my cheek. Another wave of nausea rose.
“Urgh!”
He, for his part, seemed to be enjoying himself. No—he was enjoying the way I glared at him with pure venom.
“Today’s been a real treat, hasn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. He straightened his clothes, then crouched in front of where I’d collapsed.
“Isn’t that right?”
“...”
Once the thick smell of semen grew familiar, the nausea stopped rising. Separately from that, I just wanted it off me. I looked around for something to wipe with and spotted a box of tissues on the reception table. He followed my gaze.
“No.”
“...”
Semen was running down my face. I was cupping my hands under it so it wouldn’t get on my clothes.
“Why?”
“Consider it a kind of punishment.”
My face twisted with anger; that only seemed to please him more.
“Go wash up outside.”
I had no idea who might be out there. If Secretary Choi had parked and come straight up, he’d already be sitting outside.
“Please give me a tissue.”
“No.”
He smiled again, then leaned his hip against the desk and looked down at me. I rose carefully, still catching the dripping semen so it wouldn’t touch my clothes.
“…I’ll be going out, then.”
There was nothing else to do. All I could hope was that Secretary Choi wasn’t there. If he was, I’d have to get to the utility room fast. The utility room behind my desk had a small sink for washing cups—much closer than the bathroom.
“Sure. Go on out.”
I was turning away when—
“You’ve got the anal plug, right? Wear it from now on.”
Irritation surged. I was supposed to answer, but I didn’t want to. I headed for the door as if I hadn’t heard; he didn’t force a reply. He’d already seen the way my face twisted.
Right now all I wanted was for Secretary Choi not to be there. Slowly, but not so slowly it looked deliberate, I opened the door, pretended to cover my mouth, and hid as much of my face as I could. Then I scanned. The hallway was empty. I turned my eyes toward the seating near the entrance. If he’d sensed anyone, Secretary Choi would have looked up. I needed to get a little closer first. One step. Another. That was when I realized—he still hadn’t arrived.
“Haa…”
The tension bled out of me.
While I was getting ready for work, my mood went strange—and staring at the anal plug that was the cause of it only made me more conflicted. My plan to just get through the job had collapsed into a confirmed resignation after one impulsive moment. The pay had been solid—mid-sized company starting salary—but after hitting the president, the job was terminal. So the workplace itself no longer meant anything. I was only enduring until the settlement agreement could take effect. A life of pure holding on, with no purpose in it. That was why I felt so hollow.
“Huu…”
I tried to change my mood by recalling the beer bottle I’d brought down on his head, but the regret was still sharp. Back then I should have hit him with a full one, not an empty.
“Fucking bastard…”
I squeezed disposable lube over the anal plug, spread it, and squatted. I set it against my entrance and pushed slowly. I wasn’t aroused at all, so the resistance was brutal. I kept the pressure and waited; bit by bit it gave way, and once the thickest part cleared, it slid home.
“Ugh.”
The sudden full insertion prodding deep inside was unpleasant, but by the time I finished getting ready for work, it had settled. And the president, as usual, didn’t show up until after lunch.
“Show me.”
No subject, but I knew exactly what he meant. I hiked my skirt up slowly and turned around. That alone would have been enough to check. Even under my panties, the blue crystal was faintly visible.
“Pull your panties down and show me properly.”
The moment I understood, shame began to well up little by little. Showing my underwear had already gone numb for me—but what this bastard wanted went well past that.
“Want me to do it for you?”
He laced his fingers on the desk, propped his chin on them, and smiled with pure enjoyment.
“…I’ll do it myself.”
But my hands wouldn’t move.
“Three minutes enough?”
He tapped the desk with one hand. A steady beat. Like he was keeping time.
“...”
My hands still wouldn’t move—but the idea of him doing it was worse. He’d look even closer, and there was no telling what else he might do. Better that I handle it myself. I slid the black panties down slowly. To my knees. All that was left was to bend and show him.
“One minute.”
I put a hand between my legs and covered myself.
“You need both hands to spread your ass. How else am I supposed to see properly?”
It was humiliating beyond measure. But the indifferent tap-tap on the desk kept pushing me.
“Two minutes.”
— Tap. Tap. Tap.
I bent at the waist and spread myself open with both hands.