They looked like ants.

          Sunset had started to creep over the city and from the 47th floor, Roland could observe dusty orange rays peeking through the skyscraper canyons lining Bay Street. Shadows cast on the lanes below appeared as jagged teeth, eating up the remains of the work day, while human specks inched their way in cluttered lines towards the subway for the long ride home.

          How long had he been climbing? Fourteen years? Fifteen? He first arrived at Gardner & Stein as an eager nineteen year old in the mailroom, couriering documents around downtown to other law firms.  Undergrad, law school, the bar, nights on end prepping cases, making junior associate – it had been an endless grind.  But now, in his mid-forties, he was officially a senior partner.  

          Roland returned to the large mahogany desk that dominated the room. So much dark wood in this space from the previous occupant, he thought. He had added new furnishings, mounted modern art on the walls behind him, and decluttered the view looking out onto the city. He was making the space his own, but acknowledged more needed doing. There was time for it all - he was going nowhere now that he sat atop the food chain.

          From his open door, the cleaning crew could be seen trundling their carts onto the elevator, finishing early tonight.  This was fortuitous, Roland thought. Not that the presence of custodial staff would have dissuaded his plans. The office was, by design, soundproof as any meetings held necessitated total discretion.

          Undoing his tie, the 44 year old exhaled fatigue. He would not see home for many hours still. Glancing around his desk, he resigned to clean up; the Miller trial had gained media attention (and generated a mountain more work) - the son of a divisive city politician was caught at a swinger’s club scandalizing the city owing to the fact that he was 1) a swinger (gasp! immoral!) and 2) his escort was possibly a borderline minor (truly problematic).

          Roland closed his eyes. The journey had been arduous, but the rewards worth it; status, wealth, a grand corner office, high profile cases, and a premiere legal team at his beck and call. Speaking of which …

          Roland pressed the intercom on his desk. Bzzzt-zzzt.

          “Yes, Mr. Davenport?” came a rich female voice, like buttah.

          “Ms. Harper, our meeting was for 6 but I find my schedule free now. Can you come to my office please?”

          “Certainly, Mr. Davenport.”

          Suzan Harper: 34 years old, 5’7”, long dirty blond hair with curves which, in a previous time, would have had her likeness painted on military bombers. More than this, she was smart as a whip and had a natural acumen for clerking. Roland found her while doing pro-bono work at a government office and she became a prized acquisition when he lured her away with a larger paycheck and promises of growth potential at a top firm. Well, she was definitely leveraging all her potential with him he mused wryly.

          Knocking snapped Roland from his thoughts. “Suzan, come in and lock the door behind you please.”  

Sashaying her way to the leather chairs in front of Roland, her peach bottom made a satisfying jiggle as she sat. Impeccable, he thought; a checkered black and white wrap-around dress accentuated Suzan’s voluptuous curves. Hair in a bun, crimson lips and manicured nails, with dark smokey eyes completing her look. In hand was a leather dossier she rested on a side table.

          “Thank you for meeting on such short notice, Suzan.”  

          Roland pulled a small journal from his desk, noting the date and counting a series of checks on the page.

          “Absolutely, Mr. Davenport.  Always my pleasure,” Suzan purred as she sat up in the chair to present her boldest assets to Roland.

          “You have twenty-three points.” 

          The legal clerk’s eye cocked. “That many?”

          Roland half-smiled. “I gave you two for the last session as we went over time. You're on track to have a better quarter this year than last.”

          “Thank you. I do my best to provide whatever you need.”

          “How’s your husband Phillip doing? Any adventures lately?”

          The question elicited from her a genuine grin, a perfect row of white between pouty red lips. “He’s well.  Still doing what we do. We went to a convention a few months ago in Niagara.  It was … ”She searched carefully, “Indulgent.”

          Roland chuckled. “Indeed. You need to get to Jamaica. Negril is wild and wonderful in the summer.  Many opportunities for your appetites.”

          “Maybe if the bonuses increase…” Suzan hinted.

          Giving a non-committal nod, Roland assured her, “You’re compensated handsomely for extras, Ms. Harper … and …you might be able to earn a bonus tonight.”

          “Oh really?” his clerk’s tone pitched high in anticipation.

          “Depends on your performance and how happy you make me.” Roland paused to let the weight of his words sink in. “Do you remember your safe words, Ms. Harper?“  She nodded. “Good. Now … let me see what I’m paying for.”

          On command, Suzan stood up and undid the belt keeping her wrap dress whole. Falling from her shoulders onto the seat behind her, she exposed heavy round 36DD breasts overflowing a seemingly ill-fitting bra. Black thigh high stockings linked by garters to a lacy suspender belt completed the look and, just as he requested, she was smoothly waxed with no g-string to hinder access. She reached behind to undo the restraints that held her, mounds spilling forward in all their glorious heft, each areola punctuated in the middle with dangling silver hoops. In bold looping script on her waist, Roland could make out “Phillip” where her husband had branded her - no doubt to remind playmates and clients alike to whom she ultimately belonged.  It was a nice touch, Roland, acknowledged.

          “Exquisite,” he said under his breath. Taking Suzan by the wrist, he led her to two small paintings on the wall behind his desk. Removing the frames revealed Roland’s handiwork; reinforced brackets that once held up a singular heavy bronze frame had been augmented with thin adjustable metal hoops; hoops into which Roland now fastened Suzan, face first against the wall, bare buttocks ready for whatever punishment he had in mind. “As always, no one can hear you … so I want to see a struggle,” he directed her.

          “Yes, sir,” Suzan purred.

          Undoing his shirt, Roland revealed the lean rippled musculature he proudly worked to maintain. Finally, it was time to play … time for release. Undoing his leather belt and wrapping one end around his fist, he delivered the first lash unto the pale flesh being offered him. A resounding “Thwaack!” echoed and a hiss escaped Suzan’s lips. Immediately a pink welt started to form. Roland gently caressed the mark. “Thwack! Thwack,” two more in succession. At this, Suzan jerked against her restraints forcefully as she instinctively tried to move away.

          “Ohhhh…” she exhaled. Roland admired his handiwork. He traced the dark slit between her legs and he felt her moistness. He could smell her lust.

          “What do you want, Suzan?” Roland teased her. “Release?”

          “No sir.  I … I want more.”

          “More of what?”

          “Hurt… hurt me more, Mr. Davenport.”

          At this Roland released a barrage on the bare bottom before him; more welts emerged, darker than before. Suzan fruitlessly jumped at the strikes, pulling harder from the wall. This pattern would repeat for several long agonizing minutes; flogging, caresses, then affirming the need for further punishment. It was a twisted ritual that made Roland feel strong, wanted, needed. In time, beads of sweat dripped down Suzan’s back and Roland’s brow; both breathing heavily from the exertion.

          Roland admired Suzan’s fortitude in these exchanges. To give relief, he kneeled behind her as if to pray before a desecrated relic, peppering red stripes with kisses; hints of blood on his lips. Slowly, he ran his tongue over the flesh - warm - dipping into the dripping crevice between her legs. Darting in and out, adding long strokes and short strokes, he prodded into her depths and ran the length upwards tasting the earthiness between her cheeks. 

          Suzan moaned deeply. The contrast between stings previously raining down and the tongue lashing now given to her depths was exquisite; it made her legs weak, shuddering under Roland’s exploration.

          “More…” she rasped. Her once immaculate mascara was now rivers of black and spittle had caused the deep rouge of her lips to smear.

          Roland’s appetite was growing. Pinching carabiners on the restraints holding Suzan’s lifeless arms, he freed her. Limp as flowers left too long in the sun, Roland turned her towards the mahogany desk and she found respite lying on its cool surface. Unzipping his trousers, he freed his cock, hard, dripping and pulsating with eagerness. 

          “God!” she exclaimed as Roland  plunged it into her. Her nails dug fruitlessly into the wood beneath her. Fully wrapped in her wetness, Roland thrusted eagerly again and again, each thrust met with wanton moans.

          “Fucking ruin me,” Suzan pleaded with him as she bounced off the mahogany, her sopping breasts undulating wildly as Roland tore into her. 

          Grabbing and unravelling the bun of dirty blond hair atop her head, he gripped it firmly, jerking her head back and re-doubled his efforts. “Yessss! More…!” Suzan encouraged.

          How am I to keep this up? Roland thought. He was climbing … reaching a peak threatening to tip over into the abyss.

***

           “Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt,” a pronounced hollow metallic ringing invaded the office space.

          Roland could see the red light triple flash on his desk panel in quick succession. Front desk security. He cupped Suzan’s mouth to stifle her pleasured grunting, “Yes?”

          “Mr. Davenport, a Johnathan Clarke from Stockwell & Associates is here.”

          Slowing his thrusts and controlling his breathing, Roland snapped, “Send him up.” 

          So the bugger took him up on the offer after all? Jonathan was an old compatriot, both having studied at Osgoode Hall. Their circles were close in academia and even more so now that they rubbed elbows, sometimes throwing them at each other, in the city courts. Hearing a heavy knock minutes later, Roland yelled for his guest to come in. Even in her haze, Suzan’s eyes were immediately transfixed by the dapper black gentleman who entered; sporting a tailored Armani coat, silver grey slacks and alligator loafers Johnathan walked in. At an imposing 6 '3”, the defense lawyer was everything women at Osgoode clamoured for; nevermind the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ cliche he obviously radiated; he also came from old money. Unlike Roland, there were no summers in the mailroom for Johnathan as he came up in the world, just yearly trips to one of many family residences in his native Barbados.

          “You cheeky bastard started without me,” boomed Jonathan as he threw Armani onto a chair.

          “Couldn’t help myself.” Releasing his hold on Suzan, fleshy blade unsheathing, Roland pushed her onto her knees. “This is how you earn your bonus tonight, Ms. Harper. Offer him quality service and you’ll be off to Jamaica in no time.”

          “Gladly, Mr. Davenport.”  

          Her face a glorious mix of onyx lines and blotched crimson, Suzan crawled like a bitch in heat to the new guest who was quickly disrobing. From the waist down, a girthy snake was coming to life between his legs. Suzan wrapped all ten fingers around his shaft and began stroking it firmly, rhythmically, pre-cum falling onto her tongue. She was hungry and the prior abuse only served to stoke her appetite. As Johnathan came to life, she placed her lips around the veiny shaft and started to feed. Her client moaned. A familiar grip could be felt on her scalp.

          “Good girl,” Davenport whispered in her ear. “Show him how hungry you are.” 

          Roland began to push and Suzan felt the large bulbous tip hit the back of her throat. But practice made perfect, and she was prepared as the girth began to eek its way into her gullet, more spittle running down her chin. She knew too well, though, that her boss wanted a show, and so she struggled against Johnathan’s thighs, digging her claws into his well muscled legs as she half-heartedly pushed away.

          “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Ms. Harper. Clearly, you don’t get a say in this matter,” Roland admonished her and switching his grip to wrap her hair in his fist, he played the part of ventriloquist, impaling her face repeatedly, causing more tears to emerge. Seeing his compatriot at full mast, Roland pulled Suzan from her feast, gagging and gasping for much needed breath.  

          “My turn now, my dear,” and again she was put upon to keep eating the flesh offered her; in and out, in and out till Roland’s shaft too was dripping, fully engorged.

          “More …” Suzan gasped, “More… I want both of you.” 

          Wrapping her manicured hands around each member, she greedily plunged both men into her throat, the passage offering absolutely no resistance at this point; one spear thrust followed by the other, light skin interchanging with dark, over and over as several painfully delicious minutes passed by.

          “I have an appointment in half an hour, Roland,” Jonathan said matter of factly as he was several inches deep. “We need to bring this … exchange… to a close. Should you go first or should I?”

          Roland smirked, “No need, my friend. Ms. Harper here excels at multitasking, don’t you Suzan?”

          Releasing Jonathan and wiping the drool from her lips, she gasped, “Yes, sir. It’s a specialty of mine.”  Gazing upwards at her boss’ friend she matter-of-factly inquired, “Front or back, Mr. Clarke?”

          Jonathan grinned devilishly from ear to ear, “Back.”

          Roland grimaced in disappointment. But acknowledging the rights of his guest, he dropped to the carpet.  Dripping with excitement, Suzan hopped atop Roland with a contented sigh, put her head on his chest, then reached behind and pulled her lacerated bottom apart to expose her puckered brown star.

          “Please gentlemen, use me,” Suzan urged the lawyers.

          Needing no further coaxing, Jonathan eagerly grabbed the clerk by her hips, aligned himself and plunged headlong into her musky depths. A startled cry escaped Suzan as she felt her holes expand under the force of dual entry. Though money was her primary motivator for these sessions, there was something thoroughly enjoyable about playing the part of a wanton whore; to be the object of these powerful men’s desires and compensated accordingly. All three quickly fell into a steady rhythm; an undulating sandwich of sweat, saliva and lust. As both men thrusted, Johnathan raised her long hair to bite at the exposed flesh of her neck and Roland for his part sucked violently at Suzan’s bejeweled nipples. She was being devoured alive, ripped apart by their hunger and she was loving every second of it. She twisted her neck passionately kissing Johnathan as he pillaged her crack, moaning as their tongues duelled. The forcefulness of movements increased in tandem, both men wanting their time and money’s worth, she herself nearing the edge of a precipice in her loins. 

          Thankfully, with past experience she knew exactly what to say to push Roland over the edge; the illusion of power, complete control, omnipotence even. “Mr. Davenport…” she gasped, “You … you’re hurting me.”

          “Good,” her boss spat out as her hanging bosom battered his face. “We’re not here for your sake, Suzan.” He bit into the plumpness of her breasts. “You’re here to serve us.  Know your place.”

          “My place… is to be destroyed by you two,” she acknowledged.

          At these words, the men redoubled their efforts in fucking away the stress of the day. Suzan deliciously felt her body being torn by their greed and as she arched her back, she moaned hoarsely at the ceiling.  The men wrapped around her bucked and thrashed, shuddering to release themselves deep into Suzan’s eager and waiting holes, so fully and with such force that all three could feel their sex leak and mingle.

***

          First to recover, Johnathan unceremoniously got up and quickly put his trousers back on, took his handkerchief and wiped himself clean as best he could. Roland knew playtime was over.  

          “I’ll see you in court on Friday,” he reminded him. Johnathan grunted an affirmative, the glow of the moment quickly fading. “Don’t forget our agreement,” Roland chimed.

          The defense lawyer sullenly nodded, “I won’t.” Shrugging quickly, Jonathan added, “I don’t feel too bad about this flop. Miller’s a shifty asshole and his father has this bad news coming. The girl he was caught with was, in fact, underaged by two months.”

          Roland smiled, “If everything goes to plan, don’t hesitate to join us next week at my cottage.” Looking over at his clerk cleaning up, he inquired, “Will your friends be joining us in Muskoka, Suzan?”

          “Chloe and Linda have confirmed but Michelle is unsure.”

          Roland’s brow furrowed, “Remind her of her husband Leo’s unpaid debt to the firm. He wouldn’t have dodged that bullet from the casino owner were it not for us.”

          “Of course, Mr. Davenport.”

          In quick order both Suzan and Johnathan left. Minutes later, Roland was again dressed and sitting silently, alone, in his office. Looking at the evening sky blanketing the city, he knew there would be many more long nights ahead. But from this vantage point, in the here and now, the climb had been worth it.

****

“Bye guys!” Suzan chirped walking past front security. Exiting onto the street, the cool night air hitting her skin was refreshing. It was the first time a guest had joined Mr. Davenport, let alone one so important. Popping open the leather dossier, she carefully stopped the recording on her cellphone. Where to go with this? Looking up at the 47th floor from which she came, she smiled. Nowhere but up, she thought.