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You’re late.
The sound of your heels clacking as you speed walk through the hallways of V Tower echo, painfully filling the silence. A thundering reminder of your inadequacy.
Vox will be furious. Hopefully merciful, too, but you doubt you’d get that lucky.
You turn a corner, and the sight of the door before you fills you with immeasurable dread. You have no other recourse – not walking through that door is simply not an option.
Smoothing your skirt with one hand and adjusting the heap of papers in your other arm, you steel your nerves, grab the door’s handle, and enter.
The first thing that hits you is the cloud of pink smoke saturating the room. It’s not entirely unpleasant; it has a rather sweet smell, albeit a tad sickly. The second thing that catches your notice is the massive king size bed in the center of the room, illuminated in a halo of stage lighting, two sinners atop it in a very, very compromising position. The third thing you see is Valentino.
And he’s looking right at you.
This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Sorry! Wrong room!” you quickly excuse yourself, dashing back out the door. You race down the hallway with a renewed sense of urgency, the clicking of your heels resonating with even more fervor than before as you breeze past doors, not bothering to even check if they’re the one you had been searching for to begin with. All that matters is putting significant distance between yourself and the overlord.
Valentino is faster.
You hear him before you see him, the rhythm of his heeled boots joining your own, and then you feel him, a bruising grip on your upper arm yanking you back. If you were slightly less durable, he would’ve crushed bone. The papers in your arms cascade to the floor in an unceremonious pile and despite yourself, you lunge to start gathering them. His grip allows for no wiggle room, however, and you struggle uselessly.
He whirls you around, shoving you into the nearest wall. You’re boxed in by his massive frame; there’s nowhere you can avert your gaze that isn’t full of him. And you certainly aren’t looking at the gleaming pistol holstered on his hip.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, interrupting me?” he growls, jabbing your shoulder with his cigarette. You’re lucky it isn’t the hot end. Hell, you’re lucky he hasn’t killed you outright.
“I’m so, so sorry, sir!” you squeak, feeling very, very small. “It was an honest mistake! I didn’t mean to, I was just in such a hurry to get those reports to Vox and—”
“You’re one of Vox’s?” he interjects. You nod, staring up at him with big, wet eyes when your words fail you. He considers for a moment, and then his demeanor shifts, like the flip of a switch. His tone turns suave, his voice smooth and sweet in cadence. “Why haven’t I seen you around before, chica?”
“I...I don’t know,” you nearly whimper. Valentino inspects you, shamelessly raking his gaze over your form. His eyes linger on the low cut of your blouse, the sensible but just slightly too short cut of your skirt. He takes a lock of your hair in hand, running his touch along your smooth tresses before wrapping a length of them around his fingers and giving them a slight tug. You wince, fear saturating your every move.
“With me,” he commands, leaving no room for argument verbally or physically as he turns you with him, slinging an arm over your shoulders. You hesitate for as long as you can afford to as he herds you back towards the room from whence he came.
“I really should be getting those reports to Vox,” you speak up, voice laced with anxiety. “He’ll be really mad—”
“Oh, princesa, it’s me you should be worried about right now,” he laughs. You arrive back at the door to his set, and he ushers you inside with a deceptively chivalrous “after you.”
The actors from before have since moved apart, and they watch you curiously, as if they’re studying an active car crash, as the two of you re-enter. You can feel the gazes of the others in the room, crew members and cameramen and assistants all assessing you as your fate plays out before them. They don’t enjoy the scene for long however, as Valentino impatiently waves a hand their way and they spring into action, rushing out of the room to leave you to your impending doom.
Valentino leads you to the bed, pulling you down to sit beside him, at first. He doesn’t seem entirely pleased with this arrangement, however, and yanks you into his lap. The rush of blood to your cheeks doesn’t escape his notice.
“Now, sweetheart, why would Voxxy hide you from me, hm?”
“I’m sure he wasn’t hiding me, it just never—”
Another wave of his hand, and you realize he was never interested in your answer. Rather, as you were babbling, his hands were traveling dangerously low, toying with the hem of your skirt for just a moment before slipping beneath.
“Sir, what are you—”
“Chatty little thing,” he chastises, his clawed fingers ghosting over the apex of your thighs. “Relax, baby.”
You don’t relax, as he pushes your thighs apart, now dragging a finger over the damp cloth of your lacy panties. When had you gotten wet?
He applies just a bit of pressure, and you whimper, squirming on his lap.
“So responsive,” he praises.
The world seems to slow as he hooks a claw into the hem of your panties, slicing the fabric with a quick, practiced move, and exposing yourself to him. Valentino uses another hand to yank your skirt up, allowing him to appreciate the view. He hums his approval before getting to work.
He finds your clit with ease, treating you to tight, slow circles. Your grasp at him against your better judgment, grabbing onto his shirt to anchor yourself.
“I shouldn’t—” you begin, but he hushes you. Taking a long drag from his cigarette as he teases your aching bud, he blows the smoke directly into your face. You can’t help but to take a deep breath, trying desperately to self-regulate. The effect is instant, your shoulders slumping and legs parting to allow him more access. Much to your humiliation, your pussy throbs beneath his touch.
“Voxxy doesn’t take care of you, does he, hm?” he coos, fingers traveling lower. His thumb remains on your clit as he scissors your opening, deeply satisfied to find you malleable to his manipulation as your cunt drips with slick.
You don’t answer, going rigid at the threat of intrusion. It doesn’t dissuade Valentino, however, and he pushes two long fingers inside of you. Your eyes go wide as he instantly locates the spongy bit that makes you see stars, curling both fingers towards it.
With his thumb continuing to abuse your clit, he begins to pump in and out of you at a steady pace. The only sounds are the squelching of your sopping cunt and your soft gasps.
“Can you cum on command?” he asks. Your brain isn’t working properly enough to form words, and you shake your head as way of response.
“Hm, we’ll work on that,” he promises, and then speeds up.
The new pace draws a wanton moan from you. You feel heavy and heady as Valentino puffs more of the smoke your way. You can’t help but grind and roll your hips into his touch, but you do have the good sense to feel wholly humiliated by your own base desire.
Valentino adds a third finger, and it’s almost enough to make you come undone. You can feel the familiar coil building in your belly as he continues to toy with you, his eyes never leaving the sight of his fingers disappearing into your hungry cunt.
“I’m—I’m gonna—” you whine.
“Look at the camera when you cum, hm?” he instructs. A wave of horror washes over you, and he uses a free hand to forcefully turn your head to face the camera aimed directly your way, red light blinking.
“Wait, please—” you start to beg, but it’s useless as his ministrations on your clit speed up, and you’re gone. Your nails dig into his arm as you grasp onto him for some form of anchor, trembling hard as your orgasm rushes through you. Your clit throbs as he continues to finger-fuck you through it, and you obediently turn your gaze to the camera, jaw falling slack.
“Good girl,” he praises. He doesn’t stop, even as you slip into the aftershock phase, and you whimper at the overstimulation.
“I can’t…” you whimper.
He ignores you and pulls out his phone, tapping a few times before you hear the trill of a ringing call. A few rings in, someone picks up.
“What do you want? What is that sound?” you hear Vox answer. Desperately, you try to silence yourself, but Valentino gives your thigh a sharp squeeze as a warning not to.
“You didn’t tell me you had such a lovely little assistant under your thumb, Voxxy,” Valentino drawls, entirely unaffected by having to multitask with his fingers buried in your cunt. “You should share your toys.”
The line is silent for a moment while Vox pinpoints who he’s referring to in his mind. “Her? You’re always fucking stealing my shit—”
“Voxxy,” Valentino whines. “I want her. Just look how good she was for me.”
To your dread, you watch him send a video file over text, the thumbnail a paused frame of your flushed face.
You hear Vox’s breath hitch, almost imperceptible, as you assume he receives the video. Silence again, then a resigned sigh. “Fuck, fine. I’ll send over her contract.”
Panic spikes through you, and you push at Valentino’s hand, trying to force him away. He’s much too strong for you, and you’re rewarded for your disobedience with a harsh pinch of your agitated clit.
“Thanks, Voxxy. You’re the best,” Valentino coos, and hangs up.
He finally, mercifully, pulls his fingers from your cunt with a lewd squelch, popping them in his mouth to taste you. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, but your relief is short-lived as Valentino grinds his hardened cock into your backside. With dread, you realize your encounter with the overlord is far from over.
As he begins the process of undoing his belt, Valentino waves his hand, and a shimmering golden piece of parchment materializes in the air before you. Your contract, you realize. Tears blur your vision as you recognize Vox’s signature beneath your own. The letters morph and transform, leaving a blank space where both signatures had been. Valentino quickly scrawls his name in looping cursive, then pushes the quill pen into your hand.
“Go on, baby, sign,” he purrs, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re already mine; now, let’s make it official, hm?”
With a shaking hand, you messily sign your name.