Submission and Sex in Sacramento part six
g he can hold out."
Martha’s amber eyes lit up with gratitude, her fingers already flexing around Phillip’s hips.
"Thank you, boss," the trio chorused, their voices overlapping in practiced harmony. Martha wasted no time, pressing Phillip’s oversensitive cock back into the warm cradle of her breasts, her fingers tightening possessively around his waist.
"Well?" she purred, rolling her shoulders to amplify the friction.
"The boss lady gave us permission. You gonna sing like a bird now?" Phillip’s pleading gaze locked onto Hinagiku—silent, desperate—but she merely leaned against a shelf, arms crossed, her smirk deepening.
"Booby treatment it is," Martha declared, squeezing her soft flesh around him with a **THWAP**. Phillip’s knees buckled; the sensation bordered on unbearable after her earlier torment. His cock throbbed against the plush pressure, oversensitive to the point of pain. Then, continuing to squeeze her breasts around his penis, the Chinese woman started sliding them up and down his rod.
"P-please," he gasped, hips twitching involuntarily.
Macadamia snorted, tightening her grip on his shoulders, and saying "You sound like a broken record, baby. Just tell us—does she tie you up? Spank you? Make you lick her cunt?”
Artemisia's shamrock eyes gleamed as she leaned in, her Brooklyn accent thickening with every syllable.
"Until you learn to be a good boy and answer mommy’s questions, your little man’s gonna pay the price."
The threat hung in the air like the scent of toner and sweat—sharp, undeniable. Phillip’s breath hitched as Martha stuck out her tongue again and And slowly brought it closer to your urethra.
Phillip's screams rose to a pitch that could shatter glass—a raw, guttural sound somewhere between a slaughtered hog and a colicky newborn. Martha's tongue plunged deeper into his urethra, her breasts gliding up and down his cock with obscene squelches, the friction bordering on unbearable. Every nerve ending felt flayed open, his skin too tight, his pulse hammering behind his eyeballs.
Macadamia and Artemisia sighed in unison, their cheeks pressed against his damp temples, their fingers digging crescent moons into his biceps. "Listen to that," Macadamia murmured, her breath hot against his ear. "Like a fucking symphony." Artemisia giggled, licking a tear from Phillip's cheekbone. "Bet his dick and balls feel like they've been through a meat grinder."
Martha's lips pursed in frustration when, after sixty seconds of relentless tongue-fucking, Phillip's cock remained stubbornly unresponsive. She withdrew with a wet pop, her amber eyes gleaming.
"Fine," she purred, twisting her torso until her stiffened nipples brushed his balls. "Let's try something *different*." The first contact made Phillip convulse—her left nipple dragging along the underside of his shaft while the right circled his slit. When she pressed the hardened peak directly *into* his urethra, his scream tore through the supply closet like a wildfire.
Twenty seconds. That's all it took. Martha felt the telltale twitch, the pulse of impending release, and swallowed him whole in one smooth motion. Phillip's orgasm hit like a sledgehammer—painful, overwhelming, his vision whiting out as his cock pumped wave after wave into Martha's greedy throat. Tears streamed down his face, his cries ragged and broken as she milked him dry.
Macadamia clicked her tongue. "Aww, poor baby! Does it hurt?" She wiped his tears with exaggerated sympathy. "Should've talked when mommy asked." Artemisia mirrored the gesture on his other cheek. "Your PP must be aching and *burning* so bad," she cooed. "Serves you right for being a stubborn brat."
Martha finally pulled off with a wet pop, giving his spent cock five ruthless strokes that wrung out translucent spurts. "Your turn, Mac," she said, relinquishing her grip. As Macadamia knelt, Martha seized Phillip's wrist. "Think I'll start with his balls," Macadamia mused, her breath warm against his trembling sac. The moment her lips parted—seven agonizing seconds from contact—Phillip cracked. "I'll talk! *I'll talk!*"
Hinagiku's slow clap echoed through the closet. "Very good, ladies. You made him break." She approached Phillip, cupping his damp cheek. "And you—such a good pet. Fought so hard." Her violet gaze shifted to the women, their smirks evaporating. "Now for *your* punishment."
Their synchronized gulp was comical. "But—" Martha began.
"*After* lunch," Hinagiku amended. "The hour isnt over yet. Then report to my office."
The trio scrambled out, leaving Phillip slumped against the wall. Hinagiku tilted his chin up and asked, “Why no kicking?"
Phillip swallowed, answering, “They weren't... malicious."
“Good boy, now get dressed and enjoy the rest of your lunch hour.”
Phillip's fingers trembled slightly as he buttoned his khakis, the metal fastener clicking against the bronze. Hinagiku leaned against the supply shelves, arms crossed, watching the way his shoulders flexed beneath the white silk shirt. When he bent to retrieve his discarded tie, she reached out unexpectedly—not with a slap, but with a slow, possessive squeeze that made his breath hitch. Phillip blinked, surprised by the warmth lingering where her palm had been. He looked over his shoulder at his boss who just smirked and winked at him. Then Papyra finished getting dressed and walked out of the supply closet, followed quickly by his boss.
Philip headed to a nearby McDonald’s in order two cheeseburgers, a vanilla ice cream cone, a large Fruit punch, and a small fries. He makes sure chew his food so he wouldn’t choke or get indigestion, and he was happy that he had to go to the bathroom seconds after finishing, So he wouldn’t have to relieve himself later. He washed his hands, threw away his trash, and returned to his workplace.
Phillip's fingers hovered over his keyboard, the hum of fluorescent lights suddenly deafening as he counted down the last torturous minutes of lunch hour. The cubicle walls seemed to press closer with each passing second—or perhaps that was just the phantom pressure of Martha's breasts around his cock still haunting him. A sharp buzz from his intercom made him jolt.
"Phillip Palymyra, Martha Shōuchéng, Macademia Kemet, Artemisia Cavalla, come to my office. Now.”
Hinagiku's voice crackled through the speaker, devoid of inflection yet heavy with promise. Philip walked toward her office door, meeting the three women from the opposite direction at it. Martha, Macadamia, and Artemisia were all sweating slightly, Worry about what type of revenge their employer would take on them.
The hinges groaned as Phillip pushed the office door open, stepping aside with exaggerated courtesy.
"Ladies first," he murmured, watching their faces flush darker under the fluorescent lights.
The three women just looked at him, their expressions unreadable—no anger, no resentment, just a quiet acceptance that they'd brought this on themselves. Martha exhaled sharply through her nose before stepping forward, her lime sandals clicking against the polished tile as she crossed the threshold into Hinagiku's office. Macadamia and Artemisia followed, their shoulders brushing in silent solidarity.
Hinagiku was perched on the edge of her black fiberglass desk like a violet-clad gargoyle, a devilish grin on her face. Her violet-painted nails tapped against her thigh, the sound like a metronome counting down to their doom.
“Phillip,” she said without looking up, "take my swivel chair from the desk and place it three feet in front of the coat rack. He moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd learned not to question her whims. The chair's wheels whispered against the laminate floor as he positioned it precisely—close enough to the coat rack that its shadow licked the armrests, far enough that a person could kneel between them without brushing either.\n\nHinagiku's violet nails drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against her thigh as Phillip positioned the chair. The silence stretched—long enough for Artemisia to fidget with the hem of her blouse—before Hinagiku finally spoke. “Strip," she commanded, her gaze flicking between the three women.
“Everything but bras and panties. Now.”
Macademia’s hazel eyes widened, her fingers freezing mid-air.
"Boss, we're in your *office*…”
Phillip watched with quiet fascination as Hinagiku tapped a single finger against her lips, her violet gaze lingering on each woman's hesitation.
“Tick-tock," she murmured, the words laced with amusement. Martha was the first to move—her fingers already undoing the buttons of her blouse with practiced efficiency. The fabric parted to reveal the black lace bra and panties that Philip had seen earlier, and then Martha unbutton unzipped and pull down her green pants to her matching panties. Both clung to The Chinese woman’s curves like ink on parchment. Macadamia followed suit, though her hands trembled slightly as she peeled off her dark blue suit and white shirt, exposing raspberry-patterned lingerie that made her dark skin glow. Artemisia swallowed hard before unbuttoning her blouse and removing her silver jacket and pants, revealing green chameleons entwined with leaves across her bra cups, the fabric shifting subtly with her nervous breaths."
“Pose for him,” Hinagiku commanded gently. Her three employees, obeyed, with Martha putting both hands on her hips and spreading her legs one foot apart, macadamia putting one hand on her right hip and her left hand behind her head, and Artemisia, putting both of her hands behind her head and arching her back so that her breasts were pushed out, straining against the chameleon-designed lace.
Martha’s amber eyes lit up with gratitude, her fingers already flexing around Phillip’s hips.
"Thank you, boss," the trio chorused, their voices overlapping in practiced harmony. Martha wasted no time, pressing Phillip’s oversensitive cock back into the warm cradle of her breasts, her fingers tightening possessively around his waist.
"Well?" she purred, rolling her shoulders to amplify the friction.
"The boss lady gave us permission. You gonna sing like a bird now?" Phillip’s pleading gaze locked onto Hinagiku—silent, desperate—but she merely leaned against a shelf, arms crossed, her smirk deepening.
"Booby treatment it is," Martha declared, squeezing her soft flesh around him with a **THWAP**. Phillip’s knees buckled; the sensation bordered on unbearable after her earlier torment. His cock throbbed against the plush pressure, oversensitive to the point of pain. Then, continuing to squeeze her breasts around his penis, the Chinese woman started sliding them up and down his rod.
"P-please," he gasped, hips twitching involuntarily.
Macadamia snorted, tightening her grip on his shoulders, and saying "You sound like a broken record, baby. Just tell us—does she tie you up? Spank you? Make you lick her cunt?”
Artemisia's shamrock eyes gleamed as she leaned in, her Brooklyn accent thickening with every syllable.
"Until you learn to be a good boy and answer mommy’s questions, your little man’s gonna pay the price."
The threat hung in the air like the scent of toner and sweat—sharp, undeniable. Phillip’s breath hitched as Martha stuck out her tongue again and And slowly brought it closer to your urethra.
Phillip's screams rose to a pitch that could shatter glass—a raw, guttural sound somewhere between a slaughtered hog and a colicky newborn. Martha's tongue plunged deeper into his urethra, her breasts gliding up and down his cock with obscene squelches, the friction bordering on unbearable. Every nerve ending felt flayed open, his skin too tight, his pulse hammering behind his eyeballs.
Macadamia and Artemisia sighed in unison, their cheeks pressed against his damp temples, their fingers digging crescent moons into his biceps. "Listen to that," Macadamia murmured, her breath hot against his ear. "Like a fucking symphony." Artemisia giggled, licking a tear from Phillip's cheekbone. "Bet his dick and balls feel like they've been through a meat grinder."
Martha's lips pursed in frustration when, after sixty seconds of relentless tongue-fucking, Phillip's cock remained stubbornly unresponsive. She withdrew with a wet pop, her amber eyes gleaming.
"Fine," she purred, twisting her torso until her stiffened nipples brushed his balls. "Let's try something *different*." The first contact made Phillip convulse—her left nipple dragging along the underside of his shaft while the right circled his slit. When she pressed the hardened peak directly *into* his urethra, his scream tore through the supply closet like a wildfire.
Twenty seconds. That's all it took. Martha felt the telltale twitch, the pulse of impending release, and swallowed him whole in one smooth motion. Phillip's orgasm hit like a sledgehammer—painful, overwhelming, his vision whiting out as his cock pumped wave after wave into Martha's greedy throat. Tears streamed down his face, his cries ragged and broken as she milked him dry.
Macadamia clicked her tongue. "Aww, poor baby! Does it hurt?" She wiped his tears with exaggerated sympathy. "Should've talked when mommy asked." Artemisia mirrored the gesture on his other cheek. "Your PP must be aching and *burning* so bad," she cooed. "Serves you right for being a stubborn brat."
Martha finally pulled off with a wet pop, giving his spent cock five ruthless strokes that wrung out translucent spurts. "Your turn, Mac," she said, relinquishing her grip. As Macadamia knelt, Martha seized Phillip's wrist. "Think I'll start with his balls," Macadamia mused, her breath warm against his trembling sac. The moment her lips parted—seven agonizing seconds from contact—Phillip cracked. "I'll talk! *I'll talk!*"
Hinagiku's slow clap echoed through the closet. "Very good, ladies. You made him break." She approached Phillip, cupping his damp cheek. "And you—such a good pet. Fought so hard." Her violet gaze shifted to the women, their smirks evaporating. "Now for *your* punishment."
Their synchronized gulp was comical. "But—" Martha began.
"*After* lunch," Hinagiku amended. "The hour isnt over yet. Then report to my office."
The trio scrambled out, leaving Phillip slumped against the wall. Hinagiku tilted his chin up and asked, “Why no kicking?"
Phillip swallowed, answering, “They weren't... malicious."
“Good boy, now get dressed and enjoy the rest of your lunch hour.”
Phillip's fingers trembled slightly as he buttoned his khakis, the metal fastener clicking against the bronze. Hinagiku leaned against the supply shelves, arms crossed, watching the way his shoulders flexed beneath the white silk shirt. When he bent to retrieve his discarded tie, she reached out unexpectedly—not with a slap, but with a slow, possessive squeeze that made his breath hitch. Phillip blinked, surprised by the warmth lingering where her palm had been. He looked over his shoulder at his boss who just smirked and winked at him. Then Papyra finished getting dressed and walked out of the supply closet, followed quickly by his boss.
Philip headed to a nearby McDonald’s in order two cheeseburgers, a vanilla ice cream cone, a large Fruit punch, and a small fries. He makes sure chew his food so he wouldn’t choke or get indigestion, and he was happy that he had to go to the bathroom seconds after finishing, So he wouldn’t have to relieve himself later. He washed his hands, threw away his trash, and returned to his workplace.
Phillip's fingers hovered over his keyboard, the hum of fluorescent lights suddenly deafening as he counted down the last torturous minutes of lunch hour. The cubicle walls seemed to press closer with each passing second—or perhaps that was just the phantom pressure of Martha's breasts around his cock still haunting him. A sharp buzz from his intercom made him jolt.
"Phillip Palymyra, Martha Shōuchéng, Macademia Kemet, Artemisia Cavalla, come to my office. Now.”
Hinagiku's voice crackled through the speaker, devoid of inflection yet heavy with promise. Philip walked toward her office door, meeting the three women from the opposite direction at it. Martha, Macadamia, and Artemisia were all sweating slightly, Worry about what type of revenge their employer would take on them.
The hinges groaned as Phillip pushed the office door open, stepping aside with exaggerated courtesy.
"Ladies first," he murmured, watching their faces flush darker under the fluorescent lights.
The three women just looked at him, their expressions unreadable—no anger, no resentment, just a quiet acceptance that they'd brought this on themselves. Martha exhaled sharply through her nose before stepping forward, her lime sandals clicking against the polished tile as she crossed the threshold into Hinagiku's office. Macadamia and Artemisia followed, their shoulders brushing in silent solidarity.
Hinagiku was perched on the edge of her black fiberglass desk like a violet-clad gargoyle, a devilish grin on her face. Her violet-painted nails tapped against her thigh, the sound like a metronome counting down to their doom.
“Phillip,” she said without looking up, "take my swivel chair from the desk and place it three feet in front of the coat rack. He moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd learned not to question her whims. The chair's wheels whispered against the laminate floor as he positioned it precisely—close enough to the coat rack that its shadow licked the armrests, far enough that a person could kneel between them without brushing either.\n\nHinagiku's violet nails drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against her thigh as Phillip positioned the chair. The silence stretched—long enough for Artemisia to fidget with the hem of her blouse—before Hinagiku finally spoke. “Strip," she commanded, her gaze flicking between the three women.
“Everything but bras and panties. Now.”
Macademia’s hazel eyes widened, her fingers freezing mid-air.
"Boss, we're in your *office*…”
Phillip watched with quiet fascination as Hinagiku tapped a single finger against her lips, her violet gaze lingering on each woman's hesitation.
“Tick-tock," she murmured, the words laced with amusement. Martha was the first to move—her fingers already undoing the buttons of her blouse with practiced efficiency. The fabric parted to reveal the black lace bra and panties that Philip had seen earlier, and then Martha unbutton unzipped and pull down her green pants to her matching panties. Both clung to The Chinese woman’s curves like ink on parchment. Macadamia followed suit, though her hands trembled slightly as she peeled off her dark blue suit and white shirt, exposing raspberry-patterned lingerie that made her dark skin glow. Artemisia swallowed hard before unbuttoning her blouse and removing her silver jacket and pants, revealing green chameleons entwined with leaves across her bra cups, the fabric shifting subtly with her nervous breaths."
“Pose for him,” Hinagiku commanded gently. Her three employees, obeyed, with Martha putting both hands on her hips and spreading her legs one foot apart, macadamia putting one hand on her right hip and her left hand behind her head, and Artemisia, putting both of her hands behind her head and arching her back so that her breasts were pushed out, straining against the chameleon-designed lace.
31-35, M
