Ellen's pov

His tongue dove in, expert, filthy, lapping my clit in tight circles, sucking my folds.

"Damn! You taste so good." He murmured as my juices coated his chin; I rode his face shamelessly, tits spilling free, nipples hard from the cool air, and his growls vibrating through me."

"Fuck!"  I bit my lower lip as goosebumps and pleasures flooded me all over, the sensation making my head about to explode.

When I couldn't stand it, I slid down, hungrily took his cock in my mouth - thick, veined, leaking from his pre-cum. 

I sucked deep, gagging myself on purpose, my tongue swirling the head. I got teary as I tried to keep eye contact with him, humming so he felt it in his balls.

 His hands fisted my hair; his hips jerked, chasing my throat.

I nodded rhythmically, making his cock dig deeper in my throat.

"Ellen...stop.." I pulled off fast, my heart slamming against my ribs. 

"Cane? What's wrong?"

He clutched his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Face flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead. Not the good kind of exertion sweat-this was wrong. All wrong.

"Call... ambulance," he managed, his voice sounded thin and frail.

My heart pounded fast. Fear. Confusion.

They all clouded me.

I scrambled for my phone, hands shaking so bad I almost dropped it. 

911.

Words tumbled out

"He developed a sudden chest pain, I... I don't know." They kept asking a series of questions I didn't understand. "Just fucking come!" 

The paramedics arrived in what felt like seconds but was probably minutes. They loaded him onto the stretcher while I hovered, still half-dressed, thighs sticky, his taste on my lips. Mom was still away on her trip. I rode in the ambulance with him, holding his hand the whole way.

Diagnosis came fast in the ER: acute coronary syndrome. Blocked artery. They stented him that night, but the damage was done; his heart muscle weakened, and his ejection fraction was low. Congestive heart failure followed.

 Cane would never be the same; his health failed him.

He sent for Zac three months later. Mum had to resume her shift; life continued. 

There was a knock on the door.

 I walked to the door with my shorts and tank top, the door opened, and I didn't know when I suddenly gasped for air.

Zac was tall, broad like his father used to be, with the same dark hair, same piercing eyes. But younger and stronger.

"You must be Ellen," he said, voice bold and husky.

"Ermm.... Yes!" I stuttered, forgetting what I was about to say for a second. His features were striking.

"You're his son." I stepped aside. "He's upstairs. He's... been asking for you."

Cane's room smelled of antiseptic and old cologne. He lay propped on pillows, thinner than I remembered, but his gaze still sharp when it landed on his son.

"Zac." Cane's voice was weaker, but the command in it hadn't faded. "Sit."

They talked-awkward at first. Old wounds. Cane apologizing in fragments for being absent, for the divorce, for everything. Zac listening, jaw tight, not forgiving, but not walking away either.

I stayed in the doorway, quiet. Watching the resemblance hit me all over again. The way Zac's shoulders filled the room. The way his hands flexed when he was holding back anger. The way his eyes flicked to me once, twice-lingering.

Days turned into weeks. Zac started coming more often. Bringing groceries, fixing things around the house Cane couldn't anymore. I cooked for three now instead of two. Late-night talks in the kitchen while Cane slept upstairs.

 Whiskey poured into coffee mugs because it felt safer than wine glasses.

The first real spark happened one night after Cane had taken his meds and drifted off early. Zac and I were in the living room, TV on low, half a bottle of scotch between us.

"You're so beautiful, Ellen," Zac said quietly, staring at the screen but not really watching. Then he faced me, "You take my breath away every time I look at you."

I froze. That was unexpected. "Please don't say anything else, so I don't pounce on you right now."

Zac turned his head, and his eyes met mine.

Lingered. 

"I think I want you now," he groaned. "You don't have to pretend. I caught you staring at me while I was working out this morning. Don't you want to feel these muscles on you?"

His words sent sparks of desire through me, and my clit picked up the signal.

"I looked him deep in his eye." Fuck me till I can walk no more, Zac," I whispered in the most sultry voice, feeling no ounce of shame.

I'm so filthy. I fucked my stepfather, now I'm about to fuck my stepbrother. Call me a whore.

Silence stretched. Then Zac reached over, slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed my knee. 

I could feel heat building up from within.

He slid closer on the couch. Slowly, his hand moved up my thigh-gentle at first, then firmer. I parted my legs just enough. 

Inviting and urging him to ruin me, right there on the couch.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

I didn't.

His mouth found mine-rougher than Cane's ever was, tasting of scotch and pent-up everything. His hands roamed freely under my shirt, his calloused palms on my skin.

 I arched into him, 

"Hmm, yess." I moaned straight into his ears as his fingers slipped beneath my shorts, finding me already wet.

We didn't make it to a bedroom. Right there on the couch, with Cane asleep two floors up, Zac pushed my shorts down, freed himself, and sank into me, slow-inch by thick inch-eyes locked on mine the whole time.

"Fuck," he breathed against my neck. "You feel...so tight."

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. "Don't stop."

He didn't. Slow at first, he gave me long, deliberate strokes that made me tremble. Then he went harder and faster, his hand flew over my mouth to muffle my cries and moans so we wouldn't wake the house. I came clenching around him, my nails digging into his back. He followed right after, burying deep, and spilling inside me

"You feel so good, Ellen." He whispered with a choked groan.

We stayed tangled, breathing hard, the room smelled of his cum mixed with mine, and it did nothing but arouse me more.

STORY 2

Resignation sex

Clara had survived two years under Dave Hargrove's thumb-endless overtime, frozen salary, casual insults disguised as "feedback," all while he bought another yacht and another mistress. Today the breaking point finally arrived.

Dave Hargrove, a hot billionaire and the CEO of Hargrove LTD. Everyone knows him to be a womanizer even though he doesn't mix business with pleasure.

Clara stood in front of her mirror that morning, intentionally late.

"It's my last day after all; why should I be in a rush?" She heaved, trying to sigh her worries away. She smoothed her black pencil skirt over her hips. It hugged her curves just right.

"I'm going to dress as sexy as I want; no more T-shirts and pants. Fuck you, Dave!"

She picked a white blouse that buttoned up to her neck but left the top one open; a hint of a lace bra peeked out.

She danced around the room, spraying a light perfume on her wrists-jasmine and chocolate.

It lingered in the air as she moved. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back.

"Final touch." She muttered as she smeared the red lipstick on her curved lips.

Clara folded the resignation letter into her purse. Two years of long hours, skipped lunches, and low pay. She would hand it to Dave and tell him everything. The unfair tasks.

"Here you go, Mr. Dave, cocksucker! A quick piece of advice for the billionaire who treats his staff poorly, underpays them, and makes them work their asses off for penury. Fuck you, Dave!! I don't care if I get sued. Here's my resignation letter, user!!

Clara poked her middle finger at the mirror dramatically, sticking out her tongue.

"Calm down, Clara; this is how we deal with your shithead boss." She adjusted her blouse and made for the door.

At the office, heads turned as she walked in.

Colleagues whispered. 'Clara looks different today,' one said. She narrowed her eyes at them; her heels clicked on the marble floor.

The scent of her perfume trailed behind. Dave's eyes flicked up from his desk when she entered his office.

He had bags under his eyes, Clara noticed. "Who cares? He might be out banging a whore at an expensive hotel," she cursed underneath her breath.

Meanwhile, Dave just lost a contract worth 100 million dollars.

"Morning, Clara," he muttered. His voice sounds rough from lack of sleep. Clara simply nodded and set his coffee down. Black, no sugar. Steam rose from the cup.

The day dragged on. Emails piled up.

Dave kept barking orders. "Clara, handle these reports. Call the clients. Reschedule everything."

She typed fast, her fingers aching on the keys, "It all ends today." She kept encouraging herself.

Lunch came and went, and Clara grabbed an apple from her drawer. There was no time to eat more.

The resignation letter stayed in her purse. She glanced at the clock. Five PM. Workers filed out, waving goodbyes.

"See you tomorrow, Clara." She forced a smile.

By eight PM, the office emptied, and the lights dimmed in the halls. Only Clara's desk lamp glowed. She was working overtime as usual; papers rustled as she sorted files and paperwork.

Dave's door creaked open. He stepped out, tie loose, shirt untucked. A whiskey glass in his hand, ice clinked as he shook the whiskey glass drunkenly. His steps were unsteady.

"Hey beautiful." His voice came out rough and seductive, and he leaned on the doorframe. Eyes scanned her.

Clara jumped up; the skirt rode up a bit as she sat. She was caught unaware. Her blouse stretched across her chest when she reached for a pen.

"Still here?" Dave slurred.

Clara looked up; she felt her heart beat faster, but it wasn't fear. "Finishing up," she swallowed.

He walked closer. The smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne. Sharp and woody. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his manly chest and faint tattoos.

"Why does he look extra hot tonight?" Whispered to herself, but Dave heard. He stopped by her desk.

Fingers tapped the edge. "You look... good tonight." His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower. To the curve of her breasts under the fabric. Clara shifted in her chair, pressing her thighs together. The letter burned in her mind, but her body was giving a weird signal.

Now is not the time to succumb to pleasure, Clara. She thought.

She cleared her throat. "After so much thought about this, I've decided to tender my resignation letter, Dave!" She blurted.

"I've had enough of your orders roaring in my ears every now and then, enough of the news about 'my CEO' fucking some stripper. I... I have had enough of being overworked and underpaid." She breathed heavily, like those words hurt her more than him.

Dave took a sip, unbothered about the rant epistle; liquid swirled in the glass.

"Lost that big deal today. Everything's shit." He set the glass down.

Hard. It rattled. "But you... you're always here. Loyal." His hand brushed her shoulder; Clara suddenly became calm, his hand warm through the blouse.

She froze. Her skin tingled where he touched. "What if I make it worth it? What if we strike a deal?" he said slowly. His eyes locked on hers, dark and hungry.

Clara swallowed. 'What do you mean?' Her pulse quickened.

He leaned in. Breath hot on her ear. "One night with me and I'll pay you four times your salary. Right now."

His fingers trailed down her arm, teasing her softly.

"Make me feel good, and you'll get your reward right away."

Goosebumps rose all over Clara. She thought of the bills and the empty fridge and kitchen at home. Two years of nothing. One more time of being used. Just once.

She met his eyes. Nodded slowly. "Okay."

Resignation Sex II

Dave's smile widened. 

He pulled her up from the chair, gentle but firm. The sound of her heels was the only sound heard in the office space. He led her to his office, and the door clicked shut. The lock turned. 

The room smelled of leather and scotch; the city lights twinkled through the windows. 

Dave turned to Clara; his hands moved slowly to her waist, tracing her pant lines with his fingers. 

Grip.

He pulled her close, her scent filling his nostrils. His lips brushed her neck. Soft at first. Then a nip. 

"Ahh!" She gasped, her fingers gripping his shirt.

He kissed her jaw slowly, and his tongue flicked out. Tasted her skin-chocolate and jasmine. His hands slid up her back, and he unzipped the skirt inch by inch. The fabrics whispered down her legs. Pooled at her feet. 

Clara stepped out. In just her blouse and panties-black lace. Dave stopped; he stepped back slowly and looked her over. His eyes lingered on her thighs, soft and plump under the lace.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

Clara's cheeks warmed. She unbuttoned her blouse, slowly. One pop at a time, exposing more skin. 

Her bra cupped her breasts; nipples hardened under his gaze. 

She could feel him peering deep into her skin. Dave watched every move with ragged intensity; his cock stirred in his pants.

His bulge grew. 

She shrugged the blouse off slowly, her shoulders bare. Dave couldn't keep his hands to himself any longer; he reached out. His thumb circled a nipple through the lace. 

She arched. "Oh..." A small moan escaped.

Dave pulled her to the couch. The leather felt cool against her skin; he spread her legs widely, kneeling in between her legs. He placed his hands on her knees, balancing himself on the floor.

Clara's panties were damp already. He hooked his fingers in the waistband. Tugged it down, inch by inch. 

Clara shuddered.

Her sex hair was trimmed neat, and her pussy lips were pink and slick. He breathed warm air over her. 

"Owe, Dave!" She shivered. Her toes curled in her heels.

His mouth hovered, close. Extremely close. Then his tongue touched.

"Slush," a light lick along the slit. She bucked. 

Her hands glued to his hair, he licked again. Slower. 

Tasting her wetness-salty sweet. Circling her clit in tiny flicks.

Her breaths came short, hips rolling rhythmically. He sucked gently, pulling the nub in. His teeth grazed her skin gently. 

A surge of pleasures built in Clara, coiling tight in her belly.

Clara whispered his name again.

"Dave, please." Her legs trembled; she wanted more, and he understood. He slid a finger in her wet walls; her pussy clenched. 

Dave began to pump slowly in and out; he added a second finger, stretching her. 

Clara's pussy queefed loudly, making the sound that her mouth dares not to. He placed his thumb on her clit, rubbing in circles. 

She panted, her body tensed. Her waves crashed, and her cum gushed on his hand. He licked up every liquid, smacking his lips as he relished the taste of her cum. This sight did nothing but arouse Clara more.

No wonder women were always at his beck and call.

Dave stood up, wiping his mouth. He unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking like the sound of a bell.

His pants dropped to the floor, revealing his thick, hard, and veiny cock, about 9 inches long. His head, shiny with pre-cum. 

Clara swallowed hard. Hungry. She grabbed his cock softly, her hands wrapped around his hot skin. She began to stroke his rod. Up and down. Slow.

"Hmm, yes!" He groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily as waves built in him.

Dave pushed her back on the couch and placed her legs over his shoulders. The scent of her sex hit him, driving him nuts as he nudged her entrance. Wet and ready. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch. Filling her. 

Tight heat gripped him. "Daveeee" She moaned loudly, her voice echoing in the office space. She dug her nails into his arms.

"Deeper," she pleaded. He paused. 

Then he buried deep into her cunt; his balls slapped hard against her ass.

He spanked her.

"Take it in, slut!" He gritted his teeth.

"Yes boss, yes!!" Clara moaned, pinning her legs to his back, gaining him more entrance.

Then Dave thrust fast and deep into her cunt, moving up and down and hitting every corner of her walls. 

"Yes, bosssss," Clara drawled, saliva dripping from her mouth, and she shut her eyes in ecstasy. Dave pulled out almost all, then slid back with full force.

"Hmm, yes!" Clara cried out,

Sweat beaded on his forehead; they dropped effortlessly on her chest. She licked it off his neck. 

Salty.

He lay on her completely; his mouth found her left nipple as he nibbled on it while ramming her cunt. His pace quickened. Her pussy fluttered.

"Drip for me, whore!" He grunted. 

His hands gripped her hips. Their skins slapped against each other as wet sounds filled the room.

Clara chased her second orgasm; her tits bounced with each push. He moved to the right nipple and sucked hard. Bit light. 

"Yes! I'm your slut; fuck me harder." She cried out. Convulsing beneath him again. Her walls milked him. Tight squeezes. His thrust became erratic.

"Fuck you." Cane groaned low, shooting his seeds right inside her in hot spurts. Filling her. 

His cum leaked out as he slowed.

They breathed heavily. He stayed still for a while before he pulled out. His cum dripped on her thighs and on the leather. 

Clara lay there, body limp. Sated. 

Being used by her boss in this way didn't really feel bad; it felt good, and she enjoyed every bit of it.