Unlikely Matches

Erotic short. A superlatively large secretary mounts a seduction of his tiny little boss.

5k, rated E, cis M/trans M — a gigantic secretary working at an all-trans tax accountant office! Lots of humour and banter, lots of flirting, big size difference, oral sex, beard pulling, fingering, shirt stays, desk sex, and all that good stuff.

Trans guy is no-T, no-surgery. Terms used are pussy, cunt, hole, lips, clit, also balls, dick, cock. There’s no content warnings for this one — some ignorance and some referenced transphobia, but generally all chill and banter in this.

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The job was nice.

Not too stressful, and definitely cushier than half the other jobs he’s ever done — loading deliveries, porting luggage, even waiting tables was always backbreaking work once it added up to more than a few hours — half the time, the worst of it was getting paid just under the min wage once you worked out the extra hours between split shifts and rota swaps and OT, and it was never easy to catch them at it when he was getting underpaid. The last thing he wanted to do after a fucking shift was sit down and work out exactly how much he was owed for it on the off-chance he was being stilted one or two quid every other hour, even though he knew it added up to a lot once you considered it altogether.

This office was different.

9 to 5, strictly.

Overtime around tax season, probably, but not too much — data entry, organising files, doing photocopies, but most of what Bill did was client-facing shit. He welcomed them in and made them a cup of tea when clients were in, sure, but mostly he brought out the right documents and filed them properly, sent emails off, answered the phones.

He was a secretary, basically. He even typed up drafts of things when the boss wrote them up in his little pocket book on the bus or on the train back from visiting his parents up north, because he had a little flip phone and categorically refused to get a smart phone, let alone a Bluetooth keyboard.

Bill liked him — Bill didn’t have a smart phone either.

Ajax Florence was a little man, only 5’2”, and Bill could see he was plump and round under the boxy little grey suits he wore — his arse was fat, certainly, and looked good even in the glimpses Bill caught of it past the vents of his suit jacket. Bill had to be sitting down for a real look, of course, given the height difference.

He had a high voice — part of the reason he liked Bill to answer the phone for him particularly was because people always thought he was a woman — and messy brown hair that he shaved underneath but left a bit long on top, so he had straight bangs that came down over his forehead. It got all ruffled and messy sometimes when he forgot himself and ran a hand up through his hair. Little round glasses, a small button nose, eyelashes so light you almost couldn’t see them and heavy, single-lidded eyes, severe lips that were a slightly darker brown than the rest of him.

It all added up to a very good face.

“Florence?” Bill had asked sceptically when he’d come in for the interview, reading the business card he’d handed to him.

“I’m adopted,” he’d said coolly.

Bill had blinked and raised his eyebrows. “There’s other people called Florence?”

The stern, slightly irritated look on his face had disappeared like creases being ironed out of a shirt, and he’d huffed out a laugh. “At least a few.”

“Hm,” said Billy, shaking his head and looked again at the card. Then, in the same sceptical tone, he’d asked, “Ajax?”

The second time, the boss had just laughed, and told him to sit down.

He was a good guy to work for, all around — he took his work seriously, didn’t fuck around if somebody fucked up and was very no-nonsense about it all. He’d taken Bill seriously at the interview, even though Bill looked about as at home in a suit and tie as a pig did in lingerie and heels.

The office work was a damn sight easier than any other job he’d ever had, and the hours were shorter, and the pay was a lot fucking higher, and funnily enough, the people that walked into a tax accountant’s office didn’t treat the people there nearly as shittily as they did a waiter or a store clerk. Hell, they didn’t even treat him as shittily as he assumed they would treat an average secretary: even if they looked at him and realised that that was what he was, none of them said a word.

“Billy,” said Ajax, which made Bill grin — Billy was really a name for a little boy, not a great, hulking fuck like him, and no one alive called him Billy. No one had called him Billy since he was about twelve, he didn’t think.

“Yes, Mr Florence?” asked Bill.

Ajax, standing in the doorway, gave him a foul look. “Don’t do that,” he said.

“Yes, sir?” asked Bill.

The foul look got fouler.

“What’s up, boss?” asked Bill, and Ajax kept his lips pressed together, but the rest of his face relaxed in a way that Bill was learning to understand meant he was trying not to laugh.

“I flicked someone’s business card onto the top of the tall cabinet,” said Ajax. “I need the phone number.”

“Can’t reach it?”

“You know that I can’t reach it, Billy,” growled Ajax, and he slipped into his office again, leaving Bill laughing as he pushed himself out of the wheely chair and up to his feet. It was just them in the office — it was lunch time, and Rickard and Felice had both gone out.

Ajax had rolled his chair over to the top of the tall bookshelf which had a cabinet at the top with glass-fronted doors — he had fucking ships in bottles displayed inside, some of which had been unmoored off the little golden plinths they were meant to be on where he’d rattled the cabinet and couldn’t reach over the top of it.

“Do you need me to get a stoo — ”

He didn’t even need to stand on his tiptoes to reach over the top of the cabinet, feeling around without looking before he pulled the card out and handed it over.

“How — How tall are you, Billy?” asked Ajax falteringly.

“Six foot eight,” said Bill.

Ajax blinked. “Right,” he said. “That’s just too tall, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” said Ajax. “Can’t ride a lot of roller coasters, never have enough leg room, had to fork out extra for a specialty mattress.”

“No tailoring charges?”

“I buy from a specialty shop.”

“Me too,” said Ajax wryly, and Billy grinned.

“That why those trousers are so well-tailored?” he asked.

Ajax looked at him confused for a second, then said, “Yes,” like it was obvious, like he thought Bill was stupid, like he didn’t quite understand that Bill was saying he’d noticed how fat Ajax’s arse was.

Bill smiled. “’Course, boss,” he said. “Anything else?”

“No, no,” said Ajax, walking away with the business card in his hand, and Bill leaned right back to watch his backside as he went, then pivoted just as Ajax turned around.

Bill went out into the main office again, and sank back into his seat.

* * *

“So, you’re gay,” said Bill.

Felice blinked at him, her lips parting. Bill liked the way she wore her lipstick — she wore some old-fashioned kind, waxy, so that when her lips came apart you could see the slight stick-together of it come apart, and she wore all kinds of bright colours. Tonight, it was blue.

“I like other women,” said Felice. “But not only. I’ve dated men before — mostly trans men, but I’ve dated cis guys.”

“Sissies,” said Bill. “Like, guys who like to dress in women’s clothes?”

Felice stared at him, her big, beautiful eyes wide, her lips curved up at their edges in a kind of incredulous way, and laughed. “Uh,” she said. “No.”

“You’re cis, Billy,” said Ajax, pouring the rest of his beer into a glass. “Cis means you’re not trans.”

“Trans is like, transforming, right?” asked Bill. “Like, you’re a guy, then you’re a girl.”

“Transitioning,” said Rickard, laughing into Felice’s shoulder. He was fucking hammered, his cheeks red under his beard, and he was slowly shaking his head. “Trans people are not transformers, Bill, not like — cars into robots. Each person transitions from one assigned role to the one that actually belongs to them.”

Bill shrugged. “Okay,” he said.

“That’s it?” asked Felice. “Okay?”

“I don’t get it,” he admitted.

“What don’t you get?” asked Felice, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows, and Bill crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat. He liked them, liked all three of them, didn’t mind doing the work he did, but this was the tough part of office work — it was pretty easy to avoid saying shit like “faggot”, but he was keenly aware that he was sat between three people who’d been in university longer than he’d ever done fucking anything, and at the moment he felt like they were waiting to trip him up, all of them ganging up on him.

“Boy to girl, girl to boy. Transform, transition, whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

“You don’t give a shit?” repeated Ajax, his voice cool and smooth. He was drunk — there was a little red in his cheeks, too, although it didn’t show as obviously as it did in Rickard’s.

“Nah.”

“Have you ever had sex with someone who’s trans?” asked Ajax.

“How the fuck would I know?” asked Bill.

“What do you mean, how would you know?”

“I’m not an expert in this shit,” said Bill, “but I’ve seen tabloids, they can make those girls have pussies as realistic as anybody else’s, right? I didn’t know the difference between the synthetic meat at the place we went to last month and chicken, so I probably don’t know the difference between synthetic pussy and real pussy.”

“I could bottle you and drink you, Bill,” said Felice.

“Thank you kindly,” said Bill, assuming it was a compliment and going with it. That had served him well in this job so far.

“I think what Ajax was trying to ask,” she said, “however roundaboutly, is how you’d feel about having sex with a woman with a penis.”

“What, let her fuck me up the arse? I’m not into that.”

“Would you fuck her?” asked Felice.

“I don’t know. She fit?”

“Very.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Don’t sound like it’s such a chore,” said Felice, pouting out her lips, and Bill laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I dunno,” he said. “I’m not fucking, anti-gay, whatever. I’ve let guys suck me off.”

“How progressive of you,” said Ajax, which made Rickard laugh so hard he snorted beer out of his nose, and Bill groaned in disgust, shoving the little thing of napkins from their chips toward him. “You like men, then?”

“I like blowjobs,” said Bill. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” said Ajax.

“What, no one’s ever sucked you off?”

“Why, are you offering?”

Bill shrugged. “Alright.”

Ajax’s cool and clever demeanour evaporated a little. His eyebrows slightly raised, his stern lips coming apart, his eyes widening. “Huh?”

“You want me to suck you off?” asked Bill, arching his own eyebrows. “I’ll do that, sure.”

Felice and Rickard were laughing, but Bill didn’t look over at them, focusing on Ajax, who was suddenly fidgeting in his seat, his body shifting forward, his knees pressing together and then to the side.

“Kind of you to put yourself forward,” Ajax said, his hand going up like he was going to touch his face, but then he stopped himself and put his hands on his knees. “But I don’t think that’s entirely necessary.”

“I got a big mouth,” Bill pointed out.

“Yes, Billy, I see that.”

“All of me is big,” Bill clarified, and he stopped himself laughing as Ajax’s cheeks darkened, as he looked to the side.

“Yes, Billy,” he said slightly breathlessly now, looking over to Felice and Rickard sort of desperately. “I’m sure it all is.”

“When you said you’d let men suck you off,” said Felice, “you made it sound like a no-homo, brojob situation.”

“A fucking what?”

“I — You don’t think it’s gay for another man to put his cock in your mouth?”

Bill shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”

“So you are…?”

“Horny.”

Felice smiled at him, tilting her head to the side and looking at him sort of indulgently. “You know, Bill, in many ways, you come off as quite the enlightened man.”

“Thanks.”

“Lots of men are like Bill,” said Rickard. “He just owns up to it and says it outright — which we respect immensely.”

“Good,” said Bill.

“You consider yourself heterosexual?” asked Ajax.

“Nah,” said Bill. “I’m not a queer. I just like sex.”

Rickard started laughing again, and Ajax said, “Heterosexual in tis case is a man who’s attracted to women.”

“Oh. Then, sure.”

“Not a homosexual? A man who’s attracted to other men?”

“Yeah.”

“So, bisexual? You’re attracted to men and women?”

“Are you gonna stick all of them to me?” asked Bill. “Like fucking badges?”

“I’m just trying to understand you.”

“I like sex! What’s there to understand?”

“You’d have sex with a man with a vagina?”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Just — In general.”

“He fit?”

“I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall,” Ajax said to Felice and Rickard, and Bill leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.

“Seems like you’re just fucking treating me like one,” he said darkly, making Ajax falter and look at him askance. “What, just ’cause I don’t know all the fancy words you use for everything and I don’t Tweeter — ”

“Tweet, babe,” said Rickard.

“ — that means I must be some kind of dumbass homophobe who’s gonna beat everyone up?”

Ajax’s lips parted wider, then closed. “Most people,” he said, “feel some sort of… pull toward identity labels. To understanding themselves.”

“I understand myself fine,” said Bill. “My cock is massive, I’m a good fuck, and I make breakfast after. I’m a real catch. Maybe if more of you people actually fucked instead of sitting back and talking about the, the materialistics and the dialectals of sex and gender and — and feminism, you’d get laid more.”

“He has a point there,” said Felice reasonably, and Bill bumped his knuckles against her ring-encrusted ones when she put out her fist.

“Forgive me for not fucking as much as some people have,” said Ajax.

“S’alright,” said Bill. “Nothing like making up for lost time.”

Ajax laughed, breathlessly, looked away.

“Bill,” said Rickard.

“Yeah?”

“If one of us was trans,” he said slowly, “which one would you guess?”

“But — ” started Felice, but Rickard put his hand on her shoulder, stopped her talking, and Bill wasn’t sure what to make of the look that passed between them as he looked between the three of them.

“Well,” said Bill. “I don’t know.”

“You know many trans people?” asked Felice slowly.

“Drag queens,” said Bill. “Guess I have, I don’t know.”

“Guess,” said Ajax.

“Is it a trick question?” asked Bill. “I’m not supposed to guess you?”

“What do you know about trans people?” asked Ajax.

“Fuck all, like I told you.”

“Well,” said Ajax, “lots of trans people use HRT — hormone replacement therapy, which changes how they look, the same as puberty changes how you look. Those hormones trigger a puberty themselves, many people call it a second puberty. Then there’s different surgeries, too.”

“Right. So if you were trans, you’d not have started the, the steroids or whatever, and no surgery either. But you’re not.”

“Aren’t I?” asked Ajax.

“But not you two,” said Bill.

Rickard started laughing again, and Felice patted his knee, leaning into him and looking at Bill with her lips quirked into another smile. “And if I told you we were all trans?” she asked.

“Ha,” said Bill, nodding, waiting for her to go on, but she didn’t. He furrowed his brow, looking between the three of them — 5’2” Ajax with his high voice and his round face, okay; but Felice, who was tall but had round edges and a slightly husky but definitely feminine voice, and Rickard, who was so average-looking you didn’t really think to describe him as anything except a guy? With his beard and his shitty hair and his forgettable face? “Huh,” said Bill.

“That’s it?” asked Rickard. “You realise all three of us are trans, and you go, huh?”

“This why you’re asking me 20 Questions about if I’d fuck a trans person?” asked Bill. “’Cause you’re all trying to get a ride?”

Rickard cracked up again, and as Ajax hid his head in his hands, Felice said, “Something tells me it wouldn’t be your first time fucking several coworkers.”

“Maybe not,” said Bill good-naturedly. “Does it hurt?”

“Surgery hurt,” said Felice. “I got what they call feminisation surgery — they basically scraped a bit off my jaw, my nose, my cheekbones — sort of softened the angles? Recovery from that hurt a bit, but not too long. And growing tits hurts. It’s not like, a stabbing pain or something, but they ache as they grow.”

“What the fuck?” asked Bill. “For little girls, too?”

“Yeah,” said Rickard and Ajax at the same time, and Bill wrinkled his nose.

“That’s a real fuck,” he said.

“I suppose you’re no stranger to growing pains,” said Ajax.

“Got away Scot-free, did you?” retorted Bill, and Felice and Rickard laughed at the face Ajax made, the way he wrinkled his nose and gave Bill a little scowl. Bill wondered idly if he scrunched his face up like that when he was close to coming. “I got growing pains in my balls.”

“You can’t possibly think that’s sexually appealing.”

“What, my massive balls? They are. Smacking against your chin or your arse, you’re pretty much guaranteed to feel them.”

Ajax was stunned, mouth open with his jaw actually slack, even as Bill distantly considered to himself he probably couldn’t actually fit much of Bill’s cock in his mouth at all, but still, it would be nice to feel him try.

“He never normally shuts up, you know,” said Felice. “You really have the trick of it.”

“Guess we have a unique connection,” said Bill, looking down at Ajax, grinning. “Opposites attract and all that.”

“Fuck,” muttered Ajax, and got up to order more drinks.

* * *

It was the following Monday that Bill got up to bring a stack of files into Ajax’s office, and saw him standing on a stool — he was reaching into the cabinet he’d knocked last week, fixing all the little ships to go back on their plinths. He normally wore a waistcoat that matched his suit, but he’d not worn one today ’cause it was hot, and he’d stripped off his suit jacket — as he reached up on his tiptoes, Bill saw his shirt ride up and raised his eyebrows, anticipating seeing a flash of the skin on his lower back, but Ajax tucked his shirts in tightly, and he had no such luck.

Great arse, though, fat curve of it showing in all its glory under dark grey thread — what was his cunt like, underneath? Did he wear boxers or briefs? Hairy? Fat, like the rest of him, juicy, or smaller? The same colour as his lips, or pinker — or darker?

How much would he stretch?

“Need a hand?” asked Bill.

“No, Billy, thank you,” said Ajax, putting the finishing touches on one of the little ships, and then he hopped down, bustling over and taking the stack off of him, dropping it into his in-tray. “We didn’t — We didn’t make you uncomfortable on Friday night, did we?”

“Nope,” said Bill.

“I didn’t… I just wouldn’t want you to feel pressured, you know, I know this is a small office, but we were all just taking the piss, if you ever do feel uncomfortable or uncertain or ganged-up on, you can tell me, or if you don’t feel comfortable telling me, one of the others, and we can dial it back.”

“I don’t feel uncomfortable,” said Bill.

“Right,” said Ajax.

“I make you uncomfortable?”

“Wh — You? No. God, no. How could you?”

“I’m six foot eight and twenty-two stone, boss, and I do fucking keg tosses,” said Bill, shrugging. “I could pick you up with one hand if I wanted.”

“I don’t think you could…” Ajax faltered as he looked back at Bill, who was looking down at him with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised, his shoulders squared. “I. Alright. Perhaps you could. Keg — Keg tosses. That’s… That’s a beer keg?”

“Yeah,” said Bill, gesturing with his hands for the size of it, smirking when Ajax’s eyes widened.

“You compete?”

“Sure. Strongman shit, be kind of a waste to be this size and not have a go.”

“Right,” said Ajax. “I see.”

“You want me to see if I can lift you?”

“No. No, thank you,” said Ajax, and when Bill took a step forward, he froze, staring not at Bill’s face but at his chest, his lips parting. “I — Billy.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“You really, ah. You really don’t have to…”

“No?”

“No.”

“Can I?”

“Can you?” repeated Ajax breathlessly — his cheeks didn’t burn red when he was embarrassed or turned on the same way they did when he was drunk, the burn coming on slower, and when Bill walked closer and stood right in front of him, looking down at him, he heaved in a little noise.

“You need to de-stress a little,” said Bill.

“Do I?” said Ajax. “Do I real — Oh, holy fuck, Billy — ”

“You’re fucking light as anything,” said Bill as he lifted Ajax up by the hips, dropping him on top of his desk — Bill’s desk was some cheap thing, just a normal one that he had to drop his chair down low to keep from knocking his knees on, but luckily Ajax’s desk was some big heavy wood thing, and it didn’t so much as creak when Bill put him down. “You gonna beef up when you take those steroids?”

“They’re not steroids,” said Ajax, his hands hovering vaguely above Bill’s hands as Bill undid his tie, loosening the knot and tugging it from around his neck. “Hormones aren’t the same as… I don’t know. Maybe, I might — I might well gain weight, I haven’t thought much about it.”

Bill wasn’t paying attention — his hands had gone to the buttons of Ajax’s shirt, and Ajax had stopped him.

“I’m wearing more underneath.”

“Oh, like, bandages?”

“Band — No one fucking wears bandages, Billy, and no, not a binder, but I’ve got a vest on under the shirt, and I’m wearing — Just leave it.”

“Can I undo these?” asked Bill, hands dropping to Ajax’s crotch and tugging at the front of his waistband, and Ajax let out an eager, grunting noise, but nodded his head. Bill undid his belt and tossed it on top of his tie, then unzipped his waistband — Ajax let out a much less dignified noise this time when Bill lifted him up off the desk, feet hanging down, but he shoved his trousers off and let them pool around his knees, his boxers too.

The hair around his cunt was neatly trimmed, so neat it looked like a professional job, and he had a little brown clit buried beneath thin lips almost as severe as the ones on his face, although the puss around was fat.

“The fuck are these?” asked Bill, flicking at the banded elastic around his thigh, and then gasped in a delighted breath, following the fastenings up to where they were clipped to the base of his shirt. “The fuck?”

“Shirt-stays,” said Ajax. “What, you’ve never seen them before?”

“No,” said Bill, grabbing a handful of Ajax’s thigh, which was a paler, even brown colour than on his face, and yielded a bit under his fingers, jiggled when Bill moved his hand slightly, but the elastic band stayed tight. “I want to see your arse in these, with the shirt pulled down a bit.”

“I didn’t expect the stays to be the novelty,” muttered Ajax. “I suppose you’d come on the spot if you saw my sock garters.”

“Your what?” asked Bill, looking down at his pooled trousers eagerly, but Ajax grabbed him by the beard and pulled him down by it, making Bill let out a short noise of surprise as they were abruptly pulled nose-to-nose.

“I did not let you take my trousers off for you to admire what keeps my socks up,” he growled impatiently, and Bill laughed, feeling a little heat rise up the back of his own neck.

“I s’pose you didn’t,” he admitted, and dropped to his knees on the floor — it was a good, high desk, he didn’t even have to lean down too much as he pushed Ajax’s wonderful, fat thighs apart and examined his cunt. “You fuck much?”

“No,” said Ajax. “I — Not since university.”

“That’s been fucking years.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Billy, I hope there aren’t too many cobwe — agh, fuck — !”

Bill went in open mouthed, his hands pushing Ajax’s thighs further apart and his thumbs tugging apart his outer lips: he caught Ajax’s little clit between his lips and on his tongue, and he sucked sloppily at it, feeling where his beard came up against his lips, up against the opening of his cunt.

Ajax’s hands immediately came down and grabbed at his hair, dragging at it as Bill hungrily mouthed at him, laving with his tongue between suckling motions, his lower lip playing over his open hole as he moved. He gripped and grasped at Ajax’s thighs as he kept tonguing his clit and sucking at it in turns, feeling for the band of the shirt stays, sliding his fingers underneath it on each side and feel the way the elastic pressed his fingers down to the flesh. He knew he made a heady, excited noise not because of the sound itself but because of how the vibration from his mouth made Ajax jump, and as he bowed his head lower, he tugged his hands free of the stays and gripped at Ajax’s arse.

It was a shame he was sat on it — had he been rimmed before? Would he like to be? Even like this, Bill could feel the heft and roundness of his arse, wanted to fuck him from behind and see it jiggle and move, feel it move —

“Fuck,” muttered Bill, and slid his tongue into Ajax’s wet cunt.

Ajax almost howled, muffling the moan against the inside of his elbow as Bill fucked into him with his tongue, felt around the inside of his hole, felt the muscle clench, felt his hips jump underneath Bill’s mouth, and Ajax whined, grinding himself down onto Bill’s face. Bill encouraged him forward, licked a stripe up his cunt and then went from tonguefucking him to fucking him with two of his fingers, his mouth going back up to Ajax’s clit.

When he came, it was with a groaning, choked noise, all hitched breaths and biting grunts and his hips rocking up and into his mouth, and Bill let him ride through it, content to be the one being ridden even if it was his mouth instead of his cock.

When he leaned back on his heels, wiping the wetness clinging to his beard and his mouth away with the back of his mouth, he saw that Ajax’s eyes were half-closed, his lips spit-slick and bruised on the lower half from where he’d bitten down with his teeth, and he’d run a hand through his hair so that it stuck up in all directions.

He looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, and it made Bill want to fuck him in a ditch.

“Fuck,” said Ajax dizzily, and Bill slid his hands up and around his thighs, then flicked at the bands of the shirt stays again, watching the way it made Ajax’s swollen clit twitch, made his hole clench.

“You busy tonight?” asked Bill.

“Busy?” repeated Ajax, blinking at him.

“Yeah, busy. You doing something? You got appointments, stuff planned?”

“… No?”

“Good,” said Bill. “Then I want to stuff my cock in you.”

There was a dark, plummy colour across Ajax’s cheeks — still not as bright as it had come while he was drunk, but it was satisfying, seeing that blush, knowing he’d put it there.

“You’re — You really are some sort of fucking beast,” said Ajax.

“That a problem?”

“No, Billy. Not a problem at all.”

Ajax kissed him, and Bill chuckled into his mouth, kissing him back, his hands framing the other man’s body as he leaned over him on the desk, and Ajax couldn’t wrap his legs around him, not with his trousers still on, but he squeezed Bill’s hips with his knees — and with Bill as wide as he was, compared to Ajax, it really made him have to spread ‘em.

“You might have to fuck my arse,” said Ajax seriously, cupping Bill through his slacks and making Bill grunt in pleasure — his dick was hard, maybe three quarters of the way there, but it twitched and thrilled to more under Ajax’s lazy touch. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to stuff all this inside me otherwise.”

“We’ll just have to take it slow,” said Bill. “Let me work you open. Won’t be the first time my dick’s kissed a cervix.”

Ajax opened his mouth, closed it. He looked utterly incredulous, but the blush was the darkest yet.

“Fuck me,” he said, almost squeaked.

“Yeah, boss,” said Bill. “That’s the idea.”

“More kissing for now,” mumbled Ajax, and Bill caught his mouth, kissed him again, felt those severe lips turn soft and sweet. In the back of his mind, he kept making plans, even as Ajax tugged Bill’s fingers back between his legs and asked for seconds before they went back to work.

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