Fisted

My boss—Mr. Johnson—called me into his office just as I was heading home. He revealed his desire to promote me to regional manager. All I had to do was… have sex with him. Under normal circumstances, I would have refused, but Mr. Johnson was both young and incredibly handsome. Plus, I could use the money. But what if mere sex wasn’t enough? What if he wanted more? What if he wanted to… fist me?

Excerpt from Fisted:
Mr. Johnson may have been president of a fortune five-hundred company, he was barely older than me. I was never told his exact age, but if I had to guess I would say he was in his mid-to-late twenties. His undercut hair was black as night. His eyes were a deep shade of brown but seemed just as black as his hair. Though concealed beneath a fancy, hand-tailored suit, his muscles were apparent. He was a nearly-perfect specimen of human masculinity. His only “flaw” came in the form of a small scar on his jaw. I say “flaw” because the scar proved his humanity, thus making his near-perfection that much more impressive.

“Close the door,” instructed Mr. Johnson, putting an end to my ogling.

I did as told. When I turned back around, he was standing behind his desk. He stood perfectly erect, his hands tucked behind his back and his face as expressionless as ever. His gaze bore into me, making me regret my choice of wardrobe.

I had opted to wear a dress, something I only rarely did. It hugged my frame with surprising snugness.

There was a long moment of silence during which neither Mr. Johnson or I spoke.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he finally asked.

I shook my head.

“Our regional manager just retired, and we’re looking for a replacement,” explained my boss.

It took me a while to grasp what such a statement had to do with me.

“Are you saying…” I began, but the shock kept me from finishing.

“The job is yours if you want it,” said Mr. Johnson in that deep, rumbling voice of his.

I couldn’t believe it. There were dozens of far more qualified people. Not to mention the fact that I had been with the company for less than a year. What could possibly possess my boss to think I would be right for the job?

“You’re smart,” he confided when I voiced my concerns. “You know that everything comes with a cost. As long as you’re willing to pay the price, I’m convinced you will be great at your new job.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted.

Mr. Johnson didn’t answer. At least not with words. He made his way around the desk and slowly circled me, his dark eyes glued to my frame. I was beginning to understand what he meant by “everything comes with a cost,” but it wasn’t until his hand brushed against my butt that I had undeniable proof.

“Wh-what do you want from me?” I asked, praying that my interpretation of the man’s actions was incorrect.

It wasn’t.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked.

I didn’t, but I could not afford not knowing. I nodded.

“The deal is simple. In exchange for assigning you a post you are underqualified for, you must have sex with me.”