The Hensley’s Haul office felt off today—like someone had flipped the damn script and forgot to tell the cast. Normally, this front desk was Tammy’s turf, her zy ass sprawled there, phone welded to her hand, dishing out fuck you vibes with every gum-popping smirk. But today? She was nowhere up top—repced by some dude who didn’t look much better.

  He sat there, head bowed low, not a hint of “welcome to my shit-pit” in his slouch—just another phone-zombie, thumb scrolling like the world could burn and he’d still be swiping. Except this guy had a goofy little grin pstered on his face, like he’d just scored a free shot of whiskey in this dump. The pce should’ve been dead quiet—nothing but the hum of a dying AC—but it wasn’t. Something scratched at the silence: a soft, wet slurp, a low, sticky suck, and every now and then, a faint, choked gag—like a dirty little hum creeping through the cracks.

  Well, ain’t that a fucking surprise? John, as always, was a man of his word.

  Zoom in:

  a) Tammy wasn’t gone—she was under the reception desk, knees jammed into the scuffed, grimy linoleum, working on something with a scowl that could curdle milk.

  b) The dude? John—head down, hunched over his phone, grinning like a smug prick. Pying? Sure, if you call filming this shit “pying.”

  The phone screen fred in his grip, red dot pulsing—recording live and raw. Caught in the shaky frame was Tammy, that high-and-mighty chick who’d sneered at him yesterday, now kneeled low, her face a twisted knot of disgust and impatience. She’d barely started—just yanked his zipper down with trembling fingers, tugging it open enough to let the tip of his manhood poke out, pink and slick against the denim. She wasn’t even bothering to look at the rest—just zoned in on that leaking head, her eyes half-lidded with let’s get this shit over with vibes, dying to sp it done and bounce. One hand gripped the base through his pants, sliding up and down in slow, grudging pumps, barely a twitch of effort, while her tongue flicked out—just the tip grazing his tip, quick, sour little licks like she was swatting a fly she couldn’t wait to ditch. Her lips quivered, drool pooling at the corners as she half-gagged—pure this tastes like ass—and those slick, pearly drops oozed from his tip, smearing across her reluctant tongue with every zy flick, a thin, glistening bead trailing back to her mouth. John didn’t flinch—his grin stretched wide, eyes glinting dark—keep licking, princess, he thought, knowing that 50K email had her ass pinned, and she’d be slurping plenty before the day was out.

  “You know what, Tammy?” John drawled, slouched back in the chair, legs sprawled wide, his voice thick with a taunting grin that could peel paint. “I don’t mind sittin’ here all day and just watchin’—ain’t me kneelin’ on the floor, trying to finish the ‘job’.”

  Tammy’s head snapped up from under the desk, her scowl sharp enough to gut a fish. “Asshole,” she spat, lips twisting into a grudging fine—like she’d just lost a bet she couldn’t squirm out of. She huffed, eyes bzing with let’s get this shit done, and decided to crank it up, if only to ditch this hell faster. Her shaky fingers cwed at his waistband, popping the belt with a loud cck, then yanked his pants down hard—denim crumpling around his ankles in a sweaty heap. She tugged them off, tossing them aside like trash, and when she straightened up, her gaze nded on his thing—and her breath hitched.

  John lounged there, thighs spyed, back slouched against the creaking chair, every muscle sck—except that thing. It jutted up like a goddamn tower, stiff and proud, damn near kissing his navel, the tip glistening under the flickering light. Tammy’s eyes widened for a split second—fuck me—before she shook it off, muttering in her head, I’ve seen bigger—Anthony’s bigger—just finish this shit quick.

  John didn’t know a damn thing about her little brain rant, didn’t give a fuck either—he was just wondering when this chick would quit screwing around and start working. Tammy still had that sour, fuck this pout etched on her face, so she went right back to half-assing it—right hand wrapping fast around his buddy, pumping quick and sloppy like she was jerking a stuck doorknob, while her tongue still just flicked out—just the tip grazing his tip, little pissy licks, like she was licking a slug she couldn’t wait to spit out. Thing was though, she’d stopped gagging as each dart dragged up a slick bead of his precum, smearing it across her lips and down her throat—swallowing it without a flinch. Maybe it didn’t taste like shit to her anymore—hell if she knew.

  Five minutes in, her arm drooped, shoulder sagging from the effort, and her tongue was gging—she rubbed her neck, scowling like she’d hauled bricks all day. John watched her, smirking—this chick ain’t half bad when she shuts her trap and gets down to business, he thought. But she needs to step up the game.

  Rare for him, he tossed her a scrap of good advice. “Real talk, Tammy—if I wanted a handjob, I would ask for one instead of a blowjob, make sense?”

  He didn’t like HJs? Bullshit—he loved ’em, just not this weak-ass version.

  “Fine,” she hissed, defiance spiking her tone, finally cracking open that pouty little mouth and wrapping it around his tip—barely an inch, lips puckered tight like she was sucking a lemon she’d spit out if she could. John’s grin twitched—you like takin’ it slow, huh, Tammy? Least you’re finally on the job.

  Her lips—plump, pink, and glossy—cmped around his tip, stretched just enough to hint at the wet, velvet heat inside, a sight so damn sexy it could melt steel—especially with that slick bead of precum glistening on her tongue, caught mid-lick like a filthy cherry on top.

  “Your mouth’s pretty warm—comfy too,” he rasped, voice low and dripping honeyed venom. “Work a bit harder and I’m sure we can become good friends.” Tammy froze mid-suck, eyes darting up—is this prick shitting me or what? She couldn’t tell, but John meant every damn word—her mouth was a perfect little trap, and he was ying it on thick, hoping she’d loosen up from this stiff-as-a-board act. Praise like that oughta crack her, right?

  Nope—still not enough. Sorry, but time to give her a shove.

  He lunged forward, hands cmping her head like a damn vice, and yanked her down hard onto his crotch—no heads-up, no mercy. Tammy squeaked, a panicked hngh cut off fast as his cock rammed past her lips, plugging her throat deep. Her hands flew to his knees, shoving wild, nails cwing at his skin as she tried to wrench free, but John’s grip locked tight—his cock buried in her gullet, stretching her jaw wide till it creaked. Her eyes watered, wide and pleading, head jerking side to side—fuck, no, stop—but John didn’t budge, holding her there, watching her thrash.

  Her lids fluttered, whites peeking as she teetered on the edge, gagging hard—then he ripped himself free with a wet, sloppy pop. Tammy colpsed forward, hands braced on his knees, gasping like she’d just crawled out of a fucking ditch, ragged breaths heaving her chest, spit dangling from her chin in silvery strings.

  John leaned down, chill as hell, sliding his fingers soft through her sweaty, tangled hair—smoothing it back like he was tracing a prize he’d pushed too far.

  “Look, I’m not saying you gotta choke it every time,” he said, voice calm but sharp. “Just showing you some directions of how this can be done—got it?”

  Tammy barely caught it, still wheezing, head spinning from nearly choking—what the fuck? Her brain scrambled: Anthony’s was bigger, rammed deeper, never tore her throat up like that—so why’d this asshole’s thing feel like a goddamn sledgehammer? And why—fuck me—was my pussy down there starting to soak, a slow, warm trickle kicking in when I’d been gagging half-dead?

  John didn’t have a clue—sure, he’d heard of this kink, chicks getting wet from choking, but he never bought that shit, thought it was a full fuck lie. This was supposed to be just a smackdown to wake her zy ass up—he wasn’t fishing for freaky.

  Looking at her dazed stare, he frowned—shit, maybe I overdid it. Sure, this was bckmail, but all he wanted was just a good blowjob, not a fucking breakdown. If she hadn’t yapped about Anthony and his rich dad, he wouldn’t have shoved half this hard.

  He mulled it over—did this dent his tough-guy cred?—then shrugged it off. “Tammy, you okay?” he asked, voice low, almost soft. She blinked, snapping out of it, didn’t answer—just slid her hands back up his thighs, slow and shaky, wrapping them around his penis again. She’s got the face of trying to figure out some serious shit now.

  She opened wide, lips parting slick and glossy, and took him in deep—past the tip, halfway down, her tongue curling hot and wet around his shaft, sucking firm like she meant it. Her cheeks hollowed out, spit bubbling at the corners as she bobbed, slow at first, then faster—slurp-slurp—her throat flexing with every pull, eyes locked up at him, a begrudging spark flickering in that gre. She swirled her tongue hard, dragging it along the underside, slicking him up with a messy sheen, her lips smacking loud each time she pulled back, strands of drool stretching and snapping like filthy little threads.

  John’s grin crept back—he sank into the chair, legs sprawling wider, phone steady as he kept filming. Finally fuckin’ working, he thought, savoring the wet heat cmping his dick. Keep it up, Tammy—nail this, and today’s done. But he didn’t catch it—her rhythm shifting, a sneaky little pattern: a few shallow sucks, then a deep plunge, her throat gulping him down, eyes watering as she pushed it further each time.

  She felt it—her core below soaking hotter, a slow drip turning wetter with every thrust to her throat. That choking gag—sharp, quick, cutting her air—lit her up, a twisted thrill spiking through her gut, her thighs clenching tight under the desk. She didn’t get it—didn’t care—just kept going, deeper, chasing that fucked-up rush.

  John caught it now—her throat gulping him deep, and it didn’t feel that great to him. Deepthroat was his way of flexing control, not some nonstop thrill ride. His brows ticked up—what the fuck? She wasn’t just trying to get him off anymore—this chick was smming his dick into her own damn throat like she was hooked on it. Oh, he was damn sure now—she was into this shit. One gnce at her right hand confirmed it: her short skirt flipped wide open, cy thong shoved aside, fingers buried deep in her vagina, churning fast—schlick-schlick—a wet, nasty beat loud enough to drown the AC hum. Couldn’t see the mess, but that sound? She was having a fucking bst down there.

  John blinked, half-confused, half-hard as hell—this chick was smming his cock down her throat like she was hooked, and fuck, it was too hot to call quits. He kept quiet, head tilting back to the phone, filming her unraveling, her wet slurps humming louder in the dead air—then a creak split it open—thud—and a man’s voice hacked through, rough as gravel. “Tammy—where you at? Who the hell’s this?”

  Oh, this prick. John knew that fucking voice too damn well—Bryce Calhan, Nexis City’s supermarket kingpin, the owner and CEO of BigMart, the root of old John’s fucked-up past with Mar. That bastard got old John beaten to shit, dragged through another round of that happy log humiliation parade—left him too gutless to face Mar before today, or more precisely, before he kicked the bucket. Worst part? This Bryce fucker didn’t lift a finger himself—he was just the cause, made damn sure he was.

  Truth was, John was coming for his ass anyway, but hell, not this quick.

  He snapped alert, one hand shoving Tammy’s shoulder—stop, now—but she didn’t flinch, lips sucking harder like she was lost in her own world. Fuck this. He spped his free hand over her skull, pinning her—her muffled mmph hummed against his cock as she kept pushing, greedy as hell. Not now, Tammy. Need to see what’s this fucker up to.

  John lifted his head, mouth twitching to spit something, but Bryce waved a zy hand—“Whatever, I know what you doin'. Don't care. You look limp tough. Me just here for Mar. Ciao.”—and stomped off toward the office.

  “Tammy, stop,” John barked, yanking her out from under the desk by the shoulders, hauling her up like a sack. She stumbled up, legs shaky, spit gleaming on her chin. He locked eyes, dead serious. “We’re done today, Tammy—I’ve got shit to handle.”

  Her mouth popped open, half a question forming, but he cut her off. “Rex—your secret’s safe with me now. But quit this crap okay? Find another way to make cash.”

  Tammy wasn’t even close to asking that—she’d nearly let when’s next time? slip out, her lips twitching with it—but his words hit like a sp, yanking her back to the bckmail mess. A hot flush crept up her neck; that question stuck in her throat now, dumb and awkward as hell. She pivoted fast, masking it with a scowl. “Cash? Like it’s that fuckin’ easy,” she muttered, lips twisting sharp, her voice biting harder than she meant.

  John snorted—here’s an easy one, dumbass—“Got a cash cow right here,” he said, pulling his phone with a smirk. “Sending you the vid—post it on SubOnly.com. Call it ‘Forced to Suck Him Off and Loved It.’ Either the pervs’ll drool over it, or the feminists’ll lose their shit—see who bites. Bet some horny fuck’s gonna pay for round two.”

  Tammy’s eyes bzed—loved it my ass! “Love? Love your fuckin’ mom, asshole—I’ve got a boyfriend!” she snapped, voice cracking.

  John smirked, cool as hell. “Watch it yourself, babe—and you’ll be the judge of ‘love it or not’. Post it or not. I don’t give a fuck. Your face in it, mine just a cock. Go kiss your boyfriend, see if he smells something funny on that mouth.”

  Her face flushed, words choking out—asshole was all she got, spinning to storm off, fists balled tight.

  “Hey, Tammy—” John called.

  She whirled back, a smug spark lighting her eyes—oh yeah, he can’t let me go, hooked on me now, can’t resist calling me back for more, her whole damn face screaming it, lips twitching with a cocky little grin she couldn’t hide.

  But John just pointed across the room. “You chucked my pants halfway to fuckin’ Mars—gonna leave me bare-assed to grab ’em? Pick ’em up, give me a hand.”

  “Just that?”

  “Just that.”

  Asshole! Her jaw dropped, fury boiling—she stomped over to snatch his crumpled jeans, cursing loud as John’s low chuckle chased her out.