office pet (matt stone x fem!reader x trey parker)
This explicit story was written by an adult for consumption by other adults only. If you are under 18, please do not read or interact in any way.
Hope you enjoy.
Word count: 3,265
Content: dubious consent, established poly, roleplaying hella toxic dynamics, vaginal fingering, spanking, jealousy, mentions of Trey's corruption kink, desk/office sex, gagging
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“You fucking worship the ground he walks on, don't you?”
Tears prick your eyes as Matt's hand comes down hard against your ass, leaving your back arching, as though you were inviting more of his touch.
He snorts at the needy gesture. “Oh, no,” he says sternly. “Don't give me that. Not after what you just said.”
You try to fight back the whimper of disappointment that's begging to climb up your throat.
It was an honest mistake, really, it was. Just a little slip-up.
Matt had teased you this morning before the two of you were due to show up at the studio for work. He woke you up by crawling between your legs and spreading you wide open, licking and sucking and teasing until you were a shaking, dripping mess against his mouth.
Then he slapped your thigh, pulling away and wiping his mouth. “Go get the coffee,” he ordered.
Your stomach sank, still feeling that needy thrum between your legs. “What?” you squeaked out.
He huffed out a chuckle. “Did I stutter, sweetheart?” He stood up from the foot of the bed and headed over to the closet, pulling his shirt over his head on the way. You watched incredulously as he dressed himself for the day ahead, as though nothing ever happened. “You know what everybody likes. Go get the coffee, like a good little office pet.”
You couldn't tell what was worse, — the humiliation of being reduced in such a way, or the needy ache in your pussy. Whatever the case, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue, nodding as you stood up to make yourself presentable.
You didn't even question it when he handed you your clothes for the day, — he'd selected them for you before he selected his own. You put on the outfit, allowing him to inspect it to make sure it was to his liking before you headed out the door, towards the nearest Starbucks.
A good little office pet, indeed.
Unfortunately, you've been a needy mess ever since then. Once Matt went on his lunch break, he put Anne back at the front desk for the time being and pulled you into his office, creating the illusion that he might finally bring you some relief after half a day's worth of torture.
But he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.
He just teases you more, working you up to the very edge, again and again, before pulling away, chuckling at your anguished squirming as he slaps the back of your thigh.
Who could really blame you for having those words slip out in your frustration?
Apparently, Matt could.
“Trey wouldn't do this to me,” you spat as he pulled away, leaving you clenching around nothing again.
The room went deadly silent, causing your heart to drop.
“What did you just say?” Matt finally asked, his voice low, dangerous.
At this point, you knew that the words you let slip would get you into a world of trouble. Then again, you also knew that he wouldn't leave you alone until you repeated them.
You took a deep breath and steeled yourself, — as much as you could, anyway, laying on your belly over his desk, pussy wet and skirt pulled over your ass.
“I said,” you started, “that Trey wouldn't do this to me.”
It wasn't that your other boss couldn't be sadistic to you, — he could. Many a time, he’s called you into his office when writer's block or censor requests put him in a particularly foul mood, just to immediately fist his hand in your hair and push you to your knees in front of him, demanding you to suck. He'd also been known to dole out his own spankings, not stopping until your ass was on fire and you were wiggling restlessly on his lap.
But he didn't tease like this. He gave you what you needed, — or what he needed, — without hesitation or preamble. Then, when it was all over, he quickly put you back together, — brushing away your tears and tucking your hair back into place before sending you back to the front desk with a kiss on the forehead.
He didn't play with you like Matt, didn't torture you this way. In the moment, that had you aching for him unlike anything else.
It also put you in deep trouble with the man who was currently toying with you.
Without warning, two large fingers shove deep into your pussy, completely devoid of gentleness. You gasp, bucking against the desk as Matt's fingers curl against that sensitive spot inside you that always drives you wild. He presses his free hand against your lower back, shoving you down.
“Mmm-mmm,” he hums casually. “Don't move.”
You whimper again. His fingers dig into the skin of your back in return.
“Stop whining or I'll fucking gag you,” he warns. He lifts his hand off your back only to dig in his jean pockets. Soon enough, he comes up with a strip of soaked black lace. The panties he picked out for you this morning.
He holds them up for you to look at. “See?”
You close your eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath as you relax against the desk.
He huffs out a dry laugh. “Good slut.”
It's barely praise at all, but it has your teeth digging into the bottom of your lip as your pussy throbs.
He curls his fingers up into you then, making a come-hither motion against your G-spot. You bite down on your lip until you're afraid your teeth might go through it, feeling yourself clench around his fingers.
“What?” Matt demands, curling his fingers upwards yet again. “Are you squeezing my fingers, imagining it was him?”
“N—” Your denial is cut short by another harsh press, leaving you turning to bury your face into your arm, sobbing out a moan.
Matt sighs and pulls his fingers out of you. “Alright. I warned you.” He stands up, walking around the desk to look down at your face.
He reaches out, gently pulling your lip from between your teeth with his thumb. You look up at him, pleading with your eyes.
Of course, that doesn't work. It seldom ever does with him.
He keeps his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “Open,” he orders.
Like a good office pet, you do.
Before you can register just what happened, he shoves your panties into your mouth, just as he warned that he would.
He steps back, letting out an amused hum of the sight before him. You, utterly debauched, with your own underwear in your mouth and his best friend's cock on your mind.
“Pretty whore,” he murmurs before settling back behind you and working those same two fingers back in. “You taste yourself, pet?”
You hum a response around the panties.
He laughs. “Yeah.” He thrusts his fingers in and out roughly, causing you to gasp.
“That sweet little pussy is why I keep your disloyal ass around.” His free hand comes down hard against your ass, causing you to squeal against the wet fabric. He pauses, rubbing the spot he just struck. “This isn't so bad, either.”
You lay there in shaky anticipation as he strokes your skin almost tenderly, waiting for the next blow. It doesn't come.
Not yet, anyway.
Instead, he gives you a command in a surprisingly soft voice. “Spit the gag out,” he says quietly. “I want to ask you something.”
You adjust yourself the best that you can in your position, propping yourself up on the opposite elbow as you reach to pull the panties out of your mouth. Once you can speak again, you offer a tentative question. “Yes, sir?”
“Respect. I like it.” He chuckles, continuing to stroke your aching ass. “Does he touch you like this, pet? Tell me the truth.”
His voice is so much gentler than earlier. Though your gut screams that it's a trick, something about the tenderness makes you succumb as you find yourself steadily slipping into subspace. “Yes, sir,” you confirm quietly, fighting the urge to melt into his touch. “He does.”
“I see.” He keeps petting you, seeming to consider something. “Is that why you want him so bad right now, hmm? Because he's easy with you?” His thumb brushes across your angry skin, making you shiver. “Tender?”
You find yourself chewing on your lip again. “Yes, sir,” you murmur.
“Mmm-hmm.” He continues his idle ministrations. “And if you walked into his office like this, — all debauched and needy, — what would he do?”
You take a shaking breath, shamefully feeling yourself grow wetter at the mere idea. “He'd make me lock the door,” you begin with a shaking voice.
“Uh-huh,” Matt says attentively. He gives you a sudden, but not particularly rough, swat. “How decent of him, not wanting the rest of the office to see this ass.”
Your face grows hot, but you continue with a swallow. “Then he'd get his cock out, and tell me to come sit in his lap…”
Matt gives a mean chuckle. “Oh, of course he would,” he says, voice dripping venom. “Have you come sit in his lap… Jesus. He's always been so into the whole good girl thing, that fucking pervert.” His thumb brushes over your pussy lips, eliciting a gasp. “I bet every time he pushes into this tight little pussy, he imagines that it's the first time. Bet he wishes he could fuck you until you bleed, just like some innocent little virgin who just got her cherry popped by a sleazy, rich bastard. Bet he sometimes closes his eyes sometimes while you're all over him and pretends you're one of his naive Mormon girls from back home, rather than our little office slut who's always begging for cock, day in and day out.” He pulls his thumb back, laughing at the way your wetness coats the pad of it. “Don't you think so, pet?”
He doesn't give you time to answer his question before he's parting your folds, beginning to run over you again, up and down. “Keep talking,” he says. “Tell me what he'd do.”
You draw in a shaky breath, trying to erase his prior statement from your mind. Surely, Trey doesn't pretend you're somebody else when he's deep inside you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whisper pleas into his ear. Surely not, right?
You tell yourself to snap out of it as you keep talking.
“Then, he'd lift my skirt, and pull my panties aside,” you breathe.
“And would he rub your sweet little pussy like this?” Matt interjects, his thumb slipping upwards to find your clit and rub slow circles against it.
You gasp. “Yes, sir,” you moan shakily. “Yes, sir. He would.”
Matt laughs. “Jesus. I'm surprised he can find it.” He pauses before forming his fingers into a V and spreading you open. “Then again, he must do something right, if you get this wet just talking about him fucking you.” He runs his fingers through the mess you're making, eliciting a needy moan from you. “Does he fuck this little pussy good? Hmm?”
Your throat feels tight with need as you respond. “Yes, sir. He does.”
With that, Matt slips a finger back inside you. You gasp, pushing back on it before you can tell yourself not to. “Do you like his cock?” he demands, keeping his finger still inside you.
“Yes, sir,” you squeak, holding onto the edge of the desk. “I do.”
He begins thrusting in and out, filling the office with the embarrassingly wet sounds of your need. “Better than mine?”
You consider how to answer that one and stay neutral, stay loyal to the both of them. “It's different,” you mutter plaintively.
He smacks your ass again. “Come on, now. None of that middle-of-the-road bullshit,” he spits.
You hiss at the sting. “I'm sorry, sir.”
He doesn't reply to your apology for a moment, simply rubbing your ass with his finger shoved into you, before he speaks up. “Fine. If our little office pet really doesn't pick favorites, I'm sure she'll at least answer objective questions.”
He pauses for effect before asking: “Which one of us is bigger?”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Bad question.
“He is, sir,” you mutter quietly.
Matt gives a displeased hum. “Gonna need an extra finger, then.” With that, he buries another long finger inside you. You're still adjusting to the sudden invasion when he continues. “In fact, let's make it three.”
He pushes yet another finger into you, the stretch causing more than a bit of discomfort this time. You buck against the table, whining your wordless protests.
He laughs. “What's wrong, baby?” he asks. Without even looking over your shoulder, you can see him, tilting his head in mock innocence. “If you can take Trey's big cock, surely you can take a few fingers.”
He curls them up into you, eliciting a needy whimper from you. “See?” he coos. “That feels good, doesn't it? I know my pet just loves being stretched, doesn't she?”
You give another needy moan in response, pushing back onto his fingers.
Matt laughs. “Yeah, she does.”
Much to your surprise, he leans down, pressing a kiss against the small of your back, his beard tickling your skin. When he pulls back, he continues his barrage of questions.
"And how does he fuck this pussy, baby?” he presses. “Does he do it nice and gentle?” He goes to pull his fingers out before slowly inching them back in, punctuating with a gentle curl against your G-spot. “Or does he give it to you, fast and rough?” He thrusts in and out, quickly. He doesn't let up, filling the room with the sounds of your needy pussy as you struggle to formulate a response.
“It, ah…” You squeeze your eyes shut. “It, mmm… depends…” you pant, feeling your stretched walls squeeze down around him.
Matt groans. “Jesus, you're no help. Maybe the only reason you keep spreading for both of us is because you aren't capable of picking a fucking lane.” With that, he stills his fingers inside you. “Think hard about it, pet. If you walked into Trey's office like this, right now, — shaky, wet, denied, so horny you're about to fucking cry, — how would he fuck you back into working order?”
You think about it for a moment. “He'd be gentle, sir,” you say, your tone almost wistful.
He would be gentle, if a little condescending. He'd fuss over you, praise you for coming to him, for being his good girl, his own personal office slut. He'd run his fingers through your wetness and make you suck it off his fingers as he guided you down onto his cock, helping you ride him as your need climbed higher and higher, rubbing your clit fast towards the end to send you over the edge and sate you for the next few hours until one of them could take you home and use you for the rest of the night.
You can't get the thought out of your mind as Matt sets a slow rhythm with his own fingers, a steady in-and-out. “Like this?” he asks.
“Yes, sir,” you sob out. “Like that.”
With that, he finally shuts his smart, sharp-tongued mouth, focusing completely on fingerfucking you in a way that is so uncharacteristically gentle.
His silence makes it easy for your mind to slip back to Trey, but, no matter how quiet Matt is and how precisely he curls his fingers against your front wall, you can't convince yourself that Trey's the one fucking you.
Still, Matt commands you to as he curls his fingers up against your G-spot, again and again. “Come for him,” he commands.
At first, you think you've heard him wrong, your brain fuzzy from the building of the orgasm you've been denied since this morning, your own moans sounding faraway as they fall upon your ears.
Then, he says it again.
“Come on, baby, come for him,” he urges you. “Come for the man you love. Come for your favorite.”
And then he goes back to being rough, being himself, as he pulls his fingers all the way out and just as soon shoves them back in, immediately curling back up against that spot. Abrasive. Mean. Too much.
“Pretend my fingers are Trey's cock,” he grits out. “And come on them.”
Much to your combined arousal and shame, you do.
You come apart, shaking as you soak his fingers, clenching and unclenching around him almost violently. He doesn't let up as he works you through it, murmuring dirty nothings that your ears are ringing too loudly for you to understand.
Once you've slumped forward on his desk in defeat, he pulls all three of his fingers out. He stands up with a huff, walking around to the front of the desk.
Soon, you're on eye level with his obviously tented jeans. You look up at him, expecting to have to return his favor… if you could even call it that.
He laughs. “Oh, no,” he sneers down at you before palming himself through the denim. “I'm not gonna give you this cock. You probably don't even want it.”
He looks over your debauched form, satisfaction shining in his green eyes.
“Fix your skirt,” he orders, “and come on.”
-
He leads you down the hall, his hand gripping tight on your arm all the while. You have a sinking suspicion of where you're going. Your suspicions are proven correct when he pushes open Trey's office door without so much as knocking.
“You want him so bad? Have him.” He practically shoves you forward into the office before meeting Trey's confused gaze.
“I made her come,” he announces. “But don't worry. I didn't fuck her.” He turns back to you, giving you a wolfish grin. “She’d rather you do that.”
With that, he closes the door. You can hear his heavy footsteps as he heads back up the hall.
You force yourself to meet Trey's eyes, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. Your fuzzy brain halfway expects anger.
Instead, he smiles softly at you, sliding his chair out from beneath his desk and patting his thigh. “Come here, sweetheart,” he beckons.
He doesn't have to tell you twice before you're wrapping yourself around him.
He chuckles lowly, the sound of it rumbling through you as your chest presses against his. His fingers travel over your back and up into your hair, pushing down errant strands. “Matt's mean, isn't he?” he murmurs into your ear, stroking your hair soothingly.
You nod against his shoulder, allowing yourself to be grounded by a man who didn't even do this to you, — not directly, anyway.
He was there when you planned it, though. The whole elaborate scene. He and Matt had gotten so worked up discussing the specifics that they had treated you to seeing them make out on the couch, gripping at and grinding against one another. It was a wonder the idea ever came to fruition, as many times as the three of you had devolved into fucking while attempting to discuss it.
“Yeah? Did he make a mess of you?” Trey's hand slips up your skirt and touches your bare pussy. It occurs to you that Matt kept your makeshift panty-gag as Trey tentatively rubs you.
“Well, then.” He shifts below you, grinning wickedly, before pointing over to the couch in the corner of his office. “Go lay back on that couch over there, sweetheart,” he tells you. “Let me kiss it better.”
