Content: Boss/Secretary Relationships | Dryhumping | Finger-sucking | Minor Choking | Jealous Victor Gideon <333 | Fem Reader
I was trying to just start writing drabbles so I could get back into writing after my absence but tbh I don't seem to have the strength to keep things short... so here enjoy a bit of jealous Victor <3 I made this sappier than I initially intended but ugh I'm so emotional over him these days
The halls of the care center had gone silent by the time Victor had returned to his office, not even the familiar clack of your heels on linoleum to be heard. There, on your desk in the front room, your work had been neatly put away, and those files he’d requested from you when you’d first come in had been placed atop his desk, no doubt hours ago, while he was entrenched in research deep within the subterranean levels of Rhodes Hill. Yet even now, the scent of your perfume hung suspended in the air, as though waiting there just to torment him, to remind him that if he’d only been a moment sooner, perhaps he might have caught you. But he hadn’t. You’d gone home.
Observing the lonesome scene with an unmoving expression, he hummed, and turned to the window. The creak of his leather coat was almost unpleasant when it was the only sound in the office. It shouldn’t have been, he was entirely too used to these moments of solitude. For a long time, they’d been more than just moments, rather a constant routine. With a pause, the doctor picked up a half finished cigar from the coffee table beside him as he went, so as to absently light it, and stared off into the night.
There, in the rain, a distant figure was darting off towards the parking lot. Alone in a soaked blazer; someone hadn’t checked the weather. Someone familiar. The faint bzzz-click of his visor sounded in the office, zeroing in on the foolish girl almost tripping over herself in those ridiculous heels through puddles. You, of course.
“Oh, little bird,” Victor hummed beneath his breath. “Perhaps I’ve not missed you yet…” He was set to move, to take off towards you, to catch you just before you could slip out of his fingers until the next morning, when another figure gave him pause, emerging from the darkness of the courtyard trees.
A man, he assumed, by the build, falling into step beside you. You seemed to be taken aback, at first, but before long, some sort of conversation that Victor loathed he couldn’t hear was passing between you.
His lenses hummed and clicked again as those hidden golden eyes studied the face with rapt attention. The database brought up a match before long. Isaac Miller, some low-level researcher Victor was already mentally adding to the processing list. Merely hyperbole, of course.
At least, it was supposed to be. But then, Miller had unfolded an umbrella, and drawn close the shivering figure of his secretary.
The office doors were thrown open hardly a second later.
“The director has you working late, huh?” Miller’s body was crowded a little too uncomfortably close to yours beneath the umbrella. You hadn’t particularly been interested in sharing it, but he’d taken your surprised silence as a go ahead. It was that sort of insufferable, pushy behavior that you’d grown unfortunately used to doing sketchy work the likes of which one would find at Rhodes Hill. Where laws were ignored, boundaries were bent. Men only got more insufferable.
You stared off into the distance, watching the rain fall upon the roof of your car at the end of the lot. “Yeah,” came your exhausted response, breathy and unfocused. “Sometimes I just stay late.”
That was a lie. Every night you stayed late, and not because the director set your schedule that way. It was by choice. An embarrassing, stupid choice that left you as you were now, wet and shivering in the rain, when it was far too dark out and some annoying researcher thought you were the perfect, vulnerable target for him to bore about his day.
He was talking to you, you knew that, but you weren’t really paying attention, your mind far from the puddles soaking through the toes of your shoes and wetting the fresh nylons you’d bought with last week's paycheck. It all drifted back to your boss, Doctor Gideon.
No more than a month ago, the long hours of the night had been something shared, a mutual obsession that could never see the sun. But those moments had dwindled off as of recent, and on days like today, the only times you’d even see him were in passing, when you’d first clock in and he’d leave you with the list of to-do’s he needed from you, before vanishing into the bowels of the care center. It was lonely.
The pay was good, the hours were comfortable, and it wasn’t even a far drive from home. It wasn’t all that long ago that you were dreaming of a job just like this, where you had plenty of time to yourself, alone in a vast, beautiful office, and with ample excuse to work on personal projects rather than having a boss breathing down your neck to assign you more. If things had never progressed the way they had between you and the Doctor, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a painful shift.
“You uh… know where you’re going?”
The question startled you out of your deliberation, and your eyes snapped up to the man beside you, still holding the umbrella. He was taller than you, perhaps broader as well, so his body took up a good amount of space beneath it, and he didn’t even seem to spare a glance at the way raindrops were drizzling off the side and soaking through the shoulder of your blazer. He seemed far too busy ensuring he wasn’t the one to get wet. How charming.
“I…” With a glance around, you realized you’d followed him across the parking lot without much thought to your destination. “Uh, yeah, I’m over there.” You nodded towards the beat up old Toyota you’d been lugging around since University, unable to find the heart to replace it even after Rhodes Hill’s comfortable salary had started to roll in.
Miller’s words were mercifully cut off. You didn’t pay it much mind, walking on, until raindrops caught the tip of your nose, and you realized that the umbrella, and the man holding it, had paused behind you.
You turned, and there, clutching the underside of the material was a hand, sickly, gray, and the size of Miller’s whole face. Without a hint of struggle, the umbrella was pried upwards, and catching the light was none other than the familiar visor of Doctor Gideon.
“Mr. Miller.” Came that low, scratchy voice, the very sound of it making you freeze in your tracks, eyes wide, as though you hadn’t seen the man just this morning. “Forgive the intrusion.” Despite his words, you knew from that tone, and the downward sneer of his lips that he was leagues from remorseful. “I’ll be taking my secretary from you, if that’s alright. We’ve some things to discuss that can’t wait till morning.”
If Miller said any more, you didn’t hear it. All you saw was his form scramble away into the night like he’d seen a ghost. That’s how most people under Doctor Gideon’s employment reacted to him. You’d think they’d get better manners when he was the one signing the paycheck each month, but maybe something about the researchers working with bioweapons all day made them that much more uneasy around their mutated boss. For you, who hadn’t a scientific bone in your body, the struggle was far removed into something a lot more shameful.
“Doctor Gideon.” Your voice hardly carried on the wind, and had you been any more breathless the sound would have been swallowed by the rain.
“Little bird,” he returned, and the nickname alone was enough to make it feel like he’d just hooked a finger around one of your arteries and wrenched you forward by it. “A word? Inside?”
Your head dipped in a short nod. “Of course.”
He’d barely given you time to respond, before his arm had almost entirely encompassed your upper body, and dragged you into the warmth of his coat, shielding you, if somewhat, from the rain.
“Is something the matter?” Your voice floated up softly to his ears, but he paid your question no mind, focused entirely on his mission of getting you back inside.
By the time the two of you were returned once more to the cool, sterile lighting of the grand lobby, the tension had hardened into an uncomfortable layer between the two of you, making it difficult for you to even formulate another word to him. Although he didn’t let you struggle long, for as he guided you back up the old, exhausting stairs to his office, he finally spoke.
“You’re soaked,” he observed, his tone flat, as though it was of little importance. However, the words that came next gave you the feeling it was anything but. “Have you such a chill that you must seek the proximity of a coworker?”
Your eyes widened at that. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was jealous. Or perhaps, you really didn’t know better. Your gaze flickered up to him, studying the cold, distant expression he wore.
A part of you wanted to assure him that no, that man was just as uninteresting to you as he was pushy. But a much more persuasive part demanded you take this even an inch further, to see if that cold expression would shift at all. “Does it matter?”
“It’s hardly professional.”
That almost drew a snort from you, but you managed to hold it back well enough to quirk a brow at him, then let your eyes trace the length of his arm draped over your body, leading you so securely back to his office. “Really?”
Clicking his tongue, Doctor Gideon pushed you up the last couple of steps, before turning his body so he could hold the door open for you. “Do you think yourself funny?”
“Is now one of those times?”
“Of course not, Doctor.” Your tone came out just a little too saccharine to be meaningful, and from the way the corner of his mouth twitched, you were sure Doctor Gideon had caught it.
“Is that so?” His steps slowed, as though dragging out the moments as he ducked through the smaller door into his office, and guided you to the edge of his desk. There was a pause when you sat, wherein his shadow remained unmoving, looming across your figure like a silent predator waiting to strike. “You’ve grown impertinent,” he finally muttered, turning away from you.
“And you’ve grown distant.” You didn’t miss a beat. You saw his back tense through his jacket, and he stood still for a second too long before he’d returned to your side, holding a small towel. Or, compared to his hand, at least, it seemed small. But as the heavy cotton smothered your face, patting away the droplets from your hair, you realized it had mostly been an illusion.
“I’m here now.” He took both hands to scrunch your hair in the towel, like he wanted to squeeze the chill from you himself. “But you are just as… audacious.”
“Am I?” You watched him pull your blazer off, and set it over the back of a chair, before turning to the thermostat, and setting it just a few degrees higher.
“You are,” he affirmed. “I suppose it’s my fault.” He had turned back to you again, now adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, and rounded the desk to take a seat where he’d been so often absent from. “When the cat is away, the mice shall play, as it were. Perhaps I should remind you of your place, then?”
The knot that had been forming in your gut the moment you’d seen that hand under the umbrella nearly crippled you when he finally patted his leg, a silent gesture for your obedience. So you did as was only natural. You complied. Your ankles wobbled in your heels crossing the short distance between the two of you, not unlike the shaky gait of a newborn fawn. Yet when you moved to sit atop his thigh, he halted you with a hand to your hip.
“No, no. Down.” He guided you then, downwards, onto your knees before his lap, until his hand was tracing your hairline, and gently pushed your face to nuzzle between his legs, mere inches from what you desired most. “That’s it, very good.” You felt his foot shift, brushing against your knee, and with a touch both so gentle yet so firm that you had not a bone in your body willing to resist, he pushed you down even further, until you were seated against his leather boot. “You seek the heat of another man like some pathetic animal.” The gentle tone shifted, still quiet, still measured, but taking on a hissing quality that betrayed his bitter emotions. “If you’ll act an animal with him…” His hand rose, pushing the damp hair from your eyes and tracing down your jaw, so he could tip your gaze up towards him. “Then you shall act one with me.”
Your breath caught, stuck in your throat against the edge of his chair, eyes wide, and glimmering in the low, amber light of his desk-lamp. “Meaning…?”
He tutted under his breath, like the answer should have been obvious. “You’ve been wearing lace underwear every single day this month. 14 different shades of black, eight shades of red, three in emerald—wear those more often—one in purple, and one in blue. You never wear the same pair in a month. Does your entire paycheck go to lingerie? Are you that desperate for my attention to return?”
Your lips pursed, embarrassed, a flush of heat rising up your neck despite your attempts to remain level-headed. He was being cruel.
When no words came from you, he clicked that serpentine tongue, and tapped your bottom lip. “Answer me, pet.”
“I… just like to dress well.”
“Down to your undergarments?”
He cut you off with a firm press of his thumb into your mouth, pulling down upon your teeth until you went silent in wide-eyed shock.
“Don’t bother. You have a liar’s tongue.” He let the silence draw out a moment, till you were entirely unsure of what he really wanted from you. “Perhaps, then, you wear them for another? Miller, was that his name?”
You scoffed, pulling your eyes away from him for the first time since he’d set you down on his boot. “Don’t be ridiculous—”
But he cut you off again, this time forcing your tongue down into the soft flesh of your mouth. “Did I say you could speak?”
You went quiet, shoulders slouching, and to that he gave a soft hum of approval.
“Better.” His thumb drew back just enough to trace the lipstick you wore, smearing the crisp edges. “If you are so desperate, be it for he or I, then find your release.” His shoe brushed upwards, and you jolted slightly at the contact against your panties. “On my boot.”
“Y-your… what…?” That heat that had been rising on your neck burst across your face, deepening your features in the low lamplight.
“Must I be any more clear?” He tutted again, a soft lilt of mocking disappointment in his voice. “Drag your cunt across the leather like the filthy animal you are. Or would you rather I send you back to him?”
He was jealous. No doubt about it now. You’d never seen him like this before, with such a short temper despite wearing a mask of that usual patience and assured dominance. He was upset. Petulant, even, no matter how mature of an air he attempted to give off. Were you not so humiliated by his cold demand, you would have laughed in his face. Right now, given the way he was acting, you knew better than that.
That single word cut through your shocked discovery, and brought you crashing back down to where you were sat atop his shoe, entirely at his mercy.
“A-ah… right.” You dipped your head, unable to bear the weight of his gaze through those lenses even a moment longer. “Yes, sir.” The title came out intentionally, a tease you knew would chip at the cold defenses he’d put up. Just from the way his thigh tensed when you said it, you knew it had been effective.
You heard him draw in a breath, like he had more to say, but when you pushed your hips down against him, and felt the cool leather of his shoe press against your lace-clad folds, whatever words he’d planned died on a low breath.
One of his hands grazed across your shoulder, feeling the damp fabric of your blouse, before pushing his fingertips down and securing a firm, steady grip on you that seemed to slowly follow the tempo of your hips, rocking into the unyielding leather beneath you.
“I don’t recall you being so modest.” His grip on your shoulder tightened, pushing you into his boot. “Harder. Show me you want this. Show me you can be good for me.” His other hand followed the length of a tress of your hair, before slipping down to your cheek, almost cradling your face in his large, cold grip. “And little bird?”
Your eyes snapped upwards without hesitation, understanding instinctively that that tone made no room for disobedience. Your gaze met his in a moment, and you realized with a rush of heated shock that he’d pulled off his visor, exposing the precious gold of his eyes to you.
The sight alone made your hips stutter, but the memory of his command managed to push you forward, forcing a trickle of heat to bloom between your puffy folds. You felt the rising temperature, the slick arousal of your shame build and soak through your panties until a glistening smear was forming on his immaculate leather boots. Your clit grew infinitesimally with each throb of blood to your sensitive parts, until your breath was foggy against his knee, and your mind was a whirlwind of sensation.
“You’re pathetic,” he murmured, his voice like honey over gravel, poured over your tongue and forced down your delicate throat till you could do nothing but choke on his words. A fresh rush of humiliation had crashed over you, but it did nothing to quell the heat between your thighs, instead moving you faster, until the lace of your panties was less a barrier and more a sodden, translucent veil. “And yet… so obedient when you’re given instructions.” He patted your cheek, and hummed out something that was almost a chuckle beneath his breath, before angling the toe of his boot upwards so that the leather pressed against your messy entrance through the lace.
“Too much already? Poor dear.” His words were as mocking as his movements, now rocking his boot up against you in tandem with your desperate, uncoordinated thrusts.
You could feel it, the way your pussy felt raw and plump with arousal, the way the blood rushed downwards and left your mind dizzy and wanton. With each grind, you found yourself angled closer and closer to his body, until your breasts were crushed into his leg, and your face was as far between his thighs as it could go, which was not nearly enough to catch the scent of his bulge. Not hard, not yet, given his age, but thick and heavy nonetheless, resting like a tempting present at the center of his lap.
“Oh?” He caught your shameless movements. Of course he did. “Is the boot not enough for you, pet?” His fingers clamped in your hair, and you were tugged back with a force that made you whine. “You will take what you were given, understand?”
You forced a desperate plea back with your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and managed a short nod, even when tears began to coat your lashline.
Above you, Doctor Gideon tsk’d under his breath, but the look on his face was almost endeared. “So impatient, sweet girl.” His thumb caught under your eye, wiping a collection of tears before they could spill. “Do you truly need something in your mouth that badly?”
From the soft—patronizing, yes—almost caring way he spoke the question, you found yourself able to push back your mounting humiliation just long enough to answer with a little nod.
To that, he smiled, a jagged smile that pulled at his cut lips. “How unfortunate… perhaps there’s no hope for you, after all.” Despite his words, he made no move to pull away, or stop the grinding of his boot into your swollen heat. “But I suppose I ought to give you some leeway, given my absence…” You could only get another few breaths out, before his thick, rough index finger was pushing apart your lips, taking a smear of lipstick with him as he glided into your mouth with such assured ease. “Good girl.”
Another finger joined before he’d even gotten the first all the way in, stretched your lips out so you made a pretty, fucked out picture beneath him. The blunt, smooth nails he kept for ease of work made contact with the back of your throat only seconds later, and your whole body tensed, a shuddering gag shooting down your spine and straight to your needy cunt, which released a fresh deluge of warm slick through your panties. You could barely stay upright on him anymore, practically slipping off the edge from the filthy mess you’d made.
“Relax your throat,” he commanded, pausing with his fingers just breaching your throat, so you were forced to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on anything but how desperately your esophagus tried to reject being penetrated. Unconsciously, you dug your nails as deep into your palm as they could go without breaking the skin, and managed to push yourself into a headspace so maddened that your throat released its tension. It seized again, if only for a moment, when Doctor Gideon took that moment to press deeper, deeper still—heedless to your soft choking, until his rings clinked against your teeth, and he curled those wicked fingers into the soft, gummy walls of your throat. “There you are. Perfect. Just like that.” After giving you a moment to quell the rising desire to puke, he pulled back. But the relief was short lived, and his fingers drove into your spasming throat once more, forcing a muffled cry out of you that rumbled all the way your flesh and into your core.
“Hm.” He curled his fingers again, this time in time with the rhythmic curl of his boot. “You’re leaking rather steadily now.” The plain, almost clinical observation shot through you with a fresh dart of humiliation, and tears followed suit, your face now as messy as your cunt, both flushed, and your lips unable to keep back a disgraceful trail of saliva that followed a path down your neck, until it pooled over your breasts, still contained (although barely) by your shirt.
“You’re close, aren’t you, pet?”
Far too lost to notice the conspiratorial glint in his eyes, you gave a sharp nod, at least, as best you could around his fingers, and something of a moaned affirmative that seemed to leak out around him down the trail of drool and tears.
“Good… now stop.” Abruptly, his boot halted its movement, and when you didn’t immediately follow suit, he dug his fingers into your throat, forcing you to halt with a seizing retch. “I’ve been meaning to give you something,” he continued, as though you weren’t almost doubled over, trying to catch your breath and senses all at once. “You were in such a hurry to accompany that… researcher, that I hadn’t the time.”
“Mmfgh…” What came as a muffled groan was meant to be a much sharper retort, but even your brows couldn’t find the strength to furrow in displeasure.
Still, he pressed on. “I figured perhaps I’d ought not give it at all, but since you’ve been so good…” His hand left your shoulder, and disappeared into the length of his coat.
You watched with teary, half-lidded eyes, wishing he’d just let you reach the peak you had been so harshly pulled back from.
“There we are.” From his pocket, he drew out a glimmering metal snake, with eyes of blood red rubies. The body was segmented in countless parts, so it moved with the fluidity of a chain, or of a snake itself. The sharp-toothed jaws of the creature were clamped shut around its tail, forming a loop that Doctor Gideon carefully placed over your head, till the cool metal laid atop your cleavage. But he didn’t leave it there, instead, he pulled the tail through the mouth, and it passed through, a slow, rhythmic clink at first, until, without a moment of warning, he snapped it tight, and the cold metal dug into your delicate flesh, forcing a wheeze out around his thick fingers, and through your nose. “Beautiful.” Just like that, he released it, and the tail clattered against the divot in your collarbones. “Do you like it, pet?”
You knew that questions of this nature were by no means an opportunity to complain, and besides, despite choking you out with such sudden fervor, it was a beautiful piece, so you nodded, and hummed another muffled affirmative that made his eyes almost sparkle. As faint as it was, you’d hum for him another hundred times just to see it even once.
“I’m glad.” He was playing with the tail of it, now, running the cool metal back and forth over the swell of your breasts. “Now then, I believe I’ve drawn this on long enough.” He tugged on it once more, and thrust his fingers so deep within your throat that you could swear you felt the chain constrict around them. “You’d like to cum, wouldn’t you?”
He spared you the mercy of not having to respond, given you could do little more than drool and choke. His boot picked up its pace again, and his fingers continued their slow, easy grind in and out of your spasming gullet, driving you towards a state of pain, of humiliation, of pleasure so intense that your vision nearly went white.
The ridges of leather on his shoe, the slightly rough drag of your own lace panties, and the constant slippery mess of your own making was a constant source of stimulation on your puffy clit, until you felt that hot rush—like electricity in water—all across your body, drawing from you a peak you hadn’t had all month. You were probably crying around him. Your throat felt raw like you’d screamed, but you couldn’t hear much beyond the sound your heartbeat in your ears, and the constant, soft cooing of his voice, rumbling into your skin in such a way to make your orgasm that much filthier. A spurt of something that might’ve been piss (you couldn’t be sure, your body was completely out of sorts) soaked through your panties, and dribbled down the sides of his boots, and when reality began to clear up in your mind, you were distantly grateful that leather was so water resistant.
“Ngh… mmmh…” Those muffled, sweet noises were caught behind his fingers, keeping you quiet, keeping you still.
“Don’t cry, sweet pet…” His hand was on your face again, holding it with that sort of gentle reverence that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. It wasn’t the touch of a boss, or a cruel master. It was the touch of a lover. “You did so well, so very well for me.” He leaned down then, his other hand fully withdrawing from your mouth so you could catch your breath. Those hands instead caught your waist, and drew you up into his lap, where your soaked thighs slipped against his pant leg. He paid it no mind. “You’re right. I have been distant.”
“And jealous,” came your murmured reply, only barely audible, rumbling against his soft, yet scar-ridden neck.
“Jealous?” His voice was just as soft. It was precisely these moments when you could say such things. You knew, when he held you like you were made of fine sugar glass, that no word you said could anger him. “I’m never jealous.”
“Hm.” He brushed the hair from your face, and you felt his rough, jagged lips against your forehead. “If that’s what you like to think.” His breath, cool and smoky with the cigars he was so fond of, ghosted down your face. Here, you were his, and all the exhausting, long nights of waiting for him to return to you were suddenly worth it. You were just as much an obsessed fool as he, in the end.
not sure why i mention reader having a good paycheck/salary so many times in this fic... recession indicator </3
