The Boss

He maintained the kind of job that kicked his ass every day but kept the bills paid, the kind where nonsense words like paradigm and synergy were tossed around like wisdom. He was The Boss, and all day long he was expected to tell people what to do through a thin bullshit smile that fooled no one. They gave him the same bullshit smile back. It was all a hustle.

When he came home at night with the life sucked out of him, all he wanted was a beer and some quiet. He didn't expect the whole evening to himself, just long enough to recharge his batteries a little bit. A little time to shake the stink of being The Boss, to forget all the awful buzzwords and hideous faces.

But she wouldn't have it. Always right away with what color should we paint the guest room or should we plant azaleas next to the driveway or shaking her ass. Always shaking her ass. "Just let me have some quiet, for Christ sake," he said. "I don't want to make any more decisions. I don't want to do anything for anybody."

"You won't even get out of that chair to fuck me?" She purred, and she brushed against him.

"Baby, I've been fucked all day."

She stomped into the bedroom and fired up the computer. "You can't keep taking me for granted, Les. If you won't appreciate me somebody else will," she yelled.

"One less thing for me to worry about," Les said, and he took a big pull off his beer. Same shit, different night.

***

Weeks turned into months, the job grinding him during the day and the wife piling on at night. Everybody wanted a piece of him, a decision, an order, an instruction. Les started cutting out early in the afternoons and hitting the Panama for a couple of quick shots just so that he could face her.

Wednesday afternoon rolled around. The bar's doors were locked. Les shook the doors, knocked, cupped his hands and peered through the windows. Pete, the day bartender, waved, unlocked the door.

"What's up, Les?"

"You tell me."

"Broken pipe. Water all over the place."

"What time you going to open?"

"Don't know, still waiting on the plumber."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Don't know, man. Go back to work."

Fuck that, Les thought. He jumped back into the big European sedan and pointed it toward the nightmare of a gated community he called home.

***

The house was quiet. He tossed his keys onto the low table by the door and walked to the kitchen for a beer. That's when he heard them, the first quick breaths - sh, sh, sh. He felt the blood rush to his crotch, the linen front of his slacks tighten.

Les walked quietly toward the bedroom door. She hadn't closed it. He pressed himself against the hallway wall like a spy in a bad movie and peeked around the corner. She squinted, jaw clinched, shoulders moving rhythmically. He wanted to see her hands, her fingers taking charge of her sex, but he couldn't get her body into his sightline without moving in front of the doorway.

He slipped the cellphone out of his pocket and pressed record, then held it outstretched for a few seconds. His hands shook when he pressed play. It had been a long time since he saw her body as an object of desire: the flush of red that burst like flame across her chest when she was turned on, the soft curve of her breasts; the arc of her ribcage and the gentle slope to her deep navel. When they were dating he used to stick his finger in there until she giggled and slapped at his hand.

And on downward he followed her lean arms to her...head. A man's head bobbed between her legs, her palms on his temples, fingers absentmindedly stroking his hair. Les's stomach iced over. His heart beat quickly, and in the other room the quick breaths kept coming - sh, sh, sh. "You're so fucking good," she said to him.

Les sat on the floor of the hallway for a moment, unsure what to do. He looked at his erection pushing hard against his work slacks, a dark stain forming where his penis involuntarily leaked. He quietly opened his fly and his cock burst out, red and angry. He rubbed the clear pre-ejaculate on his hard shaft and gripped it hard.

Sh. Sh. Sh. "I love how you eat my pussy."

Sh. Sh. Sh. "I love how you take charge. Make me yours..."

Nothing but the buzz in his head and the sensation in his cock mattered. He closed his eyes and gave in to the feeling. Time stopped.

"Who the fuck are you?" Les opened his eyes. His wife's friend stood in the doorway nude, muscular calves at Les's eye level. He followed the legs upward, past the menacing erection and the chiseled torso. The man's face still glistened with his wife's juices.

"I'm the husband," he said.

"What kind of man jerks off in the hallway while his wife is getting fucked? Get your ass in here." Les moved to fasten his pants. "I didn't say get dressed, I said get in here."

His wife lay outstretched, one knee up and fingertips stroking her mound. "Oh my God, you're hard. You're getting off on this," she laughed. "You look ridiculous with your pants around your knees."

"Those are men's pants. Don't no man listen to his lady getting fucked. Take them off."

"Listen, I don't know who you think-"

"Take them off," the man said. Les stepped out of his trousers.

"Oh, look at The Boss taking orders," his wife said. Les felt his face turn red. "Why are you blushing, baby? You shy?" His cock twitched.

"Man, I don't want to see that shit. Cover yourself up," the man said. He reached beside the bed and threw Les his wife's panties. Les placed them over his crotch like a napkin. "No, put them on."

"Please-"

"Do it." Les could hear his heart beating as he stepped into the lacy panties. "That looks about right for you," the man said, and he flipped Les's wife over and pulled her up onto her knees. He licked his hand and rubbed the head of his penis, then he buried it in the woman with one hard shove.

"Fuck," she said. "I love your cock."

"You love whose cock?" the man said.

"Yours."

"That's right. Not that little sissy motherfucker's, right?"

"Just yours, baby."

Les could hear her juices. He could hear the man's body slapping against his wife's ass. "Open your eyes, you little bitch. Are you crying?" the man said.

"The Boss is crying?" his wife said. "What's the matter, Les? You just need some quiet?"

"Look at him. He's jacking off again. You see me fucking your wife?"

"Yes," Les said.

"You can't see me over there. Come here, you little bitch. I didn't say stand up." Les crawled across the floor and kneeled beside the bed. "Get on your back and put your head under there so you can see."

"I don't want to see that," Les said.

"I didn't ask what you wanted," the man said. Les wriggle under his wife until his face was even with her cunt. The stranger's erection slid out slowly, stretching her labia. His cock glistened. He pulled out completely and her pussy gaped briefly like an open wound before healing itself. Their juices dripped off the tip of the man's cock and landed on Les's cheek.

"Put it back in," he said. Les grabbed the man's shaft and guided his head into her opening. She moaned, and Les involuntarily bucked his hips. The man drove into her hard and fast. Her moaning turned to laughter.

"What are you laughing at, baby?"

"He just looks so fucking pathetic in my panties."

"You like that?" the man said, and he pulled out of her. "Take off your shirt, bitch," he said to Les, and he threw him his wife's lace camisole. "Stand up and put this on."

Les stood in front of them, cock bulging in his wife's panties while they laughed at him. "Make him put on my lipstick," his wife said.

***

The job didn't get any better, but Les never went back to the Panama after that. He still spent his days as The Boss, but now he spent his nights on the big dog pillow next to his masters' bed and somehow that made it okay.