Girlie and RAM

Girlie plays the corporate pawn. She’s on her knees, mouth stretched around her boss’s cock, because he promised her the new cattle prod that hums like a wasp. The office blinds are half-drawn; the late light cuts across her bare ass and the heavy chain bolted to the radiator. Every time she gags, he thumbs the prod against her skin, zapping goose-bumps across her thighs. She doesn’t flinch; she moans around the shaft, chasing the bite. Metal links clink when she shifts forward, tits swaying. He grabs her hair, forces her deeper, then shoves the prod’s metal tip between her cheeks and fires. Her body locks, jaw tightening, and he shoots down her throat while she’s still twitching. He wipes her lips with his thumb. “See? That’s how you move up in this place. You take it all and keep your eyes on the prize.” She swallows, wipes the spit from her chin, and goes back down for the second round.