His hand was moving steadily now. Cock hard and flushed where it was exposed above his pushed-down waistband. His other hand gripped the sheets. He was flushed. Breathing harder. Putting on a show designed to destroy me.
“Tell me about tax reform,” he said. “While you watch me stroke my cock.”
I forced words out. Clinical. Professional. “Tax reform will increase burden on working class. Decrease burden on corporations. Is bad policy disguised as economic stimulus.”
“And you think I should reject it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” His hand squeezed harder. Precum leaking steadily now. Making his strokes slicker. Faster. “Convince me. Make an argument.”
“Because people are struggling. Because cutting their taxes mattersmore than corporate profits. Because—” I stopped. “You already know this. You do not need me to tell you.”
“No. But I want to hear you say it.” His thumb swept over the head again. Gathering more wetness. Spreading it down his length. “I want to hear you talk about policy while you watch me get off. Want to see how long you can maintain that control.”
“You are playing game.”
“Yes.” His hand moved faster. Wrist twisting on the upstroke. “A game I'm winning. Tell me more about tax policy, Viktor. Tell me about the working class while I fuck my own fist in front of you.”
This was torture. Exquisite. Designed to break me.
I kept talking. “Reform will hurt small businesses. Will force families to choose between food and rent. Will increase poverty while making rich richer.”
“Good.” He stroked faster. Hips lifting to meet each stroke. “What else?”
“Opposition will be strong. Labor unions will protest. You will face political consequences.”
“Don't care.” His breath hitched. Free hand fisting the sheets. “What else?”
“You should reject it. Publicly. Make statement that crown stands with workers, not corporations.”
“Yes.” He was close. I could see it in the tension in his body. In the way his thighs trembled. In how his cock was leaking steadily. “Tell me something true.”
“What?”
His eyes locked on mine. Desperate. Demanding. “Give me something real while I come.”
The demand was outrageous. Manipulative. Calculated to break my control.
It worked.
“I want you,” I said. Voice rough. Raw. “I want to cross this room and shove those pants down completely. Want to replace your hand with mine. Want to make you beg. Want to hear you say my name like prayer while I stroke you until you break.”
His eyes went wide. Then he came. Hard. Cock jerking in his fist, cum spilling over his hand, painting stripes across his shirt and exposed skin. He gasped, back arching, eyes never leaving mine. Hips stuttering up into his grip as he rode it out.
Beautiful. Devastating.
He collapsed back against the pillows, breathing hard. Hand still wrapped around his softening cock. Cum cooling on his stomach and shirt.
Smiling.
“Good answer,” he said.
I stood there, cock aching in my pants, hands still clenched behind my back, knowing I'd just lost whatever game we were playing.
“Meeting starts at two,” I said. Voice strangled. “You should shower.”
“Should I?” He made no move to clean himself up. Just lay there, sprawled and satisfied. Pants still pushed down. Shirt stained. “Or should I go to the meeting like this? Let them smell sex on me. Let them wonder.”
