Coworker Complications Pt. 03

Her face lit up, a delighted squeak bursting free. "Oh, Ry, really? Yay, I'm so glad you like it!" She grabbed his arm, tugging him up with a bounce, her confidence soaring. "Come on, I'll help you--I don't wanna do laundry again too soon, you know?"

He stumbled after her, numb, as she led him to his cramped office-bedroom, the twin bed still a mess from last night, blinds slanted and dusty. She darted to the kitchen, snagging a paper towel from the roll, and pressed it into his hand with a shy little wink. "Here--for, um, you know. Have fun, Ry--I'll be out here if you need me!" She nudged him inside, shutting the door with a soft click, her footsteps padding back to the couch.

Ryan stood there, the paper towel crinkling in his fist, the dim room closing in around him. His phone felt like a brick in his pocket, the video a taunting pulse. Tyrone's threat, Carson's vague menace, Megan's story--they choked him, a suffocating tangle, and he couldn't think straight. What the hell, he thought, unzipping his pants, the act half-surrender, half-drowning, a way to shut it all out.

The screen flared to life, the clip kicking in--her dancing, skirt flaring, the blur over her crotch as she flashed, cheers loud and raw. Then the spanks, her ass red over Carson's lap, their cocks dangling free. His dick twitched, hardening despite the bile in his throat, and he gripped himself, slow strokes matching her swaying hips. She dropped to her knees, naked, the blur hiding her chest, Carson's nine inches sliding into her mouth, JP's ten in her hand, Cory's nine in the other. Her rhythm was eager, their groans filling the audio--"Take it, Megs"--and Ryan's hand sped up, the paper towel crumpled beside him. Then he heard Megan's bright an bubbly voice pierce the thin wall, "I bet I can get that video from Kevin and have your friends edit it up for you, my treat!"

Ryan had no explanation for why that pushed him over the edge. A loud groan, with nothing held back, not worrying about the ear pressed to the door--he'd forgotten the towel again, too lost in video and her words. "Oh fuck! Uhh," made its way to Megan as thought it was happening right next to her.

----

Tuesday.

The hospital buzzed with its Tuesday morning pulse--monitors chirping, footsteps scuffing, the faint clink of trays drifting through the halls. Megan stepped off the elevator at 8:15 a.m., her pale blue scrubs clinging tight, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. Her blonde hair hung in a loose ponytail, slightly mussed from a restless night, and her clipboard tapped her hip as she headed for the nurses' station. Yesterday's triumph with Crazy Carl--and that fat raise--still hummed in her chest, a quiet thrill she couldn't shake. She'd barely glanced at her patient list when Kevin's voice crackled over the intercom, gruff and clipped: "Megan, my office, now."

She turned on her heel, curiosity flaring, and strode down the corridor, the sharp bite of antiseptic growing stronger as she neared his door. Kevin's office was a cluttered pit--filing cabinets crammed against the walls, papers avalanching across the desk, a harsh fluorescent bulb flickering overhead. He slouched behind the chaos, his 300-pound frame dwarfing the chair, a pen spinning lazily in his thick fingers. The monitor glowed behind him, muted but vivid--yesterday's footage of her with Carl looping slow: her bare chest, lips gliding down his fourteen-inch cock, fingers smearing his cum into her clit. No sound, just a silent showcase of her "skills."

"Mornin', Megan," Kevin said, his bearded face cracking into a broad grin as she stepped in. He gestured to the chair opposite, its ripped vinyl wheezing as she sat. "Got some big news for you. After that Carl stunt yesterday, I talked with the higher-ups about a problem that's been looming over us--real nasty issue, been bleeding us dry. We hashed it out, and they agree with me: you might just be the solution we've been scrambling for."

Her eyes widened, a shy smile tugging her lips. "Oh, wow, really? Me?" She glanced at the screen, her head tilting slightly, no hint of shame--just a flicker of pride, like she'd aced a test.

"Damn right," he said, leaning back, the chair groaning under his bulk. "This place is state-funded, see--we're stuck taking every degenerate the system spits out. High offenders, troublemakers, guys nobody wants near 'em. Staff burn out, lawsuits stack up, costs go through the roof--it's been a nightmare. But you? What you pulled with Carl yesterday--that's the kinda fix we need. The brass saw the numbers, saw him calm as a lamb, and they're ready to bet on you."

Megan's grin bloomed, hands twisting in her lap, her voice soft but eager. "So, like, I'd be helping with the tough ones? The ones everyone else can't handle?"

"Bingo," he said, leaning forward, elbows thudding onto the desk, his tone smooth and deliberate. "And we're making it worth your while. Board's offering another 20% bump on your pay--on top of yesterday's raise--if you take these problem patients exclusively. Your own roster, just the worst of 'em. Keeps the state happy, keeps us in the black. All you gotta do is say yes."

Her jaw dropped, a delighted squeak slipping out. "Oh my goodness, another 20%? That's... that's huge, Kevin! Like, me and Ry could save up so fast--maybe even move somewhere nicer one day!" Her hands clapped together, excitement spilling over, her eyes darting to the screen where her image sucked Carl deep, oblivious to the stakes.

Kevin's grin tightened, a glint of strategy flickering as he slid a stapled stack of papers across the desk--an employment contract, thick with fine print. "That's the plan. You'd be our ace--high offenders only, your show. All it takes is your signature right here." He tapped the bottom page, a blank line glaring up, his voice easy but pressing.

She grabbed it, flipping the first page, her brow creasing as she skimmed the dense text--"exclusive assignment," "discretionary duties," "non-disclosure"--none of it registering as a trap in her trusting mind. "Wow, this looks so official," she said, giggling nervously. "I bet Ry could help me with this--he's a lawyer, you know! He's always reading boring stuff like this. I'll show it to him tonight!"

Kevin's face stiffened, his pen freezing mid-spin, panic flashing in his eyes. A lawyer boyfriend? That wasn't on the radar--he'd counted on her signing blind, locking her into a deal ripe with vague clauses and exploitable gaps, a leash dressed up as a promotion. A lawyer could shred it in ten minutes flat. "Uh, hold on," he said, coughing to mask the stutter, leaning closer. "Your boyfriend, huh? That's... swell, but maybe not the best move to have him peek at this."

Megan tilted her head, confusion knitting her brow. "Why not? He's super good with this kinda thing."

Kevin forced a chuckle, scrambling. "It's a conflict of interest, see. He's your partner, right? If he's digging into this, he might nudge it toward what's good for him--like keeping you home more, or tweaking stuff for his own sake, not yours. A lawyer's gotta be neutral, and he can't be, not with you two so tight. Could muddy things up here--make it seem like you don't trust us, y'know?"

Her eyes widened, his logic sinking in slow and heavy, her faith in authority swallowing it whole. "Oh... oh, wow, I didn't think of that," she said, chewing her lip, the contract trembling in her hands. "I don't want him to, like, mess it up--or think I don't believe in myself. That's smart, Kevin."

"Yeah, spot on," he said, relief seeping in, though his smile stayed taut. "You're sharp enough to figure this out solo--just read it over, no hurry. We want you happy with it." He leaned back, hoping she'd sign before second thoughts hit, but she folded the papers, tucking them into her scrub pocket with a nod.

"Okay, I'll check it later," she said, standing, her voice bright but firm. "Gotta get back to work anyway--those patients won't calm themselves, right?" She giggled, smoothing her scrubs, the contract crinkling against her hip.

Kevin nodded, hiding his frustration with a gruff, "Yup, get to it. You're a star, Megan." She turned to leave, but paused, her gaze flicking to the monitor where the Carl video looped--her on her knees, cum-slick fingers circling her clit, a faint flush on her cheeks as she sucked him deep. She tilted her head, excitement sparking.

"Hey, Kevin," she said, spinning back, her tone soft and curious. "That video--could I maybe get a copy? For Ry, my boyfriend. He's, um, really into stuff like that--I told you yesterday, right? He'd love to see it, I bet."

Kevin's gut lurched, his mind reeling. A copy? Loose in the world? With a lawyer boyfriend poking around? The hospital was already dodging a lawsuit--some neglect claim threatening to unearth footage. This, unedited, tied to her "methods," could ignite a firestorm--HIPAA breaches, coercion allegations, game over. He barked a laugh, stiff and loud, stalling. "Uh, that's... a tall order, Megan. You sure? It's sensitive--patient privacy and all."

She nodded fast, oblivious to his dread. "Oh, totally! He'd keep it hush-hush--he's real careful with private stuff, being a lawyer and all. Just for him, y'know, 'cause he likes it."

His jaw clenched, the noose tightening. "Right, right," he said, grasping for control, then swerved. "Here's the deal--let's table that 'til the contract's done. Gotta keep it clean, you know? Legal stuff's dicey. I'll mull it over, see what's doable once you're signed."

Megan's face dipped, but she shrugged, trusting as always. "Okay, that makes sense. I'll let you know about the contract soon!" She glanced at the screen once more, a little grin tugging her lips, then perked up as Kevin shifted gears.

"Oh, speaking of work," he said, standing, his tone brisk to redirect her. "Marvin's due for his bath--think he's getting fidgety in 4B. Why don't you head there now? Keep that magic rolling."

Her grin widened, pride flaring fresh. "Got it! Marvin's a breeze after Carl--I'll have him clean in no time. Thanks, Kevin--this raise thing's amazing! Ry's gonna be so proud!" She bounced to the door, tossing him a wave. "See ya later--and thanks again for the opportunity!"

"Anytime, kid," he called, forcing a smile as she slipped out, the door clicking shut. He sank back, exhaling hard, the Carl footage still looping--her bare ass squatting by the tub, cum glistening on her fingers. His relief curdled fast. No signature, a lawyer in the mix, and now the video request. He rubbed his temples, muttering, "Fuck me," as the gamble's weight pressed down. She was a goldmine--but a goldmine with a fuse.

Megan strode down the hall, the contract a warm bulk in her pocket, her steps light with glee. Another 20%--just for doing what she already rocked! She couldn't wait to tell Ryan, see his jaw drop when she spilled the news--and maybe Marvin's bath story, too. He'd eat that up, she thought, picturing his flustered grin, that weird way he got hard when she shared her "tricks." The video nagged at her--Kevin's dodge felt off--but she let it slide. He'd cave once she signed, right? For now, Marvin awaited, and she hummed softly, ready to dive in, her innocence a blind shield against the tightening web.

---

Ryan slumped at his desk, the law firm's eighth floor cloaked in an oppressive, late-day stillness that did nothing to dull the knot twisting in his gut. It was 5:10 p.m., the glowing red digits of the clock on his laptop screen taunting him, each sluggish tick dragging him closer to the confrontation he knew was coming. His tie hung limp around his neck, a wrinkled noose he'd loosened hours ago, and his shirt sleeves were shoved carelessly up to his elbows, exposing forearms tense with nervous energy. The brief on his screen--a dense wall of legal jargon about some petty contract dispute--blurred into a meaningless smear; he'd been staring at it since lunch, fingers frozen over the keys, his mind snagged on the inevitable. Carson would storm in soon, primed to hammer him about tonight--round two with Megan, another twisted game Ryan couldn't escape, the leash of blackmail tightening with every breath.

The day had been a relentless assault of Carson's temper, his voice a jagged blade slicing through the office walls at random intervals. It started at 9 a.m.--"You incompetent fuck, fix it!"--a bellowed insult hurled at some poor bastard on the phone, followed by the crash of a stapler against drywall. Then noon, another eruption--"What the hell do you mean, delayed? Get it done, asshole!"--punctuated by the sharp crack of a chair kicked across the room. Each outburst rattled Ryan's nerves, a storm brewing next door that he couldn't outrun. Now, at 5:15 p.m., it flared again, louder, closer, seeping through the thin partition like smoke under a door. "How did you fuck this up so badly?" Carson roared, his voice raw and venomous, the words echoing down the empty hall. A deafening slam followed--the phone, Ryan pictured it, picturing Carson's fist smashing the receiver into its cradle, plastic splintering under the force. His pulse jolted, hands clenching the mouse until his knuckles whitened, the latest tantrum spiking his dread higher. Carson had been a live wire all day, and whatever was tanking the Home Away from Home case--Megan's employer, the linchpin tying this mess together--was clearly the match to his fuse.

Ryan's stomach churned, a sour, acidic swirl that hadn't let up since morning. The office around him was a tomb--phones silent, the last of the paralegals and secretaries long fled, leaving only the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner humming somewhere beyond the corridor. He'd heard the whispers at the coffee machine earlier--Home Away from Home's imploding, discovery's a shitshow, Carson's losing it--and a bitter, fleeting hope had flickered: maybe it'd bury them, Carson, JP, Cory, all three fired, disbarred, gone. But that fantasy curdled fast; if it sank, Megan's job might go down with it, and Carson's wrath would only lash harder, the Kendall clip his trump card to ruin Ryan's life. The clock ticked to 5:20 p.m., and he braced himself, every nerve screaming for the door to stay shut, knowing it wouldn't.

At 5:30 p.m., it burst open, hinges groaning under the force, and Carson strode in, a storm in human skin. No suit jacket, his tie yanked loose like a hangman's knot undone, his face a flushed red, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead--rage simmering beneath the surface, not loud now, but etched into every line of his 26-year-old frame, a peer to Ryan in age but a tyrant in presence. He didn't yell, not yet; his eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto Ryan, pinning him where he sat, and his voice came out sharp, a blade honed to cut. "Get your ass over here, dipshit," he snapped, jerking his head toward his office across the hall. "Move it."

Ryan's legs obeyed before his mind could argue, chair scraping loud against the carpet as he lurched to his feet, throat dry as sandpaper. He trailed Carson, each step a lead weight, the air thickening with the stench of stale coffee and sweat as he crossed the threshold into the chaos of Carson's office. Papers littered the desk in haphazard piles, a cracked coffee mug teetered on the edge, brown stains streaking its side, and the phone sat askew, its cord tangled from the earlier slam. Carson dropped into his chair, the leather creaking under his lean frame, and raked a hand through his damp hair, his breaths shallow, controlled, but edged with fury. "You set her up yet?" he demanded, voice low and harsh, cutting through the silence like a whip. "Megan. Tonight. Tell me you fucking did it."

Ryan shifted on his feet, hands jamming deep into his pockets, fingers curling tight around lint and loose change. His voice came out thin, unsteady, a thread about to snap. "Uh, no, not yet--I'm sorry, man. I was gonna, I swear, I just... I procrastinated. It's not her, she'll do it, no problem convincing her. I just haven't texted her yet. I can get her in that dress again, the black one from Saturday--same deal. Me and her, we'll meet you out, wherever you say."

Carson's lip twitched, a sneer curling slow and deliberate, his red face gleaming under the fluorescent buzz. "Un-fucking-believable, the same fucking dress," he muttered, his tone biting, each syllable a jab. "I'm drowning in idiots who can't follow a goddamn order--you, JP, Cory, all of you worthless." He leaned forward, elbows thudding onto the desk, palms pressing into his temples as if to crush the headache pulsing there, then exhaled hard, a rough, guttural sound. His eyes flicked up, narrowing as a thought sparked, the anger softening into something colder, sharper. "You know what?" His sneer morphed into a smirk, sweat beading on his upper lip as he leaned back, fingers drumming the wood. "I got a better idea tonight, she needs to dress like the proper slut that she is going to become, and I might has well hit two birds with one stone. I'll take her shopping, a night out on the town."

Ryan nodded, now almost hopeful since change of pace seems somewhat promising than whatever the hell was going to happen behind closed doors in a private place. Carson's smirk widened, a wicked glint flaring as he straightened, voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl, the sharpness fading into glee. "It will be a nice change of plans since JP and Cory are fucked--Home Away from Home's a disaster, some bullshit I'm not unpacking for you. They're stuck here all night digging us out, so it's just me. But her lousy wardrobe, we're leveling it up." He clapped his hands once, loud and sharp, the sound bouncing off the walls. "Text her now--tell her to meet me at the fashion end of Fifth Avenue. I'll send her the address. She's gonna get a make-over, trust me, you will love it. Is she at work?"

Ryan's gut plummeted, a cold sweat prickling his neck as the words sank in. "Uh, ya, she doesn't get off until around 7. I--I don't--" he stammered, voice cracking, but Carson cut him off, thrusting out a hand, palm up, expectant.

"Leave your credit card, genius," he said, tone light now but still edged, a predator toying with prey. "You two dress like sheltered pussies--zero clue how to show her off. I'll fix that, but I'm not shelling out a dime. Drop it here."

Ryan's heart thudded, a dull hammer against his ribs, but he fumbled his wallet from his back pocket, fingers trembling as he fished out the card--his last shred of control, a flimsy plastic lifeline already stretched thin. He slid it across the desk, the soft scrape of it on wood deafening in the quiet, and Carson snatched it up, pocketing it with a grin. "Good boy," he said, mockingly sweet, then tilted his head, waiting. "Well? What about you--gonna ask if you're tagging along?"

Ryan swallowed, the question he'd dreaded bubbling up, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, uh--what about me? Am I coming?"

Carson laughed, a short, barking sound that ricocheted off the cluttered walls, his face lighting up with cruel amusement. "Fuck no, dipshit. Just me and her--solo mission. I'll take her shopping, have a little fun, and send her back with videos tomorrow. Full coverage--plenty of footage for you to jerk your sad little dick to. You'll thank me, won't you, perv?"

Relief hit Ryan like a rogue wave, sudden and overwhelming, washing out the dread for a fleeting heartbeat. Tonight had loomed like a guillotine--Carson, unhinged from the Home Away from Home mess, dragging him along to watch Megan twist further into this nightmare? He'd escaped the live show, spared the gut-punch of standing there while Carson ran the game. A dark, petty hope flared hotter--Let that case tank you, asshole. You, JP, Cory, all fired, fucked, out of my life--and he clung to it, nodding slow. "Yeah, uh, sure, sounds good," he muttered, pulling his phone from his pocket, thumbs hovering over the screen as Carson waved him off.