I enjoyed a very cozy relationship with my boss. We got along. Almost from the instant I sat in his office to interview we just clicked. With nothing in common and no reason to, we were simpatico from ‘hello.’ He was decades older than me. We liked none of the same books, movies or music. We disagreed on basic modes of work or processes. If we had anything in common, it was that we both liked work, we were both incredibly good at what we did, very bright, and sort of cuttingly mean.
For the first few months, I thought we’d sleep together. Not that I was attracted to him, precisely. Although affection for him and even a bit of infatuation developed over time just as we got to know each other. However, I had the bad habit of indulging in casual sex with my superiors. It was my preferred method to get mine. Because it necessarily had boundaries and a time limit. I never needed to worry about either of us falling for each other or asking for more because then the whole system would fall apart.
But it never happened. I never even felt his eyes on me in that way. I shrugged. I knew I was good-looking, I knew I was desired elsewhere. Either I wasn’t his type, or he thought the age gap was too wide, or he simply didn’t engage in the type of shenanigans I did.
We spent nearly every hour, five or six days a week together. Breakfast every morning in his office. In the cold months, oatmeal, in the warm months, fruit salad. I detoured from work to the office every morning to the deli he liked to get these breakfasts. Put it on his credit card. Said hello every morning to the same nice girl behind the counter.
We ate every lunch together. In the cold months, a sandwich to split and a cup of soup. In the warm months, salad. This was delivered to the office and we sat at my desk for that.
The only meal we never shared was dinner. Even if we worked late, we never got takeout. We were rarely in the office past six, anyway. We went home to our separate little emptinesses. Sometimes we’d email or text in the evening. Never for long, rarely about anything personal. Just, “Check out this article”, “Don’t forget to bring in that file tomorrow” and the like.
The bulk of our conversations were work-related. But we talked news and politics, books, fashion trends, exercise, the past, hometowns, and concerts. Everything, in other words. Mostly it was just him and I, day in and day out. We occasionally had temps, interns, and consultants come in. But it was always us, he and I in a tight and organized orbit. The six and a half yards from my desk to his desk and back again.
We discussed our time apart but never in any serious or heavy way. He became downright fatherly when discussing my weekends or evenings. Chiding me for not going on dates. Suggesting that I quit my two sports– I liked to shoot trap or play tennis. He, of course, according to his age and career, played golf. I rolled my eyes and called him bourgeois, old-fashioned, and predictable. He said I was merely cute and violent. Told me I could wear cute little flippy skirts golfing just as well as I could to the tennis court. He kept inviting me to the links. I kept saying the space was only for old white men like him. I kept inviting him to the range, he said it was just for silly little girls who liked to waste money making noise. It was our fun little back-and-forth almost every Friday.
For a few months, we’d had some extra hands in the office for a bigger project. We’d group interviewed everyone and discussed every possibility together. I appreciated this. His say was final– his say was final in all decisions. But he always listened to me. He never vetoed without good reason or ever relied upon “because I said so.” I knew this was appreciation. I knew this was his saying “No matter what the titles, who owns this, at the end of the day we’re a team.”
So none of them were objectionable, or even unlikable. But this industry was a boy’s club. And these were guys-guys. And the vibes were just different, with other people around. I could feel myself getting bitchy and bullying with these boys. Becoming exclusionary and jealous of the boss's time. He was good with people– he liked teaching, he liked mentoring. Lord knows he’d done enough of both for me. Carefully crafting and curating my path. Even helped to rewrite my resume, “because I’m going to retire someday, kiddo,” he explained. So I felt myself being short-tempered when I thought his attention was on the new guys. I knew they weren’t here for long, I tried to assure myself things wouldn’t always be this way. It would go back to me and him, him and I soon enough. But soon enough didn’t feel soon enough. I didn’t like feeling bitter like this. Didn’t like feeling like I was begging for scraps from him or playing ‘notice me daddy’ with a bunch of new graduates.
He sensed something wrong of course and I was too ashamed to tell him I missed him. We still ate together but every hour wasn’t mine anymore. Sitting across from me, over our breakfast he seemed to be calculating something. We were quiet where we weren’t usually. Not that quietude was impossible between us– just not terribly frequent.
“You’re my number one, you know,” he said, pushing a napkin toward me. “If I needed someone to bury a body with me, you’d be who I dialed first.”I laughed, trying to picture the situation in which he’d feel compelled to commit murder and couldn’t summon a single reason why. He could eviscerate with words. He had the money to throw at any problem. He wouldn’t ever need to sink to violence.“You’d never put me in that situation, sir,” I said, still laughing.“True. You’re more likely to put me in that situation than I, you. Is that what you’ve been so distant about? Are you up to crime when you’re out of my sight, kiddo?” he asked, piling together our trash.“Crime? Me? Can you imagine?”“I can imagine you doing much devilry if you were allowed to run amuck. Don’t you wonder why I work you so hard?” he asked, keeping his face carefully unsmiling.It reminded me of when we were in meetings or working panels or a client or intern said something stupid. Our eyes would helplessly meet. I’d be on the verge of giggles. He would go carefully poker-faced, making my desire to fall apart that much stronger. He was, in all matters, better at hiding his true feelings or intentions to me. Sometimes he’d tap my toe with his, or knock his watch face against mine and say, “You’re making that face out loud, kiddo.”

“I work hard because I like to,” I said, getting up, and finishing the cleanup.

“You do. And that’s why you’re worth ten of whoever I bring in to help us. You’re always VP, they’re always just the help,” he said.

I kept my back to him for an extra beat, knowing my face would be too soft.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

Wondering if I’d been so obviously snappy and shitty with the boys. I’d have to school myself better.

“Get to work, kiddo.”

This went on– but it was easier after that conversation. When I began to feel neglected, or exasperated with the boys I’d think about “you’re always VP” and take a breath through my nose and nearly instantly relax. As we were nearing the end of the project I was relieved. Glad we were going to make the deadline and not have to extend contracts. Probably if I had met these guys in any other circumstance I’d like them just fine. But now everything they did made me grit my teeth. Calling our boss “bossman”, hooting across the office at each other, playing grabass, and cursing out loud in the office space. The boss and I cursed– when we were alone. When doors were locked. When no one could overhear us we could just be the two of us together talking. They had no such sense of prosperity– just playing all the time.As it wound down the boss made noise to me about treating them to dinner or something. A closing night ‘thank you.’ Maybe just the steakhouse he and I usually took clients to. That was the only time we ate dinner together– work dinners. I rolled my eyes and groaned.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands together the way he did when something was settled or finished.

“We’ll all go golfing this Saturday as a thank you. The guys like my club, I haven’t been able to go, I’ve been meaning to take you. You’d be great if you just bothered to–”

I cut him off with another groan, dropping the heel of my shoe onto his toe to express my displeasure“Oh, don’t make me,” I said.

“I hate golf. It takes all damn day and–”

“No,” he said. “You expressed the impossibility of my first option so we must go with the second. Anyway, let me take you just the once. I’ve always wanted to show you off there. And maybe you’ll fall in love with it. At least playing with me. And then I’ll always have a partner for foursomes.”

“May we both get struck by lightning on the green, sir,” I said.

Very fussily I got dressed Saturday morning. Even more pissed because there was a dress code at his club. I wore a tennis outfit, a pleated skirt, and built-in briefs. Long-sleeved athletic tee, ponytail, and visor. Angrily slamming my feet into sneakers, ticked off at him and kind of haloing the boss's face in flames in my mind. He and I were there first, of course. Both of us are early birds. The boys are literal boys and therefore usually coming into any room with their heels on fire to not be late. I leaned against the hood of my car, watching him screwing around with his golf bag. He’d already arranged for some for me, waiting in the clubhouse. I kicked my feet in the gravel, resenting him. Resenting how it was a little chilly still in the early morning. That the guys were late. He came over to me, tapping my hip with his knuckles.

“Ought not to sit on your car like that,” he said.

“It’s my car. Are you calling me fat, sir?” I asked, thumping harder onto the hood.

He cocked an eyebrow at me but made no further noise.The guys finally got there, and we filtered into the clubhouse. I was surprised again when the boss’s hand rested on my lower back, pushing me to the manned counter, presumably to pick up my set of clubs. We touched pretty frequently and thoughtlessly. Tapping each other and grabbing each other and getting each other’s attention. But not in this particular fashion. He exerted no pressure, it was just so out of our usual range. Foot to foot, or hand to hand. Wrist to elbows, shoulders. But nowhere else.I rolled my eyes– exactly what I was thinking– old, masculine, and white. The guys and I were the only people under thirty-five that I saw anywhere. I was the only woman.We got out there and started playing. My mood did not improve when I was the worst player. That shouldn’t have surprised me. I didn’t play at all or ever. But I had a bit of gifted-child syndrome and also believed that some of my natural athleticism should have buoyed me ahead of the pack. I consistently got the “honors” of teeing off first. Wishing I could just drop out. Knowing how he’d chide me if I did. I was grinding my teeth and about a minute away from drilling a tee into the kelly green carpet of the grass.We were out at the tenth and entirely alone. Everyone was very enthusiastic and kind. Having a good time, celebrating the job well done. The guys trying to buck me up and give me advice which just made me bite the inside of my cheek until blood gushed across the back of my tongue, making me gag.Back at the ninth, there was a little shed to get drinks. One of the guys suggested a soda break. The boss told them to take the cart, we’d wait. There was nobody behind us, and apparently, no one scheduled. It was supposed to rain and we could watch the clouds rolling in. Nobody would be playing up after us. Rocketing the cart too fast and too wildly we watched them head away. His hand snapped out, grabbing a handful of my shirt, and pulling me into him. My back to his chest. Gasping, I glanced up at him over my shoulder. He tugged my visor down so that the band covered my eyes.

“What are you being so bitchy about, kiddo?” he asked, suddenly sliding his knee between mine.

Still shocked, and a little concerned about when and how we were going to be interrupted, I hooked my hips back. Letting myself slide up higher on the saddle of his thigh, getting closer. Wondering what he was up to. More than a little irritated that he waited until today when we couldn’t go far at all because the guys would be back any second. That is because, rain or not, private club or not, we couldn’t have much fun at all. Not here, not now, not with cock-blocks quite literally coming back any minute in a golf cart.

“I’m having a bad day, sir,” I said, voice shaking with excitement.

He let go of my shirt, one hand resting on my lower stomach, the other embracing me, cupping a breast in that palm. Everything in me clenched and I ground down a bit on his leg. He chuckled, stroking a nipple with his thumb. Not enough though, not with a bra and shirt separating us. I heard the guys driving back up and I tried to wriggle out of his hold.

“Sir!” I panted.

“Oh, it’s just them, who cares?” he asked.

“I care! I care, sir. Maybe we could return to this later when–” I began saying, reaching up to right my cap.

“We okay?” one of the guys asked. I could tell by his voice they were closer than I had thought. And then the engine cut on the cart.

“Getting toward okay,” the boss answered. “Want to help me get her bent over the back of the cart?”

The boys whooped, I shook. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. Still kind of excited. But wishing it was just the boss and I.

“Hey kiddo… Too much?” he asked into my ear.

“Um…” I said.

“Strong yes or no play at all. I just let you go home,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, stronger than I thought I would.

“But you’re in charge, sir. Keep them in line.”

“Absolutely,” he said, setting me more firmly onto my feet.

I whimpered a little when two sets of hands grabbed me, bending me over the back of the cart.

“I’d say this woman is the smartest person in the office,” he said quietly, one of his hands on my lower back, petting me like a spooked animal. A few murmurs of agreement.“But she is wound up like a manic wind-up toy. Seems like she could use a little release,” he continued.

Louder sounds of agreement. I wiggled a little, a bit annoyed. He suddenly flipped my skirt up, over my back. I was exposed, lifting myself to my toes in a sudden start when the air hit the back of my thighs. Tugging the briefs up, wedging them between my buttocks, and letting my ass hang out for a second he popped a gentle slap off me. Making me squeal and kick.

“You know,” he said musingly. “I’ve always heard it was good luck if you could make a woman come on your handle.”

“Fuck,” I whistled out.He pulled the briefs to one side, revealing the rest of me. Almost instantly I felt something cold, rough, and rubbery between my lips. A golf club handle. I kicked for a second until his hand went to my ponytail. Fisted around the elastic, settling the visor more firmly over my eyes.

“Take it, kiddo,” he said gently.

I sighed, settling. Wishing it were him behind me instead of some young idiot. But it was working, which was worse. Whoever had the handle was just working it slowly back and forth, surprisingly good at seeking out the head of my clit and bumping it continuously with the edge of the handle.

“You’ve had your turn, G,” the boss said, sounding impatient and chiding.

I grunted, frustrated. I heard shuffling and movement behind me. Moaning miserably when I felt another handle. But so quickly it slid into me instead of more clitoral stimulation. I was wet and it went in easily but it just wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to come and I wasn’t going to come on an aluminum handle stroked in and out of me too fast. The boss kept his hand around my ponytail, keeping my head down, my ass up and my face turned away from what was happening behind me. I was startled again when someone grabbed my left hand in both of theirs. I felt breath stirring the few loose hairs around my left ear.

“Can I touch you? While L is fucking you with his club? I bet I can get you off if you let me touch you, Ms,” he asked quietly. I was pretty sure it was G. And from the fact that he had tried to get me off before the boss told him to move on, I nodded.

“Thank you,” he sighed.I hear d him standing back up.

“But keep your fucking glove on,” I snapped at him, trying to whip my head over my shoulder as he moved away. I squealed when the boss pulled my hair hard, turning my face away again and holding me back in position.

“You heard her, G,” the boss said. “Keep your fucking glove on.”

Whoever was fucking me with a club didn’t stop. I heard a little bit of shoving and some hissing discussion behind me. Whoever was fucking me seemed pissed that G was being called in as a pinch-hitter.He locked one hand at my waist, the other circling underneath my hips, suddenly touching me. I clamped down on the handle inside of me. The boss hushed me, using a soothing tone I didn’t know he had. Even with the leather, or maybe because of the leather, the fingers on my clit felt good.

“Sir!” I said, trying to be quiet.

“Mmm?” he murmured, brushing a few sweaty locks of hair off my cheeks.

“Sir, I don’t… I’m going to… I don’t–” I was panting, trying to tell him how inevitable my orgasm was and that I didn’t want it like this. Embarrassed to shake and shiver and groan in front of all of them.

“It’s okay, kiddo… We all want this for you. We want it to happen,” he said.A more enthusiastic round of agreements from behind me; ‘we want to see you come’, ‘We just want to make you feel good’, ‘Go ahead and come, Ms.’

“Sir,” I moaned again.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes… I wish it were you, I wish I were coming on you,” I said.

“Okay,” he sighed, sealing a palm over my mouth. “Go ahead. Give it to me. Into my hand.”

I squealed out my orgasm into his hand, shuddering. He let go of my hair, stroking my upper back for a second while I tried to catch my breath. The handle was withdrawn from me feeling far rougher leaving than entering.

“Good job, L,” the boss said, just in his usual boy's club, joking kind of tone.I shook my head violently and he took his hand from my mouth.

“It wasn’t L’s good job,” I contradicted. “That was all G’s work.”

“Oh,” the boss said. “You need your little button pushed, huh? Good to know.”

I wriggled my nose, ticked off that he put it that way. I heard the guys shoving each other and arguing behind me again. I tried to stand up and the boss pushed me down hard, while simultaneously two sets of hands held me in the cart. Apparently, I wasn’t done yet.

“Sir!” I cried, the brim of my cap bouncing into the seat cushion, the strap of the visor cutting into my closed eyes, and the bridge of my nose.He covered my mouth again. I squealed in frustration against it, feeling the boys shoving each other back and forth, their fingers landing on me repeatedly. He sealed my nose shut in his pinching fingers as well.

“Okay, considering how she answered… What do you want, G?” the boss asked.

“Well… Chief. I’d sure like to fuck her… If she’s amenable,” G said.

“What do you think, kiddo?” he asked. I grunted, licking at his palm but he just laughed. I nodded and spread my legs simultaneously.

“Oh, thank you,” G said, stepping between my thighs.He slid in slowly, groaning over every inch. The boss finally let go of my nose so I could breathe again but kept my mouth covered. He pulled my shirt up, stroking each nipple in turn.G had one palm on my stomach, the other eventually locking around my clit, thumb, and forefinger clamped around it, working me on him.I was surprised but thought I might actually come again. I was settling into a rhythm when I heard clambering in front of me.

“Please… Can I use her mouth? Or even just her hand?” L said.

“Don’t ask me, you idiot,” the boss said. “Ask her. God damn.”

“Can I Ms?” he asked, sounding excited and sweaty.I turned my head away, nuzzling into the boss's thigh but threw out my left hand with a sort of eye-rolling impatience.Instantly he curled my fingers around him. Willing but bored– I was focused on G behind me, and far more importantly the boss. Smelling his cologne hearing his even breathing feeling the blend of his golf pants on my cheek, and the warmth of his hand on my face.He pretty much just used my hand like a sex toy, and that was fine. I was a little surprised and wondered if anyone had ever congratulated him on his dick before. He didn’t know how to use it, but it wasn’t unimpressive.He came after two minutes of furiously fucking my hand. When he finished I wiped my hand down the leg of his pants, making the boss laugh.Now I could actually focus on G behind me though. I shook my head furiously until I finally managed to dislodge my cap off my eyes and turn my head, catching the boss’s eye. He smiled down at me and I nipped at his palm.

“What?” he asked, finally taking his hand off my mouth.

“I’m going to come again,” I said to him, making sure to keep eye contact. His smile went a little wider, but no less gentle.Unfortunately, that was too much for G to hear however and he grunted, hips pressed into mine to the point of bruising, and came furiously. Hard and deep enough that I almost cramped, but groaned in frustration. Not finished at all.L cleared his throat, still standing off to the left of me apparently.

“Boss I uh.. I’m better at–” he said, clearly making some gesture or motion I couldn’t see with my face still in the boss’s thigh.The boss chuckled again, and I felt him wave his arm in a go-ahead motion.I squealed and kicked feeling something foreign between my thighs. Realizing after a second of fright that it was presumably L’s face and head, his hair tickling the insides of my thighs. He started licking me furiously. He hadn’t lied when he said he was better at, presumably, oral.For a second I was ashamed– for him to be licking another man’s come out of me, for him to be licking me after sex at all. I knew I was a mess. I was sweating. I’d come once. But after a minute I was able to lose myself. Glad I’d never have to see him again after this. Look at him and know what he apparently liked. But I’d vouch for his oral skills if anyone ever asked.

“Sir?” I asked.

“Need my hand?” he asked.I nodded.

“But watch me come, sir.”

“Of course. Of course, I will,” he said.

It was better to come all over L’s tongue, keeping my eyes locked on the boss the whole time. When I finished he righted my cap. Jerking my ponytail back and forth just like he would when he loosened his tie. Trying to set it back to rights. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at my forehead, mouth, and cheeks. I sighed, feeling oddly tender. He helped me upright, L still on his knees behind me stabilizing my legs when they shook for a second once I was on my feet.

“Get in the backseat,” the boss said to the guys.They clambered in, I sat in the passenger seat as we headed back toward the clubhouse. One of the guys reached between the front seats, tapping my upper arm. A soda. Not cool anymore but liquid. I cracked it, drinking thirstily. Just as we drove past the second hole the rain started. The guys buzzed off rapidly, hauling their golf bags and my rented ones back into the clubhouse.

“Good work today, kiddo,” the boss said to me, popping open an umbrella over my head as he walked me to my car.

“Thank you, sir. I work hard because I like to,” I repeated jokingly.

“You do… Great work,” he said, opening my car door for me. I spasmed, feeling jizz suddenly run down my inner thighs.

“I’d like to do more for you, sir,” I said.

“All right, kiddo. Thanks for coming golfing,” he said, shutting the door on me softly.