Brett: You’re up early

Mr. X: Same to you. 4 hours of sleep was enough?

Brett: The sleep I got on the couch was plenty. I had a very restful pillow

Mr. X: And I had a nice snuggle partner

Brett: Say snuggle partner again. That word is so funny

Mr. X: I’ll give you something to snuggle with

Brett: Okay now that word is so dirty. You’ve ruined snuggle for me.

Mr. X: I read what you wrote this morning. Looks like the creative juices are really flowing today

Brett: The earlier in the morning the dirtier I am

Mr. X: I’m still trying to process out how a girl as innocent looking as you comes up with these dirty thoughts

Brett: Never judge a book by its cover

Mr. X: Never again

Brett: So are you going to make this one happen? It’s a challenging one

Mr. X: Do you doubt my superpowers? I only hope you’ll be able to keep a straight face while you’re doing it

Brett: So you’re orally skilled is what you’re saying

Mr. X: I’ll let you be the judge of that. I can’t wait to taste you.

Brett: You got a taste last night

Mr. X: I need more

Early in the morning, Bob approaches my desk, and I quickly close the box with my conversation with Mr. X before my screen comes into view.

“Good Morning,” I say in a cheery voice.

“Sounds like someone woke up on the right side of the bed today,” he says quizzically.

I don’t really want to tell Bob where I woke up--on Sebastian’s office couch at two a.m. before we both groggily made it home.

I’m tired today, but it was certainly worth it for last night.

I shrug. “I sleep well when it rains. I’ve always liked the rain.”

“Uh, okay. That’s odd. Anyways, I got the email from the higher ups about your special role in the task force. I just wanted to say, anything you need, let me know what it is. I understand you’ll be ducking out from time to time, and that’s fine. What the bossman needs, he gets,” he says. “And it sounds like he needs your help on this. I’m just surprised how quickly this all happened.”

“Me too.”

Bob passes by my desk and greets a few other employees, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

As I sip my morning coffee and peruse my morning emails, I respond to a few. I’ve been pulled off of the real estate sales team, and made a member of the design team, I’m CC’d on multiple emails coming through from my teammates.

Sebastian swears he can make any fantasy I want come true. Thanks to my creative mind, I’m not going to make this first one easy on him. I still wonder what he thought when he saw what I wrote this morning.

He’s got to go down on me somewhere I’d never suspect it.

At eleven a.m., I report to the web-conferencing room where we’re having the kick-off call with the design team. We’re talking about getting the agreement finalized so the design team can work up their initial draft of the new ranch.

I’m surprised when I roll into an almost empty room, save for Troy. He’s got his sleeves rolled up and his tie half undone.

“What’s up killer,” he winks when I walk in.

“Where is everyone else?” I ask as I grab a seat.

He shrugs. “Some calls don’t involve everyone, I guess.” He connects a laptop to the hub in the middle of the big table. The big video screen directly in front of us populates, and a few moments later the image of a man and a woman appear.

“Hi!” they wave, and the woman speaks. “I’m Marsha and this is Frank,” she nods. “We’re your design team.”

“Nice to meet you two,” Troy says. “I’m Troy and this is my colleague Brett.”

“Brett? Did I hear that right?”

The resolution is pretty good on the screen, and in the top right corner we can see a little icon of ourselves in the video screen.

“Yes, that’s right. My name’s Brett and I’m a girl. Let’s get that out of the way first and foremost.”

“Well alright then. Shall we get started?” Frank says.

We nod and I open my laptop to take notes. We talk about the details of the ranch project. The designers are out of Austin, Texas, and although they are experienced in their profession, a ranch of this magnitude is not often designed, so the information I supply has more to do with the climate of Blackwell than anything else. When it rains, how cold it gets in the winter, things like that.

Fifteen minutes into the meeting, Fiona, the secretary, pops into the room.

“Oh excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. But Troy, you’re needed in accounting. Big glitch. If you would.”

She holds the door open.

“Think you can hold the fort down?” he says with a smug smile, nodding toward me.

“I can manage, thank you.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” he winks, pointing the laptop camera my way so I see myself in the upper right hand corner. I lean forward on the table, the only thing visible is my upper body. Today I’ve worn a sleeveless dress, which showcases my arms that I’ve been oh-so-vigilant about working out in the gym.

I take a deep breath as Frank keeps talking about their process, and a feeling of accomplishment washes over me. I love this company, and I love the value I’m able to bring to it. In my early years of college--I never felt like I had a skill set that really served a purpose.

Sebastian Blackwell plucked me from the edge of oblivion, and thrusted me into a role where I contribute in a way that’s perfect for my skill set.

I wonder if all that stuff he said last night was bullshit, or if I really make him believe there could be a God?

That comment went over my head at the time, but it’s got to be the highest compliment anyone’s ever given me in my entire life.

I smile softly, and Marsha’s businesslike mood softens. I guess moods can be transferred digitally too.

“So then, the last thing we need to do is go through some of the design modules.”

“Sounds good,” I say, staring at the screen.

That’s when Mr. X’s name pops up on my laptop on the work messenger app.

Mr. X: Don’t move, don’t flinch, don’t react

I furrow my brow. He shouldn’t be contacting me during a meeting. Still, I answer back.

Brett: Excuse me?

Mr. X: it’ll make sense in a minute

Brett: :thinking face:

Mr. X: I’m basically your genie. Your wish is my command. Loved what you wrote this morning. You’re incredible

I furrow my brow at the screen on my laptop, then look back to the big flatscreen where Marsha and Frank are presenting.

“Is something...confusing?” Frank asks.

“No, no. Keep going,” I say, motioning with my hands for him to continue.

The door opens, and Sebastian enters, his dark brown eyes completely focused on mine as he steps in carefully, on the carpet. He notes the location of the flat panel TV, and strategically steps just to the side of the camera attached to the top.

Touching his finger to his lips, he motions for me to keep quiet.

I do my best to pretend not to notice him.

But even out of the corner of my eye, I can tell he’s got a mischievous freaking look in his eye. He pulls out his phone presses a button, and a song starts playing from his stereo.

My eyes go wide, and Frank’s expression changes.

“Uh, is that “Motivation” by Kelly Rowland and Lil Wayne?”

“Yeah,” I shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “Our boss is trying a new productivity experiment. A study came out that employees are more productive while listening to music.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Anyways. This is a new and innovative design--it’s never been done just like this to be honest. But I assure you the principles of design behind it are sound. Bear with me, since we still only have the designs on the physical board, I’ll have to show you on the camera. It’s a little old school, but it’s the best way to show you.”

Frank keeps talking, and I can barely keep a straight face.

Because my boss is standing just to the right of the Flatscreen, just barely out of view of the camera, doing a striptease.

To the beat of the music, he unbuttons one hole at a time while making dead on sex eyes at me. My heart pounds and my skin tingles, blood rushing between my legs.

Once his shirt is off, he does a belly roll, giving me the opportunity to see every single ripple of muscle in his abs.

I think back to the fantasy I wrote him this morning, and a rush of dopamine surges through as the realization hits me.

He’s actually going to do what he said.

I know we agreed to this fantasy thing, but being honest, I didn’t think he’d actually follow through. And what I wrote this morning was incredibly dirty.

Let’s just say I have a history of men not following through and doing what they said they would.

After running his white dress shirt through his legs, he tosses it on the ground with the dirtiest, sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen.

I smile, and throw my head back in laughter.

But my jaw drops--literally--at what he does next.

He gets on his hands and knees, still avoiding the web-camera, and crawls underneath the table.

I swallow and my eyes go wide. “Holy shit,” I whisper, and it’s too late when I realize I’ve whispered the words out loud.

“You like it that much?” Marsha asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I choke, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. “It’s very impressive.”

“Thanks. The new gutter feature is especially designed for the stormy weather of Blackwell. It’ll keep the cows from getting wet,” she winks.

I flinch at first when I feel him touch my legs.

I feel soft kisses start at my ankles as Sebastian works his mouth up the insides of my calves and thighs. His touch is delicate as his tongue licks and caresses me while I try not to move a muscle. I need to keep my poker face for the conference call. Above the table, business decorum is observed and Frank and Marsha continue their presentation. I just smile and nod, because the above the table action is not what I care about right now.

Since below the table, out of sight of the glaring, judgemental eye of the public is where my fantasies come true.

His kisses and licks near dangerously close to my mound, and I move my legs wider apart, for him. I feel the heat of his breath and the strength of his fingers on my legs as his face arrives between my legs.

“No panties,” he says, hesitating before he touches me. “Just as I asked. Here’s your reward for being such a good girl.”

He flicks his tongue on my clit and I squirm in pleasure. In my image in the upper right hand corner of the screen I watch as my own face turns as red as a ripe apple.

He licks again, working his tongue on my clit.

He's probably loving torturing me, having his way with me in a public forum like this. For me, the real torture is not being able to moan as loud as I want. I'm not allowed to thread my fingers through his hair or cry out his name and beg him not to stop.

I sink lower into my chair and I resist him as best I can. This was the fantasy I wrote but that doesn't mean it was meant to come true.

Does it?

Holy fuck, what's he doing, tornados with his tongue?

I swallow and place my hands flat on the table, hanging on for dear life.

"As you see, it's a prototype and we can alter the design, but it's engineered exactly to Mr. Blackwell's specifications. Have you seen Mr. Blackwell by the way? He seemed so sure he would come to this meeting."

"Coming?" I repeat, my eyes hazy with pleasure. "Not yet. It feels good though. So good."

I clasped my hand over my mouth, realizing the words I just said.

"Feels...good?" Marsha asks.

"Yes," I fumble, and that asshole licks my pussy harder. I can't fucking think. "I mean I'm not a design expert but Mr. Blackwell told me the 'feel' of the design and this feels good so to speak. Oh fuck it feels so good!"

Uh oh. I see the shocked looks on the faces of Marsha and Frank. They must think I'm a crazy person. “Thank you Marsha,” I manage to say. “I mean the design--it’s got a good feel to it. I think the “feel” is really important. Don’t you?”

I let out a loud, awkward laugh, and Marsha, gives me sort of a funny look, but continues explaining the ins and outs of the design. Personally, I’m going to have to watch this presentation on playback, because the real show—speaking of ins and outs—is going on right now below the table as Sebastian dips two fingers inside of me to go along with his tongue.

I strain in vain not to let the pleasure be evident on my face, but it’s too great. This feels so wrong, but I can’t help but let go as Sebastian takes me to the brink. My core warms, my legs tingle, my spine tingles. Electricity spurts through me. My toes curl, my calves tense.

I hope to God the webcam microphone isn’t so sensitive it picks up every last detail of the audio. I’m breathing way too hard for a boring conference call. My breath hitches and waves of pleasure crash through me as I come.

This is no ordinary orgasm. This orgasm feels like it was prepared on a platter, served to me—a fine dining meal, prepared by my fucking billionaire boss. What possessed him to actually follow through on this promise, to make the fantasy I wrote this morning come true, I still don’t quite understand. Another thing I don’t quite understand is where these dirty thoughts and idea of mine come from. As I come down from my orgasm, he softens his touch. And I recall, what Sebastian mentioned yesterday about his subconscious, where he believes most of his thoughts rose from.

As I stare at Frank and Marsha, who are still pointing and talking about the project, my mind wanders. My thought is fleeting, but it’s there. And it’s the happiest thing I’d ever conceived. I don’t know why my strange mind takes this sort of lesson away from my boss and then down on me. But I think to myself, if this fantasy about my boss pleasuring me in a public setting can come true, then what can’t I do? It’s a powerful feeling to believe that your mind has a capability of lurid wishes come true. Even sexual fantasies, design plans, or otherwise, maybe Sebastian understands what it means to have dreams and follow through on them.

And that’s why he wants to make all my fantasies come true.

Though I have my doubts that Sebastian’s thought this deeply about what one orgasm like this can do to a girl like me.

As he pulls away from my clit, I take a deep breath, just let myself be, just exist. Sebastian is the kind of man that doesn’t talk about doing, or write about doing. He does. Period. He takes swift action when he wants something, and that’s why he’s so rich. Probably also why I’m so damn attracted to him, period. He pulls away completely, and I’m left with a feeling of emptiness without him touching me.

When he reappears just outside of the line of site of the web camera, he grabs his shirt just to the left, puts it on, button by button while he stares at me with his sex glare. His face is the cockiest, sexiest gesture a man’s ever made to me. He rubs his forearm, he rubs his mouth with his forearm, wiping his face clean of my juices. I damn near have another orgasm just from the sight.

I zone back in, to Marsha, who is tapping her microphone.

“Are you still there? Is this still working?”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “I was just thinking how amazing it is that you, Mr. Blackwell, everyone, that were all able to take our shared vision, and make it into reality. It’s truly incredible.”

“Wooh, okay!” she says. “Glad to hear that! I was getting a little bit nervous there when you weren’t saying anything.

“Yep, well, it’s all good,” I say. “Nicely done!”

Sebastian opens the door, and shuts it loudly, pretending that he’s entering the room.

“Heyyy, Frank! Marsha! So sorry I’m late. I meant to make this meeting.”

Frank chides him. “We were kind of lucky to have Brett here. She can give you a summary of what was talked about.”

“What meeting was so important that you had to ditch us?” Marsha asks with a wink.

“Well, I kind of had an impromptu late lunch,” he says with a giant smirk, and looks me dead in the eye.

I about die.

He grabs a seat in the chair next to me. “Hey, Brett, actually, can you check and make sure I don’t have anything in my teeth? Look,” he says, smiling his pearly whites at me.

“Well, anyways, we’ve got to jet,” Frank says. “We’ve got another call at around 11:30, but let us know if you have more questions.”

“Adios.” Sebastian nods, and mercifully, the video cam cuts out.

“Oh my God, You are insane!” I say.

“Yep!” is all Sebastian says as he wiggles his eyebrows and leans back in his chair.

“They’ve been telling me I was insane ever since I was dirt poor, and said I was going to become a millionaire. Anything else you’d like to report?”

“Yeah, on Thursday, it’s my turn. I get to call the shots, unless you want to back out, which is fine.”

I scrunch up my brow at him. “What, you don’t think I can handle your fantasy? No, I’m not backing out, alright? Thank you.”

He smirks. “I’ll have it ready--I mean, my alter-ego Mr. X will have the fantasy ready for you when you come in. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually do need to get to my second lunch for today.Don’t worry, this is an actual lunch, that wasn’t a sexual comment or anything.”

I laugh. “Get out of here!” I say, pushing his shoulder playfully.

And he goes.