Hard sex. Rear entrance

Jake Desire

Hard sex. Rear entrance

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Prologue

The office on the twenty-fifth floor was her personal ice rink. Glass, chrome, and polished surfaces mirrored her—Tanya, flawless and cold, like a diamond carved without a single flaw. Her heels struck the mirrored parquet with a sharp, almost militaristic rhythm, each step a gunshot that made her assistant, Olga, flinch. Tanya’s gaze slid over the reports, ignoring the numbers. It wasn’t the text that mattered to her, but the fear in her subordinates’ eyes. She fed on it, like a predator savoring fresh kill. It was her breakfast, lunch, and dinner—bitter, but essential.

Once, she was feared for different reasons. For her ringing laughter, the spark in her eyes, the magic that made men lose their minds and women burn with consuming envy. Her body wasn’t just flesh; it was a weapon, a master key to any heart, a tool to unlock any desire.

Today, like yesterday, she prowled the hallway with deliberate slowness, seeking an excuse to drop by the offices of her male colleagues. To remind them of her presence, her power, the way she reveled in her dominance like a cat toying with its prey.

She felt a dull ache between her thighs, an echo of last night. Her memory held only fragments—the cold of a marble floor beneath her as she first knelt on all fours, then sank to her knees, surrendering to unfamiliar hands. She couldn’t recall the place, the time, or the name of the man whose friends later joined in. Just the cold and the hunger she quenched, dissolving into that act of submission. Today, she wore black trousers to conceal the traces of that night—scratches and bruises, dark stains on her otherwise impeccable armor.

Tanya approached the panoramic window, unaware that she was in Boris’s crosshairs. He was in love with her, but he’d never dare ask her out. Instead, he secretly filmed her on his phone whenever she passed by. Later, in the solitude of his cramped office, surrounded by boxes and outdated printers, he indulged in his fantasies. On rare occasions like this, he could catch a glimpse of her in the flesh through a half-open door, even if it was across the vast expanse of the luxurious office, and touch himself. If she ever found out, she wouldn’t flinch. Not with her face, not with her heart.

The city sprawled at her feet, and she had no idea that someone was greedily devouring the sight of her form-fitting silhouette with their eyes.

A myriad of lights below—each a tiny life, brimming with foolish hopes and pointless emotions. She caught her reflection in the glass. A beautiful face. Perfect features. A mask beneath which nothing remained. Nothing but a hollow, chilling emptiness that gnawed at her from within, like acid.

It was in this emptiness, like the depths of an ocean, that fragments sometimes surfaced. Fragments of the other Tanya. The girl who could laugh until she cried, who believed in love at first sight, who held hands with her first love and swore they’d be together forever. Tanya turned sharply from the window, as if struck. Ghosts had no place in her world. Her world was power, control, and cynicism, built like a fortress that no light or warmth could penetrate.

Chapter 1: Velvet Shackles

Tanya drained her third cup of coffee, finished tweaking the script, and leaned back in her black leather chair. A pleasant exhaustion spread down her spine, like warm honey trickling through her body after a long, tense effort. “The end of a small task is like that sweet climax you crave when you surrender to passion. It’s my weakness and my strength,” her thoughts tangled, reality dissolving into a strange cocktail of lust and the anticipation of reward.

Her office was a perfect reflection of her essence: expensive, impeccable, cold. Glass, metal, glossy surfaces—no unnecessary details, no hint of vulnerability. She ran her hand over the silky fabric of her dress—dark emerald, clinging to her like a second skin. These were her armor, shed only when a man’s ego triumphed, eager to pierce her with its strength, like a spear hungering for its target. The thin black lace thong, barely perceptible yet so tight it accentuated every curve, reminded her of her own nature—always ready, always on the edge.

“My brain works overtime, so my body should too. I can’t handle it all alone,” she told herself when she didn’t feel like dragging herself to a meeting where she’d have to give herself to someone she despised but needed for business. “Men booze for deals; women fuck,” her mind constantly churned out such mottos to justify her “ero-breaks,” as she liked to call them. A quick screw, often right in her office, had become almost a ritual. The higher-ups knew about her appetite for male attention and didn’t resist. Anything beneficial to the business was permitted. The law of three-hundred-percent profit applied indirectly here, but career and power, especially after landing a position with growth potential, had become her only goals that mattered.

She loved to dominate, and not just at work. But the weakness within her was also her strength. Nature had gifted Tanya with long legs and firm curves that were weapons in themselves, capable of breaking anyone. In her desk drawer, she kept her secret toys, turning to them when she’d gone too long without attention, when desire became almost painful, demanding release. She liked maintaining balance, scheduling her passions just as meticulously as her work plans.

Tanya considered locking her office door to indulge in one of those toys, but the door creaked open. Her assistant Olga’s anxious face peeked through the crack.

“Tanya, Sergey Igorevich is requesting you at a meeting. He says it’s urgent.”

Tanya slowly turned her head. Her heavy, indifferent gaze made Olga shrink as if struck.

She was beyond annoyed at having to deal with that asshole she’d had to sleep with a few times just to keep him from turning feral and causing trouble. But their business relationship ended there. She saw him as a rival, gunning for the same higher position as her.

“Tell Sergey Igorevich,” Tanya’s voice was quiet but commanding, “that if his deadlines are burning, he can put them out himself. With his own damn ass. My time is worth more.”

“Should I say it exactly like that?”

Olga, blushing, nodded and disappeared.

The corners of Tanya’s lips twitched in something resembling a smile. Sergey. An old bastard who still thought his past achievements and middling status meant something. He’d long been in her way, and today she decided enough was enough. You can’t win a race by helping your opponent. The corporation created conditions for everyone to clash, preventing alliances. Otherwise, they might grow too strong, cause trouble, or slip out of control. No business owner wanted that. No one knew who the main shareholder was. Rumors floated that it was someone from middle management. The intrigue fueled curiosity, but verifying the truth was impossible—legal ownership vanished into offshore accounts, a secret locked behind seven seals, inaccessible to a regular employee.

She picked up her phone, scrolled through her contacts, and found the name she needed. “Seryozha.” She dialed. He answered almost instantly, his voice strained but attempting friendliness.

“Tanyush, I heard you sent my messenger packing. What’s the problem?”

She didn’t bother deciphering his slang; she didn’t care.

“The problem, Seryozh, is that the old clunker of a car you’re used to driving isn’t in our fleet anymore,” she said in a sweet, venomous tone. “Times have changed. Or do you want me to remind the board about your ‘creative’ budget reports from last year? The numbers in there could make accountants weep.”

A heavy silence hung on the line.

“Are you kidding? This is blackmail, Tanya.”

“This is business, darling,” she unbuttoned the top of her dress, feeling adrenaline start to burn pleasantly in her veins. “But there’s another option. Remember how we celebrated my promotion? In that hotel room?”

He cleared his throat. She pictured him sweating.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It’s got to do with the fact that I’m alone in my office right now. And I’m… bored.” She deliberately made her voice sultry, hushed, the kind that made men’s breath catch. “Come up. Let’s discuss your future. Off the record.”

She hung up without waiting for a reply.

While waiting for him, she used the time to prepare, applying a bit of gel to ease the upcoming encounter. She didn’t care for foreplay, considering it a waste of time, and Sergey was hopeless at it anyway. That flaw—or perhaps virtue—connected them.

Ten minutes later, Sergey stood in her office. He tried to maintain a professional posture, but his eyes darted, and his hands fidgeted nervously with his phone. Tanya sat on the edge of her desk, one leg crossed over the other. The heel of her stiletto swayed to an imaginary tune.

“Well?” he muttered.

“Well,” she echoed, rising and slowly approaching him.

She stopped just an inch away, forcing him to step back. He smelled of expensive cologne and fear.

“Do you want to keep your cozy office with the view of the avenue? Or would you rather look for a job at some provincial TV station?”

“Tanya, let’s not play games…”

“I’m not playing,” she traced her index finger along the lapel of his jacket. “I’m setting the terms. Tomorrow, you write your resignation. ‘For health reasons.’ And I… I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

Sergey’s eyes clouded with a rush of emotions. He felt like a delinquent about to be punished. “Resignation? What the hell is she talking about?” he thought, but her gaze, sharp as a blade, shattered his resistance. It popped like a soap bubble. Now, his eyes held only one thing—raw, primal desire mixed with hatred. And that was exactly what she wanted.

She turned and walked back to her desk, knowing he’d follow.

“Close the door, colleague. We’re starting a private meeting.”

Her dress didn’t require much effort to remove. She chose practical designs, saving time on undressing and redressing for critical moments. But often, she simply hiked up the hem, revealing the thin lace of her thong, black as night, nearly invisible against her pale skin. His hands were rough, hurried, afraid to miss the moment. He sought to possess her, like a parched traveler reaching an oasis in the desert. His lips crashed into her neck, then slid lower to her chest, seeking revenge for the humiliation, though it felt more like a continuation of his downfall than a counterstrike.

Sergey had tried to build a career but couldn’t play the game of corporate intrigue. He was straightforward and naive, even if his business skills outshone hers. But now, she awaited his next humiliation. Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling, thinking about the figures in tomorrow’s report to avoid losing herself in the act too quickly, to stretch the pleasure for at least a few minutes. Her body was her tool, and she wielded it to gain advantages that were otherwise hard-won.

He entered her abruptly, without a hint of tenderness, with a guttural groan, like a beast breaking free of its chains. His movements were furious, as if trying to assert dominance in this situation. She responded with reflexive hip movements, feigning passion, making the right sounds. Her body, perfectly honed, was deceptively warm, but inside, there was emptiness. Cold, clear calculation. She could have given herself to a random man in a park, but doing it with someone she despised, here in this office, was a special kind of game. Closing her eyes, she pictured someone else—someone her soul yearned for, but who was too insignificant to even stand beside her. It added a sharp edge, igniting a spark of pleasure within her.

Her skin, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, felt silky under his rough fingers. The black lace thong, barely covering her, was the last barrier he tore away with greed, exposing her curves, soft yet firm, like marble warmed by the sun. She felt his breathing grow heavy, his body tense, battling itself. A strange warmth built inside her, not so much from passion as from the realization of her power. She was the spider, and he was the fly, ensnared in her web. Her long legs, wrapped around him, tightened like velvet shackles, refusing to let him escape.

When he reached his peak with a stifled groan, leaving a hot trace within her, she immediately pulled away, as if from a machine that had served its purpose. Her voice was cold as ice:

“And don’t forget the resignation. On my desk by nine tomorrow. Don’t worry, once it’s done, I’ll bring you back, better than ever. But we both understand… You get it, if it’s not this way…”

Without a word, he shuffled to the door, hunched and pathetic. He had good reason to be. The video she had—compromising footage of her dominance—had played its part.

Tanya walked to the window. Rain had started. She pressed her palm against the cold glass, feeling the vibration of the drops drumming on the surface. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming urge to shatter the glass and scream. To scream so loudly that she’d be heard over the city’s roar. In that moment, she disgusted herself—but only in that moment. Taking a deep breath, she tried to muster some self-pity, adjusted her hair, and went to wash her hands, cleansing herself of the touch of yet another person who’d become a pawn in her game.

The game had begun.

Chapter 2: Cement in Velvet

The morning started with a phone call that pierced her consciousness like a splinter. Tanya, without opening her eyes, groped for the phone on her bedside table.

“Speak,” her voice rasped from lack of sleep and the cheap cognac from last night, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

Scattered on the floor were crumpled towels she’d used to wipe herself down after a wild night with a security guard from internal surveillance. She needed him as a sleeper agent, someone to snoop around the offices. The chances of catching compromising dirt were slim—everyone knew cameras were everywhere, except in her office and a few other bosses’ sanctuaries. But she liked keeping men like him on a short leash, just in case.

“Tanya, it’s Olga. Sergey Igorevich… He didn’t submit his resignation. And he’s currently in Kirill Vladimirovich’s office.”

A chill gripped her insides. Instant, razor-sharp fury sliced through her exhaustion like lightning tearing across a dark sky. “That bastard. That old, pathetic bastard decided to fight back,” raced through her mind.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she snapped and ended the call.

Of course, she wouldn’t make it in that time, but she needed to project resolve. If Sergey crossed paths with her in the hallway, she’d lay into him like a desperate slut looking for anyone to sleep with just to get a good word in for next month’s bonuses. Everyone had their own interests, and everyone had their price.

She lay there, staring at the ceiling. Beside her on the pillow slept Alex. His muscular back, slick with a faint sheen of sweat, faced her. Last night, after Sergey left, started off dull until she called Alex to kill time. But even his presence didn’t fill the void; it only irritated her.

She yanked the blanket off him.

“Get up. Get the fuck out, Alex…”

He rolled over, his sleepy eyes meeting hers. There was no subservience in them, like with the others. Just exhaustion and a dog-like loyalty that pissed her off even more.

“Tanya, how about coffee? You had a lot last night…”

“I said get out. I don’t have time to babysit you.”

He silently got up and started dressing. She watched him pull on his jeans, feeling nothing but emptiness. Not a drop of shame, not a gram of tenderness. Just irritation. Another witness to her degradation, another body that meant nothing. His movements were sharp, almost mechanical, as he tucked himself into his pants, not bothering with underwear. She looked away, not wanting to see more than necessary.

As soon as the door closed behind him, she bolted out of bed and stepped into the shower. Hot water scalded her skin, jets pounding her shoulders as if trying to break through her armor, but they couldn’t wash away the sticky feeling of helplessness. Sergey dared to defy her. It was a challenge. And she needed to respond in a way that ensured no one else would ever entertain such thoughts. She clenched her fists, feeling rage mix with cold calculation as steam swirled around her like ghosts of her past victories.

Forty minutes later, she strode into the TV channel’s building. Her heels clicked a staccato rhythm on the marble floor, the sound echoing through the lobby as employees parted like prey before a predator. She didn’t look at anyone; her face was a stone mask, her eyes two shards of ice ready to shatter anyone who stood in her way.

Olga was already waiting by the elevator, holding a tablet and a cup of cappuccino.

“Kirill Vladimirovich asked for you as soon as you arrive.”

“I know,” Tanya took the cup and sipped. The hot, sweet coffee slightly cleared her mind but didn’t douse the fire within. “Where’s that bastard Sergey?”

“In his office, I think…”

“Not his office, mine,” Tanya corrected and stepped into the elevator.

She didn’t go to Kirill. Instead, she headed straight for Sergey’s office. The door was closed. She didn’t knock. She shoved it open and stormed in like a tempest breaching a calm harbor.

Sergey sat behind his desk, pale but trying to maintain some dignity. Seeing her, he flinched as if struck.

“Tanya, I…”

“Shut up,” her voice was low and taut, like a string about to snap. She approached the desk, slamming her hands down and looming over him like the shadow of death. “You thought Kirill would save you? You thought your pathetic, worthless integrity meant anything?”

Tanya slowly straightened. An icy smile played on her lips, colder than a winter gale.

“What do you want?”

“I want you gone. Today. I don’t want a trace of you here. Your resignation on my desk in fifteen minutes. Otherwise…” she leaned in so close she could smell his sweat mingled with fear, “I’ll call your wife. And I’ll paint her a vivid picture of how her husband begged me to keep his job. On his knees. With tears in his eyes. Do you think your mortgage and two fancy private schools will survive your divorce? No need to remind you of that night with me at the Grand Tommy. I’ll destroy your career and your family.”

He turned a sickly shade of green and sank silently into his chair. He was broken. Completely. His empty, crushed gaze told her that any resistance died in him that very second.

Tanya turned and left without looking back. Mission accomplished. But inside, rage still churned like a volcano ready to erupt. She felt control returning, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

The day passed in a frenzy of work. She approved budgets, led meetings, her word was law. But inside, everything boiled, and to smother that fire, she retreated to her office twice, using her secret toys to inflict pain that distracted her from her thoughts. She sat in her chair, sharp sensations piercing her like lightning while receiving visitors. None of them suspected what lay behind her impenetrable mask. Pain was her ally, her way of regaining control.

That evening, she summoned Sergey to her office again. She needed to cement her victory, to grind him into the dirt for good.

He entered, trying to appear casual. Tall, fit, in an expensive suit, but his eyes betrayed the fear he hid behind false confidence.

“Tatiana, I’m glad that…”

“Close the door,” she cut him off. She stood by the window, back to him, staring at the city lights as cold as her heart.

He obeyed.

“On your knees.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending, as if the words didn’t register.

“What? Tanya, this is…”

“I said, on your knees!” her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and merciless.

And, to her surprise and wild, intoxicating delight, he complied. His smug, always self-assured face twisted with a mix of fear and arousal, like a beast caught in a trap. Her heart pounded faster, not from passion, but from the rush of absolute power coursing through her veins, hot and sticky like molten wax.

She approached him slowly, savoring each step, dragging a leather belt across his cheek as if caressing him, but with a promise of pain.

“You thought you could challenge my decision? Thought your friendship with the chairman of the board would save you?”

“No… Tanya, I…”

She didn’t let him finish. With a sharp motion, she unfastened his trousers and pulled his head toward her, under her skirt, to the warmth hidden by thin black silk panties, barely visible against her pale skin. Her fingers dug into his hair, roughly guiding him.

“Lick. And make me believe you want it.”

His movements were clumsy, almost unbearably humiliating, but that only fueled her fire. She stared at his graying crown, feeling power return to her, enveloping her like a warm cloak on an icy night. She directed him, humiliated him, forcing submission, rough and without ceremony. Her body responded not with passion but with triumph. Her skin, lightly damp with sweat, felt hot under the fabric of her skirt, and the delicate lace concealing her curves only underscored her control over him. She was a queen, and he was a pitiful subject crawling at her feet.

When she decided it was enough, she pulled away, wiping herself with his expensive tie as if it were nothing more than a rag. Without adjusting her clothes, she pointed to the door, her voice cold as steel.

“Get out. And remember—next time you think of defying me, it’ll end much worse for you.”

He shuffled out, eyes down, hunched like a beaten dog.

Tanya was alone. She walked to her desk. On it lay Sergey’s resignation. “For health reasons.” She picked up the paper and slowly, with relish, tore it into tiny pieces, watching them fall to the floor like snow covering the ruins of his resistance. Victory was hers, and she savored it like a rare wine, relishing every sip.

Chapter 3: Game in the Shadows

Rain poured outside the window, turning the city’s night lights into blurred smudges, like tears on glass that couldn’t wash away the darkness. In the conference room on the twenty-eighth floor, a different atmosphere reigned—stifling, thick with expensive perfumes, alcohol, and feigned merriment. The corporate party celebrating the successful end of the quarter was in full swing. It was a masquerade of vanity, where everyone smiled, hiding fangs ready to tear into a rival’s throat.

Tanya stood by the bar, slowly sipping a martini, her lips barely brushing the glass’s rim, like a caress promising more. Her deep burgundy dress, with a plunging back, drew the eyes of male colleagues like a magnet pulling iron filings. The fabric clung to her curves like a lover unwilling to let go, the slit revealing her back, pale and flawless, like marble carved by a master. She was calm, like a predator who’d already cornered its prey in a tree, now lazily watching it squirm in anticipation of the inevitable.

Her target sat in the far corner of the room—Viktor Petrovich, silver-haired, with intelligent, weary eyes, the head of HR appointments in the holding company. He held the key to the coveted position of head of the new creative department. A position also eyed by Kirill, her eternal rival, whose smile concealed venom.

Sergey, with whom she’d “negotiated” to keep his compromising photos in the shadows, had withdrawn from the race. He chose the bird in hand, fearing she’d forget him entirely if he chased the crane in the sky. Cowardice was his choice, and Tanya only smirked, recalling how easily he broke.

Kirill, noticing her gaze on Viktor, approached with his signature condescending smile that made her want to claw his face.

“Tanyusha, admiring the old man? Waste of time. He can smell your kind from a mile away. He needs serious people, not just pretty pictures.”

Tanya slowly shifted her gaze to him. Her dark, deep eyes, like an abyss, seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, making anyone feel insignificant.

“And you’re sure, Kirill, that you know what he really wants? Men his age… They often crave what they’re too afraid to admit even to themselves,” her voice was soft but sharp, like a blade hidden in velvet.