This Time, I Was the One Who Negotiated My Severance

I had been fed up with my life in Valencia for months. I owned an inherited apartment right in the Ensanche, one of those high-ceilinged homes my parents had looked after all their lives and that fell to me when they passed away. I earned a salary most people would sign for without batting an eye, but the job devoured twelve hours of every day and, far too often, part of the weekend. I’m not complaining about the money. I’m complaining about everything else.

One Friday, late in the afternoon, the head of HR summoned me to her office. Her name was Clara, although that name had never done her justice. We were friends in the sense that you can be friends with someone whose corridor you share and with whom, from time to time, you share other things. We had fucked on many occasions over the course of three years, with no strings or promises, mostly because she was happily married. That was what she said, at least.

She didn’t greet me. She pointed to the chair and got straight to the point.

—I have bad news —she said, without looking up from the folder.

The company had decided to let me go. Structural cost-cutting, they called it, as if cold words hurt less. Then she added that, despite everything, I should consider myself lucky: they were giving me the maximum legal severance and a substantial additional bonus. The condition was that I sign a confidentiality agreement promising not to leak or use client data.

—All right —I replied, almost relieved.

I was fed up to the neck with that job, and she had just handed me my way out.

But I wasn’t going to make it that easy for her. I told her I would sign right then and there on one condition: that they raise the bonus by at least fifty percent.

She let out a dry laugh, the kind she used in meetings to shut doors. She explained that it was impossible, that the situation wouldn’t allow anything more. I folded my arms and mentioned the magic word: the labor court. I told her I would rather have a judge review the company’s accounts than swallow their first offer.

It took her thirty seconds to give way.

—The most I’ve been authorized to offer is thirty percent —she admitted, with irritation she didn’t bother to hide.

And there was the detail that changed everything. She hadn’t told me from the start. Not me, the man she had been sleeping with for three years. To her, I had always been just another appointment in her calendar, a favor she granted when she felt like it and withdrew just as easily. That night I understood that there had never been anything remotely like an arrangement between equals.

I remembered all the times she had made me wait. The messages that arrived at eleven at night and the three-week silences whenever she got bored. That afternoon when she had summoned me to a hotel and shown up two hours late, without an apology, wearing only that half-smile that assumed I would still be there. And I was. I always was.

But Friday was different. On Friday, for the first time, the scales were tipped in my favor. She needed my signature more than I needed that job, and we both knew it without having to say it aloud.

***

—I agree to sign —I said slowly—. With one additional condition.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for the next figure.

—It isn’t money —I clarified—. You’re going to suck me off. Here, now, in your office. All the way. And when I come, you’ll swallow every drop, without spitting out a single one.

It was something she had always refused to do throughout all those years. Her expression changed from bewilderment to fury in a second. She glared at me and said no, that I was crazy, that who the hell did I think I was talking to.

I shrugged and stood up as if I were leaving.

—Then the condition is expanded —I added calmly—. You’re not only going to suck me off. First, you’re going to eat my ass, with your tongue buried deep, slowly, all the way into my asshole. Another thing you never wanted to do. And if you prefer, we can keep adding conditions.

What I knew, and what she knew too, was that she couldn’t afford to go to senior management and explain that the dismissal had stalled because of her. Her reputation depended on settling the matter cleanly and quickly. I had the upper hand, and we could both see it with perfect clarity.

She clenched her jaw. She looked at the closed door, the clock, the folder. And finally her shoulders sagged in surrender.

—For the record, I hate you —she murmured.

Good. We were beginning to understand each other.

For a moment I was tempted to tell her it had all been a test, that I had only wanted to see how far she was willing to debase herself to preserve her credentials. But I thought better of it. Let her do it. Let her feel in her body what it was like to be on the other side of the table.

***

I told her to get on her knees. I pulled down my trousers and underwear in one tug, turning my back to her, and let my cock hang there, still soft but thickening by the second at the thought of what was coming. I placed my hands on the edge of her immaculate desk, made of glass with its folders neatly aligned, spread my legs, and arched my back slightly to offer her my ass without hiding anything. I didn’t have to say another word. I heard the brush of her stockings against the carpet, the faint creak of her knees as she bent, and a second later her hot breath striking between my buttocks.

At first it was a minimal gesture, almost perfunctory, her tongue barely teasing the hair, like someone kissing a cheek they didn’t want to kiss. I reprimanded her.

—Further in. Open me properly and put your tongue all the way in. I’m not in a hurry, and apparently neither are you.

She grumbled something I didn’t understand, but she understood that I wasn’t going to give an inch. I felt her hands, those hands with short nails and discreet polish that signed dismissal notices in the mornings, slide up my thighs and pull my buttocks wide apart. And then she did it properly. She brought out her whole tongue and flattened it against my asshole, broad and wet, licking from bottom to top, once, twice, three times, each pass longer and slower. By the time she had done it a dozen times, the tip began to sink in. I felt her push, searching for the opening, my body yielding a little more with every attempt until the flesh relaxed and she drove it inside me.

I let out a growl and leaned back even farther, taking her tongue with my ass. She didn’t protest. On the contrary: she found a rhythm, pulled her tongue out, spat onto the hole with a filthy sound I had never associated with Clara, and put it back in as if she wanted to clean me out from the inside. When I felt her concentrating, methodical, applying that same intensity she brought to impossible meetings to eating my asshole, my cock went hard as a rock, pointing at the ceiling, and a thread of pre-cum began to drip from me, stretching toward the carpet.

—Spit on me more and put it in all the way —I ordered her, my voice hoarse—. Let the taste stay with you for a week.

She obeyed. I heard the spit, felt the hot stream strike my entrance, and again her tongue forced its way in, thicker now, pushed by lips that closed around my ass and sucked hungrily. She kept me like that for whole minutes. I could have come just from that, without touching my cock, but I held back. I wanted the other thing. I wanted more.

I turned around with my cock already rock-hard, the swollen, shining head an inch from her mouth. I grabbed her by the hair—not violently, but without leaving her any doubt about who was setting the pace—and pulled her toward me.

—Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue. And make an effort, or I might regret the bonus.

She stuck out her tongue without saying anything, and I rested my glans on it. I rubbed it over her lips and cheeks, leaving a shining trail that painted them like cheap lipstick. Once she was thoroughly smeared, I pushed. Her lips parted and my cock plunged in halfway. Clara didn’t cough. She closed her mouth around my shaft, tightened, and began sucking me off with a technique she had only given me in half-measures over the previous three years.

What came next undid me inside, though I didn’t show it. Without question, it was the best blowjob she had ever given me. As if all the pent-up anger, all the times she had been in charge, had been transformed into a submission she had never shown me before. She pulled my entire cock out, looked at it for a moment, and swallowed it again until her nose bumped against my pubic bone and tears sprang to her eyes. She pulled it out, dripping, strings of saliva hanging from her chin, and used it to massage my balls before taking it back into her mouth. Then she went down, sucked my balls one at a time, took them both into her mouth, and came back up to lick and suck my glans.

I gripped her hair more tightly and began fucking her mouth at my own pace, thrusting, marking the back of her throat with the tip. Every one of her gags squeezed my cock like a velvet fist. She closed her eyes. I didn’t close mine: I didn’t want to miss a thing. I wanted to watch her, the head of HR, the woman signing my dismissal, eyes watering and mouth full of my cock, swallowing every last inch because she had no choice and because, by then, she didn’t want to have one.

When I felt the tingling rise from my balls, I drove myself all the way in and held her there, her nose pressed against my belly. I held her head with both hands and didn’t let her pull away.

—I’m going to come in your mouth. Every last drop. And you’re going to swallow it all without spitting, looking at me.

A muffled moan escaped her, an attempt to withdraw on pure reflex, but I held her firmly. The first jet shot straight against her palate, thick and hot, with the force of months of not coming as I should have. I felt her tongue, trapped beneath my glans, moving as she swallowed. The second filled her mouth in a rush and splattered against her cheeks. I spat the third and fourth onto her lips and tongue with my cock already out, marking her like a map.

—Open —I demanded.

She opened. Her mouth was flooded, a thick pool of white semen clinging to her teeth and tongue. She looked up at me from below as she did it, her eyes shining with wounded pride that, for the first time, had nowhere to hide. She closed her lips. Swallowed. Then opened her empty mouth again so I could check. Only the gleam remained, and a tiny thread hanging from the corner of her mouth, which she gathered with one finger and licked off too.

—Good girl —I told her, my cock still an inch from her lips.

She put it back in her mouth on her own, without my asking, and cleaned it with little licks until it was dry.

***

Since things had to be done properly, she stood up, fixed her hair in the reflection of the window, wiped the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, and redrafted the letter with the new figures. She handed it to me to sign, her hand perfectly steady. Professional to the end, I’ll give her that.

Before leaving, once everything had been formalized, I delivered my final remark.

—The day we see each other at court to legalize the dismissal, we could have lunch together. And afterward, a hotel, like in the old days. All at the company’s expense, of course.

Out of respect for appearances, I won’t reproduce her reply. In summary: it was an emphatic no, decorated with three or four insults I would never have imagined coming from someone so restrained.

Two weeks later we saw each other again, this time before the judge, to give the matter legal effect. We sat next to each other, presented the agreement signed by both parties, and ten minutes later we were outside. In the hallway she held out her hand, distant, as if saying goodbye to a supplier.

—This isn’t how I had imagined seeing each other for the last time —I told her, without releasing her hand—. I would have preferred to say goodbye by fucking you.

She called me everything but handsome. Very calmly, I replied that if we were going to air things out, I could tell the people who until recently had been her colleagues how we had negotiated my departure. That it would inaugurate a new method for future dismissals. That I could even recommend her, say she was very good at “negotiating.”

She fell silent. For the first time in three years, I was the one who had the last word.

***

We crossed the square in silence and went into the first hotel we found. We went up to the room without saying a word. As soon as the door closed, I shoved her against the wall and ripped her blouse open in one pull, sending two buttons rolling across the parquet floor. Underneath she wore a black bra that strained to contain breasts larger than her suits suggested. I pulled it down without unfastening it, leaving it hanging beneath her breasts, and crushed her tits in my hands until her nipples hardened between my fingers. I bit them. One, then the other, sucking them hard and tugging at them with my teeth until she let out a moan she couldn’t swallow.

I lifted her skirt, tore off her stockings without any regard for them, and ran my hand over her pussy through her panties. She was soaked. I moved the fabric aside and plunged two fingers into her. They went in without resistance, to the knuckles, and came out dripping.

—You’re such a slut —I told her as I brought them toward her mouth—. Suck them.

She sucked them without taking her eyes off mine, licking her own juices as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I pushed her toward the bed, laid her on her back, and forced her legs apart. I knelt between her thighs and buried my face in her pussy. I began eating her slowly, with my tongue flat, from bottom to top, from her ass to her clitoris, sucking her lips one by one, nibbling her hood, burying my tongue in her hole. She grabbed my hair and began moving against my face, fucking my mouth with her hips. When she came, she squeezed her thighs against my ears and screamed something that sounded like my name and an insult at the same time.

I put her on all fours before the trembling had passed. I grabbed her ass with both hands, spread her open, and spat on her asshole, returning the favor from the office. I mounted her from behind and ran my glans up and down her cleft, coating it in her wetness and wetting her other hole too. Then I aimed at her pussy and drove into her in a single thrust, all the way, wrenching a scream from her.

I fucked her like that for quite a while, gripping her hips, my pubic bone slamming against her buttocks with the sound of wet flesh filling the room. I swung my hand across her ass, once, twice, three times, turning her skin red. Every time I spanked her, she squeezed her pussy around my cock and milked it. I pressed my thumb into the saliva on her asshole and began playing with it, first circling it, then slipping in the tip, then the whole finger. She growled, but pushed her ass backward, impaling herself more deeply and offering me that as well.

I pulled my cock out of her pussy, held it for a second aimed at her other hole, and pushed slowly. The head forced its way open. She moaned long and muffled, her face pressed into the pillow. I worked my way in by millimeters, giving her time, until I was completely inside. I began fucking her ass with short thrusts at first, then longer ones, until she adjusted to me and started thrusting back. I slipped a hand beneath her belly and rubbed her clitoris with two fingers while I pounded her from behind. She came again, harder this time, squeezing me so tightly she nearly forced my own orgasm out of me.

I held back. I pulled out, turned her onto her back, lifted her legs over her shoulders, and put it back into her pussy to finish while looking her in the face. I thrust hard and fast, her tits bouncing with every drive, until I felt I couldn’t take any more. I pulled out just in time, knelt over her, and emptied my second load of the day over her breasts and neck. One jet reached her chin. Another landed in her open mouth. She accepted it all, smeared the semen over her nipples with her hand, brought her fingers to her tongue, and cleaned them while looking at me.

We fucked again before going downstairs to eat, and a third time afterward. We ate something in the middle of the afternoon, charged to the company, as in the old days. About six hours later we said goodbye at the door, our legs weak and a smile neither of us wanted to acknowledge on our faces, and before parting we agreed to meet there again the following week.

That was almost a year ago. We haven’t missed a single one of our twice-monthly dates. The funny thing is that I no longer need to demand anything. She is the one who, of her own accord, asks me to get on all fours facing the bed while she runs her tongue over my ass, spits on my asshole, and pushes it into me as far as she can, touching her pussy and thinking about who knows what. She says they’re her favorite foreplay. That she loves the taste. That she comes just from doing it to me.

Sometimes, when I see her giving herself over like that, her face pressed to my ass and her fingers shining between her legs, I wonder who fired whom. Then I think it doesn’t matter. Some defeats are more pleasurable than any victory, and judging by her smile when we say goodbye, I’d swear she thinks exactly the same thing.