All Chapters of All Yours: Short Romantic Stories: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

A week later the seminar room smelled like floor polish and old paper. Elena walked in five minutes early, notebook under one arm, the same thin blouse and short skirt she’d worn last time. No bra. No panties. She set the notebook on the table and waited. Harlan locked the door the second the last of them was inside. Crow was already rolling up his sleeves. Vance leaned against the whiteboard, eyes on her legs. Reyes shut the blinds. “Paper,” Harlan said. She handed it over. He flipped through the pages without reading a word, then dropped it on the floor. “Clothes off. All of them.” Elena stripped. Blouse first, then the skirt. She stood naked in the middle of the room while the four of them looked her over like they were grading her. Crow walked a slow circle around her, stopped behind, and slapped her ass hard enough to leave a print. She didn’t flinch. Harlan pointed at the table. “Face down. Ass up. Hands behind your back.” She climbed on, pressed her cheek to the

Elena wore the plug through the night like they told her. She woke up sore, the base still seated tight between her cheeks, a dull ache that made her shift under the sheets. She left it in while she showered, while she got dressed, while she sat through her morning classes. By the time the afternoon seminar rolled around she was already wet again just from the constant pressure. Harlan dismissed the class early. The other students filed out. Elena stayed in her seat. Vance closed the door. Crow and Reyes came in a minute later. No rope this time. Just the four of them and the same long table. Harlan looked at her. “Stand up. Everything off. Plug stays in until I say.” She stripped in the middle of the room. Blouse, skirt, nothing underneath. She turned and bent so they could see the black base still locked in her ass. Crow stepped forward, hooked two fingers under it, and tugged just enough to make her breath catch. He didn’t pull it out. He let it settle again and slapped her

The club was a shitty little place on the edge of downtown, sticky floors and cheap liquor that burned going down. Maya sat at the bar nursing her third whiskey, legs crossed under a short black skirt that rode up every time she shifted. She wasn’t hunting for company. Not really. Just needed the noise, the bodies, something to drown out the usual quiet in her head. Then the woman walked in. Tall. Dark hair falling past her shoulders like it had a mind of its own. Red dress that clung to every curve—full tits, narrow waist, hips that moved like she was already fucking someone in her head. Eyes black as pitch until the light hit them and they flashed something deeper, something wrong. People noticed her. Of course they did. But most looked away after a second, like their brains refused to hold the image. Maya didn’t look away. The woman slid onto the stool next to her without asking. Ordered a drink she didn’t touch. Close enough that Maya caught the scent—something sweet and

The floor was nearly empty. Only the soft glow of a few monitor screens and the distant thrum of the building’s ventilation system broke the quiet. Claire sat hunched over her laptop, the time in the corner of the screen reading 10:12 p.m. Tomorrow’s quarterly review still needed work. The data was clean, the projections solid, but the narrative felt stiff. She could already hear Victor’s dry, cutting questions if it wasn’t sharp enough.ggb She’d been at Meridian Analytics for just under a year. Long enough to understand the unspoken hierarchy. Short enough that every late night still felt like a test she couldn’t afford to fail. Student debt didn’t care about her hours. Neither did the rent. Footsteps approached from the corridor. Claire straightened as Victor Kane walked into the open workspace, suit jacket hooked over one finger, collar open, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The low light caught the lines of his forearms. She looked away before he could notice. “You’re still

The three nights Marcus’s wife spent in the city felt longer than three weeks. Elena went through the motions at the office like a woman underwater. She answered emails, sat through meetings, delivered the revised Midwest deck without a single stumble, and somehow managed not to look at the closed door of his office every time she walked past. Marcus was present but distant—there for the morning stand-ups, gone for long stretches in the afternoon, always the first to leave when the day ended. He never glanced at her longer than necessary. He never lingered. She hated how much she noticed. The prepaid phone stayed silent in her bag. No texts. No late-night summons. She checked it more times than she wanted to admit, always in the bathroom stall or the parking garage, always with the same empty screen staring back at her. By the second night she had started sleeping poorly again, waking at 2 a.m. with the phantom feeling of his hand on the back of her neck and the taste of