Broken Rules, Wet Sheets: A compilation of short erotic stories

STORY 2

Resignation sex

Clara had survived two years under Dave Hargrove’s thumb—endless overtime, frozen salary, casual insults disguised as “feedback,” all while he bought another yacht and another mistress. Today the breaking point finally arrived.

Dave Hargrove, a hot billionaire and the CEO of Hargrove LTD. Everyone knows him to be a womanizer even though he doesn’t mix business with pleasure.

Clara stood in front of her mirror that morning, intentionally late.

“It’s my last day after all; why should I be in a rush?” She heaved, trying to sigh her worries away. She smoothed her black pencil skirt over her hips. It hugged her curves just right.

“I'm going to dress as sexy as I want; no more T-shirts and pants. Fuck you, Dave!”

She picked a white blouse that buttoned up to her neck but left the top one open; a hint of a lace bra peeked out.

She danced around the room, spraying a light perfume on her wrists—jasmine and chocolate.

It lingered in the air as she moved. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down her back.

“Final touch.” She muttered as she smeared the red lipstick on her curved lips.

Clara folded the resignation letter into her purse. Two years of long hours, skipped lunches, and low pay. She would hand it to Dave and tell him everything. The unfair tasks.

“Here you go, Mr. Dave, cocksucker! A quick piece of advice for the billionaire who treats his staff poorly, underpays them, and makes them work their asses off for penury. Fuck you, Dave!! I don’t care if I get sued. Here’s my resignation letter, user!!

Clara poked her middle finger at the mirror dramatically, sticking out her tongue.

“Calm down, Clara; this is how we deal with your shithead boss.” She adjusted her blouse and made for the door.

At the office, heads turned as she walked in.

Colleagues whispered. 'Clara looks different today,' one said. She narrowed her eyes at them; her heels clicked on the marble floor.

The scent of her perfume trailed behind. Dave's eyes flicked up from his desk when she entered his office.

He had bags under his eyes, Clara noticed. “Who cares? He might be out banging a whore at an expensive hotel,” she cursed underneath her breath.

Meanwhile, Dave just lost a contract worth 100 million dollars.

“Morning, Clara,” he muttered. His voice sounds rough from lack of sleep. Clara simply nodded and set his coffee down. Black, no sugar. Steam rose from the cup.

The day dragged on. Emails piled up.

Dave kept barking orders. “Clara, handle these reports. Call the clients. Reschedule everything.”

She typed fast, her fingers aching on the keys, “It all ends today.” She kept encouraging herself.

Lunch came and went, and Clara grabbed an apple from her drawer. There was no time to eat more.

The resignation letter stayed in her purse. She glanced at the clock. Five PM. Workers filed out, waving goodbyes.

"See you tomorrow, Clara.” She forced a smile.

By eight PM, the office emptied, and the lights dimmed in the halls. Only Clara’s desk lamp glowed. She was working overtime as usual; papers rustled as she sorted files and paperwork.

Dave's door creaked open. He stepped out, tie loose, shirt untucked. A whiskey glass in his hand, ice clinked as he shook the whiskey glass drunkenly. His steps were unsteady.

“Hey beautiful.” His voice came out rough and seductive, and he leaned on the doorframe. Eyes scanned her.

Clara jumped up; the skirt rode up a bit as she sat. She was caught unaware. Her blouse stretched across her chest when she reached for a pen.

“Still here?” Dave slurred.

Clara looked up; she felt her heart beat faster, but it wasn’t fear. "Finishing up," she swallowed.

He walked closer. The smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne. Sharp and woody. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his manly chest and faint tattoos.

“Why does he look extra hot tonight?” Whispered to herself, but Dave heard. He stopped by her desk.

Fingers tapped the edge. “You look... good tonight.” His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower. To the curve of her breasts under the fabric. Clara shifted in her chair, pressing her thighs together. The letter burned in her mind, but her body was giving a weird signal.

Now is not the time to succumb to pleasure, Clara. She thought.

She cleared her throat. "After so much thought about this, I’ve decided to tender my resignation letter, Dave!" She blurted.

“I’ve had enough of your orders roaring in my ears every now and then, enough of the news about ‘my CEO’ fucking some stripper. I... I have had enough of being overworked and underpaid.” She breathed heavily, like those words hurt her more than him.

Dave took a sip, unbothered about the rant epistle; liquid swirled in the glass.

“Lost that big deal today. Everything's shit.” He set the glass down.

Hard. It rattled. “But you... you're always here. Loyal.” His hand brushed her shoulder; Clara suddenly became calm, his hand warm through the blouse.

She froze. Her skin tingled where he touched. “What if I make it worth it? What if we strike a deal?” he said slowly. His eyes locked on hers, dark and hungry.

Clara swallowed. 'What do you mean?' Her pulse quickened.

He leaned in. Breath hot on her ear. “One night with me and I'll pay you four times your salary. Right now.”

His fingers trailed down her arm, teasing her softly.

“Make me feel good, and you'll get your reward right away.”

Goosebumps rose all over Clara. She thought of the bills and the empty fridge and kitchen at home. Two years of nothing. One more time of being used. Just once.

She met his eyes. Nodded slowly. “Okay.”