Chapter Text
On Tuesday afternoon, Chloe opened the door to Jean’s office and stepped across the threshold only to stop dead, staring. Jean was propped against the short end of his desk, a woman between his parted legs, kneeling on a cushion on the floor. She was lowering her face onto Jean’s cock, and her eyes didn’t so much as flicker Chloe’s way.
“Sorry!” Chloe blurted and started backing out of the room. “Sorry, um, I’ll come back later!”
Jean looked up, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Ah, nonsense,” he said good-naturedly, “Denise is just cleaning up. Come in!”
Cleaning up? What the woman — Denise, apparently — was doing looked more like … advanced sword swallowing, to Chloe. It was fascinating, almost disturbing, seeing Jean’s enormous cock disappearing into the woman’s throat. Somehow she managed to wrench her eyes off the sight, only for Jean to beckon her over. And she went, automatically, drawn by that invisible force that seemed to surround him always.
As Chloe was setting her tray down on the desk, Denise finally withdrew. Jean’s cock slipped from her lips with an audible pop , and despite a valiant effort not to, Chloe found herself darting another glance. Denise was dabbing away at his softening cock with a handkerchief, then tucked it neatly back into his trousers. She sat back on her heels, gaze flicking up to meet Chloe’s as she daintily wiped saliva from the corners of her mouth, which was wide and full-lipped and smiling slyly.
“Why, hello there, kitten,” she purred in a rich, mellow alto. Clear grey eyes trailed suggestively down Chloe’s body and then up again.
Chloe’s face was hot with sudden embarrassment. Somehow the woman’s attention made her feel … unrefined. “Um, hi, Miss— Uh, ma’am— Sorry—!” she stammered, and turned abruptly to start preparing Jean’s coffee, and being terribly ineffective about it.
Denise let out an amused chuckle, and then spoke with Jean in French while he helped her up. Chloe couldn’t make out a single word of their exchange — even if her French hadn’t been abysmal already, the way her blood beat in her ears was making it impossible to parse. (Still, she was sure she would remember the sound of the ‘language of love’ coming from Jean’s lips later…)
“Thank you Denise, that would be all.” Jean switched to English at last, dismissing Denise much the same way as he would Brienne or Mrs Forsythe or Chloe herself.
“Until next time, then,” Denise said as she glided across the floor. Chloe noted that despite having just knelt on the floor for who knew how long, she was effortlessly elegant on her tall stilettos. Pausing at the door, she arched a perfect eyebrow. “See you in two weeks, hm?”
“Ah, right, no — I’m afraid I will be travelling.”
Denise pursed her lips in a playful pout. “But — you’re my favourite customer!” (The way she mispronounced the word as ‘costumer’, with an exaggerated French accent, suggested an inside joke.) “Whatever will I do without you?”
Chloe had to hide some startlement. Denise was wearing a cream silk blouse and a dark pencil skirt; her jewellery was simple but elegant; her long, pale hair was gathered at her nape with a gold clasp. Whatever Chloe might have imagined a professional sex worker would look like, this wasn’t it. If anything, Denise looked like she might be one of Ombra’s executives.
Jean chuckled. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”
She didn’t deny this, merely gave a throaty laugh and a wave of her long fingers as she swept out of the room.
“Is everything alright, Miss Byrd?”
“Yes!” Chloe’s answer came just a little bit too fast, and she cleared her throat. She turned to give him what she hoped wasn’t too strained a smile. “Yes, sir.”
Jean hummed, peering at her. Self-consciously, she ducked her head, looking down at her hands as she poured his coffee. They were shaking ever so slightly, and her brows knitted in consternation. She really had no business being so flustered — people walked in on her and Jean all the time, it was really only fair that she got to be the spectator for once!
Truth be told, Chloe was still struggling a little to adjust to the strangely cavalier attitude Jean and his people had in regards to sex. That the aristocracy had different social customs was a fact of life everyone absorbed by cultural osmosis, but she had never seen or heard of anything like Jean Girardi’s behaviour, even at the high end establishment she had worked at before.
That previous Friday, she had allowed Brienne to drag her along to a pub with some colleagues, and halfway through a pint of liquid courage she’d managed to ask if this sort of thing was, like … common . Brienne hadn’t quite understood what she meant at first, and after Chloe had blushed and stuttered something she had shrugged it off with a laugh.
Oh, Mr. Girardi’s a bit eccentric sure, but you know aristos, she’d said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Chloe had been about to say that no, she didn’t actually know anything about how the aristocratic elite functioned, but they’d been interrupted by another round of drinks. She hadn’t lingered very long after that (pubs had always been a little too loud for her), and her question had gone unanswered. Now, she found herself wishing she’d stayed to interrogate Brienne some more.
“That was Denise,” Jean said conversationally, “from the Dollhouse. We have a regular appointment. As you might imagine, there aren’t a lot of people who can easily swallow all of me, even among professionals.” As he spoke, he pushed off from the desk, straightening his clothes before he went to take a seat.
“Of course, sir,” Chloe said automatically. She came around to his side of the desk, setting down his cup of coffee and then wiping her palms down the front of her skirt, pretending to straighten it.
The skirt in question wasn’t quite as short as the one she’d worn last week. More work uniforms had arrived for her that Monday: different colours, patterns and cuts, though all variations on the theme of ‘slightly too sexy waitress’. Most importantly, she had been issued new shoes, with far more sensible heels. Though after seeing Denise, she found herself happy she had saved the stilettos before Jean could have them thrown away. They might have hurt like a bitch to walk in, but she did look gorgeous in them. Maybe she’d wear them once a week, matching with some of the more extravagant lingerie?
Jean hummed again, pulling her out of her thoughts. He was giving her a hooded look. There was something calculating about his expression that made Chloe want to squirm. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I did say we would work on your gag reflex, did I not?”
“Y-yes, sir?” Chloe couldn’t quite keep a hesitant quaver out of her voice.
Jean nudged the cushion Denise had knelt on with his foot, until it was sitting right next to him. “Have a seat, Miss Byrd.”
She nodded, blushing, and sank onto her knees. He cupped her chin and tilted her head back a little, sliding his thumb over her lips. They parted for him, and she took his thumb into her mouth, gazing up at him, as she pressed her tongue against it. Jean gave a pleased hum, rubbing the pad of his thumb against her tongue for a moment before pulling out and replacing it with two of his fingers. He moved them in and out of her mouth slowly, a little deeper each time, and Chloe felt herself growing warm and heavy. She arched her neck a little, moving her head in time with his hand, and was rewarded with a smile.
“Good girl, just like that,” Jean murmured.
She stifled a whimper. Saliva was already trickling down her chin. Something about sitting on the floor like this — with Jean towering over her even more than usual — made her want to squirm and melt at the same time.
Picking up a folder from his desk, Jean leaned back in his chair, put on his reading glasses, and set to perusing its contents. Chloe felt a sting of indignation: was he going to work while working on her gag reflex? She quickly chastised herself for it. This was his workplace, after all, and these were office hours. And it wasn’t as though what he was doing required his full attention. Not like when Denise had been going down on him.
Chloe turned her attention to her own task. Jean’s hand moved slow and steady and she matched his rhythm, trying to push a little deeper. She tried to picture swallowing his fingers, or relaxing her throat so he could simply push them inside, but whenever they nudged up against her soft palate she tensed up. She kept having to stop herself from instinctively pulling back, and was growing increasingly frustrated with her inability to do this — and then she grew frustrated with herself for being frustrated. It wasn’t even like he was expecting her to pleasure him right now, so there was no reason to feel such performance anxiety!
She pushed herself harder, making herself gag on his fingers over and over. Her throat kept constricting, her stomach roiled uneasily, her skin growing flushed and hot and moist with sweat as her body fought with itself. She was clutching at her skirts, hands tense and trembling. She couldn’t do this. She wanted so badly to please him, but as she thought of Denise swallowing his cock while her throat wouldn’t even admit his fingers she despaired. She wanted to do this, she had to do this, but there was just no way it would fit, she just— She just couldn’t—
Jean’s voice interrupted her spiralling thoughts, pulling her attention back to him: “Breathe.” He was smiling gently, his fingers resting on her tongue without moving for the moment. “Relax and breathe, dear. We’re in no hurry. You can do this.”
Warmth surged through her at his words. Dazedly, she wondered how it was that even the slightest bit of praise and encouragement from him made her insides turn to jelly. Whatever magic he possessed seemed to work on her throat as well, because she felt it soften as she sighed out a pent breath.
Jean watched her for a moment, still smiling. “You have very pretty lips,” he said then. “I look forward to seeing them wrapped around my cock, regardless of how deep you take it.”
Chloe whimpered, feeling the set of her shoulders relax. Jean winked at her, and returned to his work.
This time, she tried not to fight herself so much. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his fingers against her tongue. Kept in mind his words: We’re in no hurry. You can do this. When she gagged, she let it happen and refused to panic. She simply observed the way her skin flushed with heat when it happened, felt the thin sheen of sweat on her brow. There was a little bit of nausea sometimes but it always passed quickly, and bit by bit she realised that yes, she could in fact do this. She’d need to practise, but it wasn’t insurmountable.
Sitting on her knees beside him, breathing as deep and calm as she could, finding a rhythm between the slow thrusts of his fingers, she found herself in something almost like a trance. The next time she looked up, she found Jean looking down on her, eyes hooded. He had set his folder aside and was running his free hand over his mouth.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said, his voice just a touch rough. She darted a glance at his lap, saw the tell-tale ridge of his growing erection. He smirked. “I think you’ve earned a taste, don’t you?”
Chloe made some inarticulate noise between a moan and a whimper as he pulled his fingers out of her mouth. He turned his chair, parting his legs to fit her between them, and unbuckled his belt. She stared as he freed his cock. It was the closest she’d ever seen it, and from this vantage it looked … impossibly huge. Her gaze found his, seeking reassurance.
“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to take me very deep,” he said. He took off his glasses and set them aside. “We’re done working for today. This is just for fun.”
Contrary to what people tended to believe, Jean Girardi actually maintained a very strict separation of business and pleasure. Not in time or space — as his colleagues could attest to, he was only too happy to indulge in his many vices during office hours — but rather in mindset.
Managing Ombra Corp was a vicious and unforgiving sort of dance, and though he had excellent instincts he rarely made decisions without thorough research and deliberation. Business was a passion of his, every bit as much as good food and good sex, but it required so much careful planning that he had decided never to ask the same of himself in other areas of life. Thus it was that he liked to keep things casual, to have his favourites (be it wine, cigars, or people) on hand at all times, in order that he may indulge his whims as he saw fit.
And as for Chloe Byrd, well … she had quickly become one such favourite.
Jean looked down on her now, smiling fondly at her nervous expression. She licked her lips, eyeing his erection with obvious trepidation. No wonder: it was nearly as thick as her wrist. He enjoyed the sight of it so close to her face. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion and arousal, and there was a smear of saliva on her chin. It had dripped onto her blouse, probably without her noticing, and he caught himself looking at those slightly translucent wet spots now.
“Unbutton your blouse for me,” he said, his voice somewhat gravelly. He stroked himself slowly as she complied, opening her blouse to display an exquisite little bralette. Jean gave a pleased hum. “That’s enough. Pull it down, let me see.”
He was becoming increasingly direct in how he addressed her. She didn’t seem to mind taking orders — in fact, if anything, knowing what was expected of her seemed to give her some peace of mind. Which suited him fine; he liked having things his way, after all.
As he watched her pull down her underwear, allowing her breasts to spill out, he reached for a cigar and started lighting it. Chloe looked up at him, lifting her eyebrows in a silent question, her eyes darting to his cock. “Go on,” he murmured, smiling wryly. “You can touch it, it won’t bite.”
Chloe suppressed a giggle, the set of her shoulders relaxing a little. She reached for him, wrapping one small hand around his shaft, and Jean sighed contentedly and relaxed back into his chair, putting the cigar to his lips. She truly was something extra, this girl. Though they’d been off to a somewhat rocky start, what with her getting fired due to their little … tryst, she seemed to genuinely enjoy his attentions. That, if anything, was what had drawn him to her to begin with.
Her interest had been obvious to him from the start. He was no stranger to getting ogled: being a public figure with a striking appearance it was difficult not to draw looks from admirers and detractors alike. But the way Chloe had responded to him at that restaurant, stealing glances, blushing prettily when their hands brushed as she handed him something … there was something different about it that he struggled to put words to. Something pure. She wasn’t faking it. She wanted him, not his power or his money. And despite a clearly very healthy sexual appetite, she acted almost innocent about the whole thing.
She was absolutely delightful.
And now she was exploring his massive erection with her hands, hazel eyes wide and shining. He reached down to stroke her hair and then gently laid his hand on the crown of her head, guiding her closer.
“No need to go deep,” he reiterated. “Just explore. Keep stroking it as you go.”
Chloe looked up at him and nodded. Angling his shaft, she pressed her lips gently to the crown of his cock. Her mouth was so small , he mused — very unlike Denise’s — but her lips were full and soft and very pretty, and they felt amazing against his cock as she kissed it. Then her tongue darted out and licked teasingly along the glans and he let out an appreciative groan.
“You can touch yourself, if you like,” he said, never one to deny a lover her pleasure.
She paused to look up at him, one hand still working his shaft. “Would you like me to?”
Jean gave her a smile, raising his eyebrows a fraction. “I don’t mind, it’s up to you.”
“Then… I think I’d rather just focus on what I’m doing,” she said after pondering this for a moment, “if it’s all the same to you.”
Exquisite.
He nodded, and she returned to exploring him with hands and mouth. So diligent, so eager to please. He could tell she was paying attention to his reactions, figuring out how he liked to be touched. “Good girl,” he murmured, enjoying the way her blush deepened.
Suddenly, Jean’s musings (and his pleasure) were interrupted by the phone, the low trill of its signal jarringly loud in the silent office. Brow creasing into a light frown, he made a mental check of the day’s schedule: there definitely were no calls on it. But very few people had direct access to his line, and so any calls he received tended to be important.
Chloe had paused and was now looking up at him, clearly expecting instruction. The head of his cock rested against her chin, shiny with saliva, and her hand flexed on his shaft. Gorgeous , he thought, and murmured, “Keep going.”
He transferred his cigar to his other hand and picked up the receiver. It was an old phone, corded, with big square buttons on the base unit. Someone had once called him a bit of a luddite, and he supposed he was, at that.
“Girardi.”
“Oh my, don’t you sound gruff today!” Amandine Dreyfus was speaking French, as they usually would, and sounded amused.
Jean relaxed back in his chair. “A little busy at the moment,” he replied in the same language, “but it’s always good to hear from you.”
“Ah, my bad! I will keep it short, then.”
Though they were good friends, she never called his office just to chat. Not that there was a dearth of reasons for her to reach out, with her being the COO of Ombra Paris. This time she called to report on a recent acquisition and subsequent merger of a couple of smaller competitors. He listened attentively, only interjecting with the odd question or responding to one of hers. He and Amandine had worked together for such a long time, they practically communicated in shorthand by now.
True to her nature, Chloe had been a little shy when the call began, but now it seemed she was working up the courage to experiment a little. She’d begun to take him deeper into her mouth, practising what she had learned from their earlier exercise. Jean found himself sucking in a breath as the tip of his cock hit her soft palate and she gagged quietly around him.
“Say, you’re sounding a little breathy, my dear. Just what is it that you’re busy with?” Amandine asked playfully. “Is Denise working overtime?”
He grinned. “Can’t hide anything from you, can I? I’m being entertained by my new … coffee lady.”
“Ooh, is that the girl you told me about? The waitress?”
“Yes.”
“Is she your pet, already? Or are you going to—”
“Goodness, no,” Jean interrupted her. “I’ve hired her as an office assistant.” He watched Chloe carefully as he spoke — he was reasonably certain that her French wasn’t good for much, and if she did understand what they were saying he doubted she would be able to hide her reactions. As it was, she was entirely absorbed in what she was doing, and gave no evidence of realising that she was the topic of conversation.
“Jean…”
He ignored her. “Besides, you know me. Keeping a pet is a commitment.” Though he was feeling a smidge irritated, he managed to put a smile in his voice.
“Oh, pfft,” Amandine huffed. “You’re not as fickle as all that.”
Amandine would know, of course. They had been friends for a long time, and lovers on and off as well — over twenty years, by now. But although she knew him better than anyone else, she had no personal experience with just how vicious British (and especially London) society could be. Claiming and keeping a pet was not something you did on a whim; not if you wanted to remain in good standing among your peers. Which was, unfortunately, quite important for a man in his position.
“You know I think it would be good for you,” she added more softly.
They had had this conversation in at least a dozen different iterations, and Jean was beginning to find it extremely tedious. “Amandine…” he said with a long-suffering sigh.
She laughed. “Oh, fine, I’ll let you get back to business. But I demand to meet her!”
“You’re coming up next week?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I expect you will see her then,” he said, with a finality in his tone that indicated the conversation was over. “Goodbye, Amandine.”
“Goodbye!”
Jean hung up with another sigh and sat back in his chair. He should have anticipated Amandine suggesting he make his arrangement with Chloe official. Sooner or later she always did, if he mentioned a new lover more than once or twice. While he understood that she had his best interests at heart (unlike the London society gossips who whispered about his being a bachelor at nearly 50), it wasn’t in Chloe’s best interests.
Any woman he entered any kind of official relationship with would end up having to contend with his rivals homing in on her. He wasn’t going to throw Chloe to the sharks like that. Besides, even if he made her the offer, there was no guarantee she’d even accept. In fact, he thought she’d probably say no. With her salary, it wasn’t as though she needed a patron or keeper, and he had a feeling she wasn’t particularly interested in attending fundraising galas and cocktail parties.
“Sir?” He blinked, eyes ticking down to the girl kneeling between his legs. She was looking up at him quizzically, one hand stroking his shaft slowly. He had softened slightly as his thoughts wandered. “Do you want me to continue?”
Oh, dear. How very thoughtless of him. Jean gave her a fond smile, eyes growing hooded once more, his cock rapidly stiffening again. “Please,” he said, reaching to stroke her hair as she smiled and nodded.
She bent to take him in her mouth again, and he let out a quiet grunt of pleasure. Chloe Byrd, his lovely little coffee lady, on her knees in his office with his cock in her mouth — yes, he liked their arrangement just fine as it was. She made herself gag on him a couple more times, experimenting with angles, and there was a swell of pride in his chest. Right then, it didn’t matter to him if she ever managed to defeat her gag reflex, because simply seeing her try so hard for him was all he could ever wish for.
“Just keep the head in your mouth,” he said, tilting his head back against the plush leather chair and putting the cigar to his lips. “Keep stroking me until I come.”
And she did.