Spycraft – Ch 1 & 2

Chapter 1: Kraken Industries

Melissa’s fingers hovered for a moment above the keyboard before she pressed Send. The screen dimmed, and with it came the silence of an empty floor. A glance at the brass-rimmed clock on her desk told her what she already suspected: half past six. Everyone else had gone. The building seemed to sigh with abandonment, its fluorescent hum the only company she had left.

She gathered her things slowly, smoothing invisible creases from her skirt, aligning pens on the desk, anything to delay the inevitable. The double doors across the hall loomed larger in the quiet, the nameplate glinting even in the fading light: Vern Kraken, CEO. That door always carried weight, but never more so than when she was the last one here.

Her knuckles rapped against the polished wood. The reply came—sharp, commanding, almost impatient: “Come in.”

Melissa obeyed.

The office swallowed her the way it always did. Rich wood paneling, heavy leather, shelves lined with classics that looked more like trophies than companions. It was a room designed to make one feel small, and it succeeded. In its center, like a throne set against the far corner, rested Vern’s desk—ornate, dark, an edifice of power carved into mahogany.

Vern was behind it, his presence filling the room more than the furniture ever could. The deep creases etched into his face caught the shadows, making him look hewn from stone rather than aged by time. Melissa had seen those frown lines before—ever since the funeral, they seemed to carve deeper, dragging his moods into unpredictable tides. Tonight, the current had shifted toward anger.

“Come here,” he said, voice low, stripped of softness.

She moved toward him, each step a negotiation between fear and duty. Melissa crossed the stretch of carpet that felt longer than it was. Each step echoed in her awareness, the soft thud of her heels against the fibers. Vern’s eyes followed her, heavy and assessing. They had always carried authority, but tonight there was a darkness behind them—a hunger mixed with grief that he no longer bothered to hide.

Vern had lost his wife only a few months prior, and the weight of her absence had carved deep furrows in his spirit. Once known as a man of steady composure—firm but fair, stern yet softened by an easy temper—he now drifted through his days in a storm of shifting emotions. Grief pulled him often into a brooding melancholy, but just as often it flung him into sudden bursts of rage. And today, anger had claimed him fully, smoldering in his eyes and sharpening every word and gesture.

When she reached the edge of his desk, she waited. A pause. A silence that pressed on her chest as tangibly as any hand.

“I’ve had a bad day,” Vern said at last, his voice roughened, weary yet edged with command. “And I need… relief.”

The words landed between them with the weight of ritual. Melissa’s breath hitched, though her face remained composed. She knew this request well—it had been carved into the rhythm of their late evenings together. And still, every time, her body reacted first: a quickening pulse, the sharp prickle of vulnerability racing across her skin.

She lowered her eyes, a small act of surrender, and felt the tension in the room deepen. Vern leaned back in his chair, a gesture that was both invitation and decree.

The office was suffused with the faint scent of him—cologne mellowed by age, tobacco woven into the fibers of his suit, and beneath it something rawer, heavier. Melissa felt it wrap around her like the wood-paneled walls: enclosing, commanding, impossible to escape.

Her knees bent, the carpet brushing against her skin as she moved down. The shift in perspective made him tower even more, a figure of power silhouetted against the dim light from the window. Her hands trembled, though not entirely from fear. Habit steadied her, but the air between them still pulsed with that blend of authority and need that always left her breathless.

Vern’s frown eased, not into warmth but into something sharper—satisfaction at her obedience, at her presence here, ready, as always, to bridge the hollow his grief had left behind.When she reached between Vern’s feet, she looked up at him with eyes that seemed to hold a world of understanding.

A subtle nod from Vern signaled his readiness, and Melissa swiftly undid his trousers, unzipping the fly with practiced grace. Her hand slipped into the warmth, finding his cock – a firm pillar against her palm – and she wrapped her fingers around its length and girth, tracing the familiar landscape of ridges and veins like lines etched on an aged map.

As she leaned closer, her lips brushed lightly against the tip, sending shivers skittering down Vern’s spine. His cock jerked in response, a hungry muscle pulsing with anticipation. Melissa extended her tongue, drawing a languid trail along the underside of his length, leaving a glistening path slick with saliva that seemed to beckon further exploration.

Three more times she repeated the dance – slow, sensual, hypnotic. Her mouth was warm and welcoming, like a secret haven, and Vern’s cock responded eagerly, swelling and hardening with each pass of her tongue. The droplets she left behind shimmered in the dim light, clinging to his shaft like captured starlight.

Reaching the tip, she circled it once before flicking it playfully with her tongue. Then, starting at the base, she traced another line of moisture upwards, repeating the pattern until his cock throbbed fully aroused, its full eight inches trembling beneath her touch, a testament to his enduring vitality even in the twilight of his seventy years.

Parting her lips, Melissa took him deeper into her mouth, drawing him down with a constant, gentle suction that elicited a guttural grunt from Vern’s throat. Months of this intimate ritual had honed her technique to perfection, each touch and movement tailored precisely to his deepest desires. He responded with a raw, primal sound that seemed to tear free from the depths of his being, unguarded and vulnerable, as if she had pierced through layers he thought impenetrable.

Breathing in deeply, Melissa leaned forward slowly, coaxing Vern’s cock deeper into her mouth. Maintaining that light suction, she pushed him past the point where his head grazed against the roof of her throat. With a gentle tug, she drew back until only the tip remained, then started the dance anew – in and out, teasing him with anticipation.

Vern was a man who rarely suffered fools, never one to linger on pleasantries when action beckoned. His relentless drive had propelled him from an orphaned childhood to become a titan of industry, his empire sprawling across countless sectors, his influence shaping the very fabric of society. He ruled the boardroom with the same steely intensity he brought to every aspect of his life – a force of nature, unyielding and unstoppable.

He enjoyed her teasing, yes, but his patience wore thin quickly when it came to such matters. As the rhythm quickened, Vern caught her head in both hands, pushing her forward with an abruptness that sent a gasp escaping her lips.

He drove his cock past her tonsils, burying it deep within her throat, momentarily cutting off her air supply. Instinctively, she knew she had only seconds to appease him before her air supply would run out.

Flicking her tongue furiously, she worked over the underside of his length. With his cock blocking her throat, suction was no longer an option – her tongue became a tireless instrument of devotion, coaxing and caressing until his pleasure started to peak beneath her ministrations. Slowly, he released his hold, allowing her to draw back, gasping for air as she straightened. But the reprieve was brief. He pulled her forward again with unwavering force, his cock disappearing completely into her mouth, vanishing like a diver plunging into an unseen abyss.

He began thrusting, steadily at first, then escalating in speed until his cock filled her entire mouth and throat, her nose brushing against the damp warmth of his pubic bone. The rhythmic slap of his balls against her chin filled the air, punctuated by Vern’s guttural groans that rose like primal cries from deep within him. He was close. She could feel it in the frantic tremor of his cock, the way he held on to her head with white-knuckled intensity.

Then, abruptly, he stilled. His grip tightened around her head, and he pulled her up sharply. His cock slipped out of her mouth with a soft plop. Melissa steadied herself, her legs wobbling slightly from the sudden release, rising to her full height at five feet, five inches. Her dark blonde hair, tousled and unruly, cascaded over her ivory skin like a waterfall. Strands clung to her bright blue eyes that still shimmered with intensity beneath the disarray. Her crimson lips, full and vibrant against her pale complexion, were slightly parted in a breathless gasp. Time had begun to etch its subtle marks upon her face, but she bore them gracefully, allowing strangers to guess her age at a decade younger than her nearly forty years.

He reached out, his hand tracing up beneath her pencil skirt till it settled on the bare curve of her ass, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the taut flesh. She was forbidden from wearing underwear since she started serving him some eighteen months ago – a constant reminder of his ownership, a testament to his absolute dominion.

He savored the soft yielding of her skin, knowing he could have access whenever his desires took hold. Fondling her bare ass in crowded elevators had become a ritual, sometimes he would even slip a finger inside her warm pussy – a silent claim marked by her startled glances and stifled breaths as if someone might notice their illicit exchange.

Now, he began to caress her more openly. His fingers sank deeper into the smooth cushion of her buttocks, pulling her closer until her thighs were spread apart, forcing her body against his chest. Her pussy hovered directly over his cock, an exposed treasure at his command. Her eyes were locked on his, unwavering and attentive, reading him with a practiced ease that had come from countless encounters like this. He glanced down, once, to the swell of her pussy waiting below, and she understood.

Melissa grasped his swollen length, drawing it towards the entrance of her own body, lowering herself slowly. His cock pressed against the warm folds of her wetness, and she rubbed him back and forth, trying to coax a trickle of lubrication from her tight core.

But Vern was impatient. He caught her hips in both hands, shoving her down with brutal force, his cock slamming into her waiting heat with a searing friction that set her muscles aching. The single thrust was so powerful it forced the full eight inches inside, stretching her to her limits. She winced, the pain sharp and sudden, while he leaned back, watching her contort around him with an indulgent smile playing on his lips. He reveled in this display of power – a dominance that extended beyond the boardroom and into this intimate sanctuary where she knelt at his feet. He let her sit there, stretched tight around his cock, feeling the pleasurable throbbing of his erection travel through her warm, yielding form.

Finally, as lubrication built within her, she pushed up on her toes, rising to meet him halfway before dropping back down again, finding a rhythm that eased the initial pain and brought her closer to surrender. The slow rise and fall continued, her hips swaying rhythmically against his thighs. The slapping sounds were a constant accompaniment – the drumbeat of her passion mingled with the rasp of his breathing as he watched her work.

A low groan escaped Vern’s lips, then another, deeper this time, as his balls started to tighten in anticipation. He grabbed her hips again, anchoring her firmly, and plunged her down hard, holding her there while his cock pulsed violently within her, releasing a torrent of thick semen that coated her insides. Vern fell back, overcome, as a surge of rapture coursed through him in rolling waves.

Silence descended, broken only by Vern’s ragged breaths and the gentle drip of his cum pooling inside her. For several moments, they stood motionless – two statues carved from desire and surrender. His cum slowly dripped out of her vagina while they waited. When Vern finally came to, Melissa got up from his lap, releasing the rest of his cum, which dribbled on his cock, his hairy balls, and the floor. Vern cocked his head and gave Melissa a knowing look. She understood the unspoken expectation, and with quiet resolve, lowered herself once more to her knees and started to lick the cum from his cock.

Her senses reeled beneath the sharp, musky tang of his cum mixed with her juices and his sweat, the acrid scent filling her nose and the briny taste clinging stubbornly to her tongue.

She hated the taste of cum, yet she licked his cock up and down without hesitation, swallowing all the juices, until every drop was consumed.. When his cock was clean and glistened with her saliva, she moved down to his hairy ball sack.

This was the most atrocious part with his pubic hair tingling her entire face. As she licked and sucked his balls, hair would get in her mouth which she reluctantly swallowed with copious amounts of saliva. She swallowed even the last droplets clinging to his ball sac, a bitter offering at the altar of his need. He had taken her possession, both physically and emotionally – leaving her raw and exposed in this intimate ritual.

She moved further down and licked the small patch of skin separating his ball sack from his rectum. Luckily no cum had gotten on the rectum itself but as she approached closer, the acrid stench slammed into her senses, thick and choking, seeping into her mind like smoke in a sealed room. She held her breath, and finished up as quickly as she could.

Finally, when his body was crystal clean she bent down and put her head to the floor. On the floor, she lowered her face, letting her tongue glide over the warm, scattered cum droppings, shuddering at the sharp, salty taste. She lapped every single droplet visible and when everything was clean, she stood up in front of him.

Her hands trembled as she smoothed her skirt, though it did little to steady the fluttering in her chest. Stray strands of blonde hair framed her face like a fragile veil, and the warmth in her cheeks mirrored the rapid beat of her pulse. She stood before him, waiting. Always waiting — for acknowledgement or for dismissal.

“I’ve called my two sons back from abroad,” Vern said, his tone sharp and deliberate. “One of them will inherit Kraken Industries once I’ve measured their skill and determined who has the vision to elevate this company to new heights. Prepare my West Side office for Victor and the East End office for Xavier. Each will need a secretary to support their work. Screen candidates thoroughly and narrow it down to the top three for each. My sons will make the final ***********ion.”

Melissa’s voice was steady, but she felt the weight of his gaze. “When are your sons expected to arrive?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Vern replied, his eyes cold and unwavering. “Ensure the secretary recruitment is finalized by then. That will be all. You may go.”

Melissa bowed slightly, a gesture of respect and acknowledgement, before turning on her heel. She collected her belongings with careful, deliberate movements and walked toward the elevators, each step echoing softly in the polished corridor.