Chapter Three

The morning sun moved across the expensive cream carpet of the master suite, but the woman standing in the center of the room felt none of the warmth. Flick stood before her open wardrobe and felt a mounting sense of desperation overwhelm her. The floor was a graveyard of discarded high fashion, with tops and pants of all respectable styles piled in tangled heaps, and every time she tried to pull on a pair of her favorite tailored slacks, a violent, maddening itch erupted across her shins and thighs, a sensation so intense that she found herself gasping as she tore the fabric away from her skin.

The compulsion was a physical wall she couldn’t climb over. She wanted to look like the CEO of Gordon Enterprises, a woman with style and impeccable taste, yet her body was sabotaging her efforts. The young blonde reached for a white button-down shirt and pulled it over her arms, but as soon as the cotton brushed against her midriff, the skin around her navel began to crawl with a prickly heat that made her vision blur with tears. She tried to endure it, but the higher she fastened the shirt, the more unbearable the irritation became.

The young CEO let out a growl of frustration and yanked the fabric apart. The irritation at her belly button subsided the moment the air hit her skin, and she realized that she simply could not tolerate anything touching her stomach. Her hands moved as she grabbed the tails of the expensive white cotton and twisted them into a tight knot just beneath her pert breasts. This left her entire stomach exposed, keeping the material far away from her sensitive navel.

Flick turned her attention to the lower half of her body, but the problem remained as stubborn as before. Every pair of professional pants or knee-length skirts she owned produced the same agonizing prickle on her knees or lower legs. She felt like she was being bitten by a thousand invisible insects the moment the fabric touched her calves. The woman reached into the back of her closet and pulled out a navy blue pencil skirt that had always been a staple of her stylish wardrobe, but as she stepped into it, she felt the familiar need to rip it off.

Her eyes searched the room until they landed on a pair of sewing shears resting on her vanity desk. A strange, undeniable impulse seized her, and she grabbed the metal handle of the scissors. She stepped back in front of the mirror and held the fancy skirt out. Without a second of hesitation, the blonde began to hack at the expensive material.

The metal blades bit through the fabric, and she watched as long strips of navy wool fell to the carpet. She didn’t stop until the hem rested high on her thighs, a little too far above the sensitive skin of her knees and calves. When she finally set the shears down, the prickle that had plagued her morning vanished and was replaced by the cool touch of air against her bare legs.

Flick stood before the mirror and felt a wave of internal nausea. The white shirt was tied so tightly beneath her breasts that her waist was entirely exposed to the world, and the navy skirt was now so short that it looked like a costume from an adult-themed party. With the glossy red lipstick she had applied earlier, the overall effect was that of a provocative schoolgirl, a far cry from the sophisticated socialite who had outmaneuvered her way into the CEO’s chair. Her internal mind screamed at the reflection and demanded that she change attire, but she knew the itch would return the moment she tried to cover herself.

The sound of her bedroom door opening made Flick snap her head toward the entrance in surprise. Her stepbrother, Sam, stepped into the room and stopped, his gaze sweeping over the wreckage of her wardrobe before settling on her scantily clad frame. He didn’t look shocked; instead, he wore a calm and infuriatingly knowing expression that made the young woman’s blood boil.

“You really should learn how to use a hamper, Flick,” Sam commented as he walked further into the room and tucked his hands into his pockets. “And I see you’ve decided to lean into a new look. I didn’t realize Gordon Enterprises was adopting a dress code inspired by a schoolgirl fantasy.”

Flick was not in the mood for this asshole’s teasing today. She marched toward him, her face a storm of red-lipped fury. “What the fuck are you doing here, Sam? You have exactly ten seconds to get out of my room before I have the security staff toss you out onto the driveway.” She wasn’t messing around this time. “I am one more comment away from ensuring you spend the rest of your life in a studio apartment in the worst part of the city.”

Sam didn’t move an inch, and he looked at his stepsister with a clinical detachment that made her feel more naked than the tied-up shirt ever could. “You’re very aggressive for someone who just performed arts and crafts on a thousand-dollar skirt,” he grinned, glancing down at the shredded remnants of her torn skirt on the floor. “I think the stress of your new position is starting to show, sis.”

Flick poked a finger into the man’s chest, her long nails pressing into his shirt as she stood on her tiptoes to meet his eyes. “I’ve had it with you! I’ve tried to be patient for the sake of this family, and I thought I could tolerate you staying in the house, but I was wrong. I am done with being nice because I thought it was what Daddy would have wanted.”

The word “Daddy” escaped her lips before she could catch it, and she felt a sudden, icy wave of humiliation wash over her. She had intended to say Harold, yet her mouth moved of its own accord and used the silly term with a disturbing level of comfort.

Sam noticed the slip, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Daddy?” he asked comically.

“That’s it!” the blonde snapped, stomping her feet on the ground. “Get out, get out, get out! I am done with you. I am going to work, and I want you packed up and out of the house before I return, do you understand?”

The man didn’t move toward the door or show any sign of worry. His eyes simply remained on his stepsister’s face with a strange, unreadable intensity. “Purple Coconut Salad,” he said nonchalantly.

Flick blinked, and the complete anger that had been driving her forward hit a wall of static. The violent pounding in her temples went quiet, and a hollow, airy sensation settled behind her eyes. She felt the tension drain from her hands, and her fingers slowly curled away from his shirt. The bedroom didn’t change, but the woman’s perception of her stepbrother shifted in a heartbeat. The man she had been so desperate to evict a moment ago suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

She stood there in silence for a moment, her mind trying to grasp the thread of her previous fury. She could remember that she had been yelling, but the reason for it felt distant and trivial, like a dream she was quickly forgetting.

“I… I suppose I could let you stay for a little while longer,” Flick whispered, her voice soft and airy, a far cry from the vitriol she had been screaming seconds earlier. She felt her face softening, her red lips parting in a look of vague confusion. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I still want you to get out of my room, though.”

Sam watched the woman with a calm satisfaction, his posture relaxing as he took in her sudden change of heart. “That’s very big of you to apologize, Flick. I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable.”

“Don’t get used to it,” the blonde replied with a hint of her former bite, even though the words lacked any real conviction. “You’re still on extremely thin ice, Sam. If you keep making comments about the way I look, I will throw you out.”

“I have to get to the office,” she continued after a brief pause. “I have a lot of work to get through today, and plenty of important meetings.”

Sam nodded and stepped aside to give Flick plenty of room to pass. “Have a productive day at the office, sis. I’m sure you’ll make a big impression on everyone.”

The woman didn’t know what her stepbrother meant by that, but she tried not to let him get under her skin. She didn’t have time for familial quarrels. She had won already, and the faster he learned that, the better, she thought quietly to herself as she made her way out of the house.

❖

Flick sat behind her large executive desk in the CEO’s office and felt a cold, hollow panic beginning to settle in the center of her mind. The midday sun was high over Miami, but inside the office, the woman who had recently stolen a billion-dollar empire felt as though she were drowning in a sea of her own making. She was still wearing the navy pencil skirt she had hacked into a micro-mini and the white blouse tied tightly beneath her breasts, and while the air against her bare skin kept the maddening itch at bay, it did nothing to quiet the confusion in her head.

She leaned over the desk, trying to focus her attention on a thick property acquisition deed that required her immediate attention. Flick was a woman who prided herself on her sharpness. She had spent years navigating the treacherous social waters of Palm Beach, using her charm and wits to get ahead in life. She had been clever enough to manipulate a veteran like Giles into committing a felony, so the basic terminology of a real estate contract should have been a simple hurdle for her to clear.

The blonde looked at a clause regarding the distribution of equity in a new North Miami development. The word “Equity” stared back at her from the page, a term she had heard hundreds of times before. She knew she understood the term. She was smart enough to grasp the fundamental concepts of ownership and value, yet as she stared at the letters, the meaning seemed to dissolve before her eyes. It was as if the harder she tried to pin down the definition, the more it slipped away, replaced by a vague and irritating fog.

A frustrated huff escaped her red-painted lips as she tapped her gold-plated pen against the mahogany surface. She moved her eyes down to a paragraph about “Escrow” and “Liability”, terms that anyone who spent any time with her stepfather would find elementary. She reached for the phone, intending to call the legal department and demand a simplified summary, but stopped herself before picking up the handset. She couldn’t risk everyone thinking that she was stupid and out of her depth; she needed to portray strength. She was just being a fool, she told herself, and she was more than capable of handling this by herself.

The cognitive struggle was beginning to produce a dull, thumping pressure behind the young woman’s eyes. She felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to ignore the paperwork entirely, a feeling that she was wasting her time with things that didn’t truly matter. Her thoughts began to drift away from the multimillion-dollar deal and toward her own appearance and the sexy manicure Sam had mocked earlier. The realization that she was losing focus made her stomach churn, yet she couldn’t seem to find the willpower to pull herself back to the task at hand.

The socialite who had outsmarted her way into this seat seemed as though she was being crowded out by a much simpler and more reactive version of herself. She looked at the blank signature line on the final page of the deed and felt a wave of boredom wash over her. Why was she even trying to understand this? Giles would take care of the details; he was a simp who would do anything Flick would ask of him without argument or complaint.

She let the pen slip from her fingers and roll across the desk. The sound it made as it tumbled off the edge and hit the carpet barely registered. Instead, her hand moved absently on its own, reaching down to the open designer bag resting beside her chair. Her long, glossy red nails brushed against soft leather until they closed around the small compact mirror she kept for quick touch-ups. She pulled it free without thinking, flipped it open, and angled the tiny reflective surface toward her face.

The moment Flick saw her mouth, the pressure behind her eyes returned into something almost painful. Those red lips that had once felt so bold and humiliating now looked disproportionately flat and ordinary. They were too thin, too plain, too forgettable. The blonde tilted the mirror slightly, studying the way the bright color sat against her skin, and another wave of dissatisfaction rolled down her spine. The compulsion was no longer a whisper. It had become a steady, insistent throb that made her pulse quicken and her thighs press together beneath her desk.

Flick stared at her reflection for several long seconds, the legal document completely forgotten now. She ran the tip of her tongue slowly across her lower lip, feeling the smooth gloss, and the sensation only deepened the restless hunger. These lips needed some attention. They needed to be plush and inviting, the kind that would draw every eye in the room and make men forget what they were saying mid-sentence. She knew she could close the mirror, put it away, and force herself back to the contract. Instead, she kept staring, mesmerized by how much better they could look if she did what was necessary.

Eventually, the blonde snapped the compact shut, yet the need didn’t fade. It only grew stronger, wrapping around her thoughts until the property deed on the screen looked like nothing more than meaningless black lines. Flick pushed the keyboard away and stood up, her short skirt riding far too high on her thighs as she moved. The cool air of the office brushed against her bare midriff, briefly reminding the woman of the constraints already dictating her life.

Flick needed fresh air. She needed to clear her head. She needed to fix the one thing that suddenly felt more important than anything at work. The rational part of the blonde’s mind screamed that this was insane, that she was now the CEO of a massive company, and that she had never wanted to disfigure her body before. But that voice grew quieter with every passing second, drowned out by the louder, simpler urge that promised relief the moment she gave in.

The blonde CEO grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pursing her red lips as she stepped forward with her head held high. In the hallway, she forced her expression into something calm and professional, but inside her chest, her heart beat frantically with anticipation.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside, already picturing how her mouth would look once the procedure was finished. Plumper. Softer. More exciting. The thought made her lips part slightly as she rode down toward the lobby, and for the first time that day, the fog in her mind felt almost pleasant.

She was going to make them perfect.

And nothing was going to stop her,

❖

Flick pushed open the glass door of the ‘Elite Enhancements’ private clinic and stepped into the hushed reception area with her pulse beating wildly. The moment she entered the premises, her legs felt unsteady, as though the floor itself had shifted beneath her. The blonde had driven here on pure compulsion, yet now that she stood inside the white-walled space, her mind screamed at her to turn around and leave. Her hands trembled at her side. She clutched the strap of her bag tightly, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself move back toward the exit. The nervousness showed plainly on her face, her wide blue eyes darting around the waiting area while her painted lips pressed into an uncertain line.

A bright, cheerful voice took Flick by surprise. “Hi there, sweetie! Welcome to Elite Enhancements. You look like you need a little help over there.”

Flick turned toward the source of the greeting and gasped at the sight before her. Behind a high, curved white counter sat a woman who looked like the physical embodiment of a plastic surgery brochure. Her hair was a vibrant, artificial shade of platinum blonde that looked as though it were made of fine thread, and her mouth was so heavily modified that it remained in a permanent, pillowy pout. The receptionist was dressed in a tight white uniform that appeared several sizes too small for her augmented figure, and she watched Flick with an expression of false warmth.

“I… I’m not really sure why I’m here,” Flick stammered. She tried to summon the dismissive tone she had used in the past, but the words felt like they belonged to a stranger. “I saw one of your commercials on Instagram, and I felt like I needed to come. But now that I’m here, I feel like I might have made a mistake.”

The receptionist stood up and moved around the counter with a seductive, swaying motion that Flick found herself watching with a dazed curiosity. The woman’s name tag identified her as Crystal, and she wore a smile that seemed fixed in place by the same fillers that gave her lips their massive volume. She reached out and affectionately placed a hand on the nervous blonde’s shoulder.

“There are no mistakes at Elite Enhancements, honey,” Crystal said, her voice sounding like a sugar purr that vibrated through the empty room. “There are only happy accidents and beautiful beginnings. You walked through that door because you knew deep down that the woman in the mirror wasn’t living up to her full potential. You look absolutely adorable in that little schoolgirl outfit, babe, but I can see the frustration in your eyes.”

Flick felt her face heat up both with a sense of embarrassment and a strange, adoring thrill at the woman’s touch. She looked down at the white shirt she had knotted beneath her breasts, realizing how insane she must look to a stranger. She wanted to explain that she didn’t usually dress like this, that it was the side effect of a maddening itch she couldn’t repel, but her mind felt too heavy and sluggish to form the explanation.

“I… umm… I looked at my lips today,” Flick whispered nervously. “They just seemed so plain. It was like they just didn’t feel right on my own face, and it made me feel like I was invisible.”

The receptionist let out a soft giggle and gave the blonde’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That is a very common feeling for a girl with so much untapped beauty, sweetie. You have been walking around with those thin, boring lips for far too long, and your body is just telling you that it is time for an upgrade. We don’t want you looking like a plain Jane when you could be looking like a masterpiece, do we?”

“No,” the blonde replied, the words escaping her mouth before she could think to stop it. She felt slightly offended by the way the bimbo critiqued her lips, but it was no different from how she was currently feeling about them.

Crystal leaned in a little closer, and the proximity allowed Flick to see the sheer density of the fillers in the other woman’s face. “You have a gorgeous foundation to work with, babe, but you’re hiding it behind a boring, tired look. Your mouth is the most important feature you have. You want to be exciting, don’t you? You want to be the kind of girl that people can’t stop looking at, even when you aren’t saying a word.”

Flick felt a warm, dizzying sensation in her chest at the word “exciting.” She had no idea why this woman’s words were hitting her so hard, but the young blonde found herself nodding along as Crystal described the clinic’s philosophy, her mind already picturing how her new, fuller lips would feel when she spoke.

“That’s exactly why we’re here, sugar,” Crystal replied as she moved back toward the counter and pulled a tablet from its docking station. “We have a very special prototype that I think would be perfect for you. The technique is only a few months old, but I had the procedure last week, and I love it. We call it the ‘Pouting Petal’ package. It’s designed specifically for women who want to see immediate effects, and don’t want to revisit for a touch-up every few months.”

Flick reached out and took the tablet, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against Crystal’s long, neon-pink nails. She stared at the screen, but the legal and medical jargon was just as confusing as the property deeds in her office had been. Words like “hyaluronic density” and “aesthetic variance” blurred before her eyes, and she found that she simply didn’t have the energy to try to decipher them. The frustration that usually came with her lack of understanding was gone, replaced by a sense of relief that she was letting someone else take charge of her decisions.

“I just want them to be better,” Flick whispered, her eyes fixed on the screen. “I want them to look soft and... and inviting.”

“And they will be, sugar,” the receptionist replied as she gestured toward the bottom of the device. “I just need you to sign these digital consent forms. It basically states that you understand the results are significant and that you are eager to proceed with the modifications. It also gives the doctor permission to take creative license if he feels that something will work better with your new look.”

Flick took the stylus and scrolled to the bottom of the page. She didn’t even try to read the clauses; she simply scribbled her signature with a shaky flourish. The part of her that used to be so careful and calculating was silent, replaced by this dying urge to change her face.

Crystal reclaimed the device and beamed at her, her smile looking even wider and more fixed than before. “You are such a wonderful patient, honey. You’re making a very brave choice today, and I promise you that you won’t regret it. Once the doctor is finished with you, you’re going to feel like a completely different woman.”

The blonde receptionist pointed toward a plush armchair in a secluded corner of the lobby and then glanced back at the white doors at the end of the room. “Why don’t you head over there and take a seat, babe? The doctor is just finishing up with a touch-up for another one of our regulars, and he’ll be out to fetch you shortly. Just try to relax and think about how beautiful you’re going to look when you walk back out that front door with your brand new mouth.”

Flick nodded numbly, her legs carrying her toward the comfortable armchair on autopilot while her mind spun in helpless circles. She lowered herself into the seat and absently reached inside her bag for the small compact mirror. Flipping it open, she angled the tiny reflective surface toward her face once more, staring at the same red lips that had driven her here. The sight only deepened the restless hunger inside her, making her pulse quicken as she waited for the doctor to appear.

❖

Flick stormed down the Brickell Avenue sidewalk with her fists clenched so tightly that her long red nails dug into her palms. The Florida sun beat down on the crowded street, but the woman barely registered the heat or the people weaving around her. All she could feel was the furious, humiliated anger boiling inside her chest, pushing her forward in stomping strides. She heard a wolf whistle, but she paid it no mind, her brain too busy replaying the last hour in her head, that moment the doctor had leaned back, smiled politely, and said the words that changed everything.

“You’re all done. You can sit up now.”

The moment those words had left the doctor’s mouth, Flick’s mind had snapped back into brutal clarity. The thick, comforting fog that had clouded the blonde’s thoughts all morning had vanished in an instant, leaving her staring at her own reflection in the small handheld mirror the man had offered her. Horror crashed over the young CEO. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Then, suddenly, the blonde bolted upright from the chair, grabbed her bag, and fled the treatment room without a word. She had run down the short hallway, pushed open the door to the small female restroom attached to the clinic’s reception area, and locked the door shut.

Inside the restroom, she had found herself fumbling inside her bag, her fingers closing around the familiar tube of glossy red lipstick. She had twisted the cap off and leaned over the sink, staring at the stranger in the mirror as she applied the thick, wax color in generous strokes. She coated her lips heavily, layering the bright red gloss over and over until it shone wet and obscene before her very eyes. Only then, with the fresh coat still tacky on her mouth, did Flick truly see what had been done to her.

Her lips were enormous now. Two bloated, pillow-like cushions that dominated the lower half of her face, swollen far beyond anything natural or subtle. The upper lip curved into a dramatic, overplumped pout, while the lower lip looked heavy and bee-stung, both glistening with the thick red gloss she had just applied. They looked ridiculous, cartoonish, like they belonged on a blow-up doll rather than her own face. Every time she parted them even slightly, they moved with a seductive style that made her stomach twist with fresh nausea. Her face looked like a parody of a pornstar, and the sight made her want to scream.

She tried to press her mouth shut as she navigated the crowded sidewalk, but the density of the filler made the simple act a struggle. Her lips were so overstuffed that they naturally wanted to hang open in a soft, mindless gape, exposing the tips of her white teeth to anyone heading her way.

Flick felt a wave of dizziness as she remembered the clinic, the way she had practically begged the doctor to take creative license with her features. She couldn’t understand why she had done it, why the clever, manipulative mind she possessed had checked out and left her to become a victim of her own vanity. She had been smart enough to screw her stepbrother out of the will that rightfully belonged to him, yet she had just signed a consent form that she hadn’t even bothered to read.

A group of tourists in floral shirts moved out of her way, their eyes widening as they took in the tall blonde in the shredded navy skirt and the knotted white blouse. Flick felt their stares burn into her, but the humiliation was secondary to the growing dread in her mind. She needed to get back to the office and find out what the hell was happening to her, to find out how she had lost her mind ever since taking control of that damn company. She had her entire life planned out, and she couldn’t implement any of it while she had the face of a streetwalking whore.

The blonde dodged a businessman who was staring at her with unabashed lust, his eyes fixed on the vibrant red of her mouth. Flick wanted to sneer at him like she always did with old farts who thought they could get a look in, but the unnatural position of her lips made any sharp facial expression feel like a tiring chore. The sheer volume of the clinic’s procedure was a constant, throbbing presence on her face, and as she neared a busy construction site on the corner, she felt a horrid, familiar shudder race down her spine.

The sensation was identical to the one she had felt in her bedroom that morning when Sam had spoken those ridiculous words. Flick tried to fight it, digging her heels into the pavement, but the world around her began to blur as that thick, adoring fog returned to her mind with a vengeance. Her “independent” consciousness was suddenly pushed into a dark corner, forced to watch as a passenger while her body assumed a life of its own.

The young woman’s angry, stomping strides transformed into a slow, rhythmic parade of exaggerated flirtation. Her hips began to sway with a hypnotic, side-to-side motion that caused her ass to thrust out as she walked. The blonde felt her head tilt back slightly, her huge lips parting into a soft, mindless gape as she approached the group of young construction workers taking their afternoon break.

The men stopped their conversation the moment she came into view; their jaws dropped as they took in the tall, blonde vision in the tied-off top and comically short skirt. Flick didn’t look away or scowl as she usually would. Instead, her face split into a wide, plastic smile that stretched her swollen lips to their absolute limit. Her eyes sparkled with a vapid, shallow delight that she had no part in creating.

As Flick passed the men, her hand rose to her face with a sexy, practiced motion. She pressed her long red nails against the wet gloss of her bottom lip before blowing them a slow, seductive kiss. The men erupted in a chorus of wolf whistles and raucous cheers, shouting lewd compliments that would have normally made her blood boil. Flick only giggled before continuing her sultry walk down the block.

The moment she rounded the corner and the men were out of sight, the mental curtain was yanked back again. Flick stopped so abruptly that she nearly tripped over her own shoes, her hands flying to her mouth in a state of absolute terror. She leaned against a brick wall and felt the nausea return, her mind reeling from the realization that she was no longer pulling her own strings. She had just performed like a streetwalker for a group of strangers, and her brand-new, ridiculous lips had been the centerpiece of the show.

“Oh god,” she whispered through her overplumped mouth. “What have I done?”

She looked down at her hands and saw they were still shaking. She had no idea why her body kept moving on autopilot, but she did know that it was slowly destroying her life. She needed to get back to the office to research what she was going through as soon as possible, but the fear that she might pass another group of men before she reached the safety of her own office was almost enough to keep her rooted to the spot. Flick took a deep breath and forced herself to move, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground as she tried to navigate the final blocks back to Gordon Enterprises.

❖

The glass doors of Gordon Enterprises slid open, and Flick stepped into the lobby with her head bowed, her dark blonde hair acting as a thin veil to hide her face. The walk from the clinic had been an endurance test of her sanity, and now that she was back within the walls of her own company, the internal humiliation in her gut compounded with every step forward. She kept her eyes fixed on the stone floor, trying to ignore everyone around her.

The evening shift had already taken over, and the lobby was relatively quiet, but the few employees and maintenance staff scattered across the vast space were impossible to ignore. Flick could feel the heat of their gazes on her skin, and that sense followed her all the way to the security gates. She knew what they were seeing: a woman who had left in a knotted schoolgirl outfit and returned with a mouth that looked like an advertisement for a different kind of business. No matter how much she tried to settle into her original resting face, she found it increasingly difficult to keep her big lips pressed together in anything resembling a professional expression.

As the woman moved deeper into the lobby, a new and entirely different sensation began to manifest, a pulsing, deep-seated ache that radiated from between her legs. It was an unnatural, humiliating throb that seemed to pulse against her clit in time with her quickening heartbeat. Every time the fabric of her panties brushed against her, the sensation intensified, sending a spasm of unwanted pleasure through her body. The shame of the experience made Flick’s stomach twist, yet the feeling was undeniable, a magnetic pull that made her knees weak.

Flick reached the security checkpoint, the silver turnstiles standing like a final hurdle before the safety of the corporate elevators. Flick reached into her designer bag and searched for her ID, although her fingers felt clumsy in her current state. She kept her head down, focusing on the contents of her purse while she fought the urge to slip a hand down her skirt.

“Good evening, Miss Gordon. It’s a bit late for you tonight, isn’t it?”

The voice was warm and familiar to the woman’s ear. Flick looked up and found herself face-to-face with Miles, one of the longtime security guards at the main gate. He was a middle-aged black man with a sweet, genuine smile and a reputation for being the most polite member of the security team. Their interactions had always been brief, but the man had a way of making everyone feel seen, a trait that Flick usually found mildly annoying but now found terrifying.

The CEO held out her plastic ID card and waited for the bulky man to take it. “Yes, it’s been a very long day, Miles. I just have a few things to finish up in my office before I head home.”

Miles took the card from her, but instead of swiping it through the reader immediately, he paused. He looked at Flick quizzically, his eyes scanning her face with confusion. He looked at her blonde hair and then down at her outfit, his expression shifting as he took in the sheer absurdity of the executive’s appearance.

Flick wanted this interaction over as quickly as possible. She shifted her weight from one heel to the other, trying to ignore the persistent, humiliating throb that pulsed between her legs with every heartbeat. The ache was relentless, a slick, warm pressure that made her thighs clench involuntarily. She kept her head down, willing Miles to scan the card and let her pass, but the guard’s gentle curiosity refused to let the moment end.

“Something changed about you lately, Miss Gordon?” the security guard asked, his voice kind and genuinely interested. “Have you changed your hairstyle? It looks different. Really suits you.”

Flick’s stomach twisted tighter at the question. She wanted nothing more than to snatch the card back, mutter a quick thanks, and disappear into the elevator, but her body had other plans. The compulsion surged forward like a tide she couldn’t hold back, flooding her mind and loosening her tongue before she could stop it. She leaned across the checkpoint counter, her bare midriff brushing the edge, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Miles’ cheek. Her massively swollen lips left a faint, glossy imprint on his skin as she pulled back just enough to whisper in the most disgustingly flirtatious tone imaginable.

“You’re so perceptive, Miles,” she purred, each word dripping with an artificial submissive sweetness. “It makes a girl feel so special when a strong, handsome man notices the little things like that.”

The moment the words left her mouth, disgust washed over her. What the fuck am I saying? she thought to herself. This is humiliating. I own this damn company.

Miles blinked, clearly taken aback by the woman’s forwardness, but his sweet smile widened into something warmer, something that showed he liked this new version of her. He accepted the card back from Flick with a slight nod, his eyes staring at her face for a moment longer than necessary.

“Have a nice evening, Miss Gordon,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of pleasant surprise.

The blonde snatched the card from his hand and stormed off toward the elevators. She could still feel the ghost of the security guard’s skin on her lips, and she could still hear the flirtatious purr she had forced out. The aching in her pussy hadn’t faded. If anything, the forced interaction had made it worse. She jabbed the elevator button hard, willing the doors to open faster so she could escape the lobby and the eyes that still followed her.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Flick stepped inside and pressed the button for her floor, leaning back against the mirrored wall as the doors closed. She stared at her reflection, the massive, glossy lips dominating her face, the humiliatingly slutty ensemble that she wouldn’t have been caught dead in a couple of weeks ago. The embarrassing throb between her legs continued, a constant, degrading pulse that made her squeeze her thighs once more. She had to get to her office and lock the door before trying to figure out how to stop this before she lost even more of herself.

The elevator began its ascent, but the shame and unwanted heat stayed with the woman, following her all the way up.

❖

Flick strode down the quiet executive corridor on the top floor, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of her heels as she made a direct line for her own office door. The building felt deserted at this hour, most of the staff long gone, and she welcomed the silence after the day she had just been through. She kept her gaze ahead, determined to lock herself away and find a way to figure out what was going on with her. The massive pillows on her face still felt weird and foreign, but she pushed the thought of them down and focused on reaching her desk.

The blonde passed the open doorway of the CFO’s office without slowing at first. Inside, Giles sat hunched over his keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys in frustrated bursts while muttering under his breath. The sight stopped the CEO cold. It wasn’t the fact that the office belonged to Giles that made her pause; it was the obvious tension rolling off the man who had always been so eager to please her. She wondered what had him worked up at this late hour and gave the doorframe a light tap before stepping inside.

Giles glanced up briefly, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the woman, but he returned to the screen without muttering a word to her. His jaw stayed rigid as he continued typing.

Flick lingered just inside the doorway, the air con from his office pushing against her bare stomach where the white blouse remained knotted high. “Hey, Giles,” she said as she cleared her throat. “Is everything okay?”

He kept typing, ignoring the young woman completely.

The blonde shifted uncomfortably. When was the last time Giles ever ignored me? Flick thought to herself. “Giles, what’s wrong?”

The older man stopped typing at last. He leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, turning to face the woman fully. His expression was one of pure exhaustion mixed with clear irritation. “Where the hell have you been, Felicity?” he asked, his voice laced with frustration. “I’ve spent the entire afternoon and evening covering your meetings, sitting in on calls you were supposed to handle, and cleaning up the loose ends you left scattered across three different departments. I’m still here grinding through my own reports because I had to step in and make sure nothing fell apart on your watch. I should be home right now with my feet up and a cold drink in my hand, not stuck here!”

Flick stood there listening, and for the briefest flicker, a spark of amusement rose inside her. The thought that Giles had been working so hard just to protect her image like a good little boy struck her as humorous. That tiny feeling lasted less than a second. The compulsion she had been fighting against all day swept over her in an instant, smothering her amusement and guiding her forward before she could stop herself. Flick stepped deeper into the office, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality that sealed them inside together.

Giles watched his late best friend’s stepdaughter approach, his irritation still plain, but he said nothing more. He simply waited, his arms crossed over his chest as if daring the blonde to explain.

Her hand moved on its own, dipping into the small side pocket of her bag and pulling out a slim cigarette and lighter. She had tossed away the last pack and had no idea where they kept coming from. The blonde brought the cigarette to her swollen lips, the glossy red surface puckering seductively as she clicked the lighter and drew in a slow breath. Smoke curled from the tip, and she exhaled a thin stream toward the ceiling, the nicotine hitting her system like a strange calm that only made the compulsion stronger. She dropped her bag onto the floor as she advanced toward the man’s desk.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said, her voice dropping into a low, velvety promise that sounded nothing like the woman Giles had watched grow up. She circled around the side of his desk with slow, sensual steps, her free hand absently pulling the hem of her navy skirt up to give the man a flash of her underwear. Giles’ eyes followed her, his irritation giving way to surprise, and then something hotter as she closed the distance.

The woman sank slowly to her knees on the floor between the man’s legs, reached out and began to unfasten the belt of his trousers, her long, manicured nails brushing against the fabric on purpose. She looked up at him from the shadows beneath the desk, her huge, red-painted mouth already parting to reveal the tip of her tongue. “You can keep working and finish everything up,” she looked up at him with a bimbo pout and doe-like eyes. “I’ll take care of the apology right here.”

Flick reached into the opening of her criminal associate’s boxers and pulled his thick, hard cock out into the air. She didn’t hesitate, wrapping her small, manicured hand around the base of the shaft and squeezing tight. The heat of him against her palm sent a fresh wave of that mindless arousal through her body. She leaned in, her huge, glossy lips stretching wide as she took the head of his cock into her mouth. The sheer size of her new lips made the sensation incredible; they were soft, puffy cushions that massaged every inch of him as she slid down. She sucked him deep, her cheeks sucking in as she pulled him into the back of her throat, making a wet, slurping sound that echoed in the office.

The blonde pulled back just enough to take a slow, seductive puff of her cigarette. She exhaled the smoke through her nose and then went right back down on him, her tongue swirling around the tip before she swallowed him whole again. The CEO was working his member with a desperate, slutty focus, her hands stroking the length of him at a steady pace. Giles let out a low groan, his hands clenched tightly in a pair of fists. What has gotten into Felicity? Giles wondered as his mind swam with pleasure. And how am I supposed to work with this pleasant distraction?

Suddenly, Giles’ office door swung open without a single knock. Mary, a middle-aged brunette with her clutch bag draped over her arm, marched into the entranceway of the room. Giles jumped in his seat, his pulse racing as he tried to pull his chair closer to the desk to hide the blonde woman kneeling between his legs.

“Oh! Mr. Westley, I am so sorry! I thought you had left for the night, and I saw your light was still on,” Giles’ Personal Assistant exclaimed, her face flushing as she stopped in her tracks. She looked at her boss with a puzzled expression, her eyes darting to the way he was sitting so stiffly. “I’m heading home now. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No, Mary, I’m fine!” Giles snapped a little too loudly, his voice strained as he tried to keep his breathing under control. Flick didn’t stop. She kept her mouth clamped tight around his shaft, her tongue flicking the underside of the head while she looked up at the underside of the desk. “I’m just… finishing up these reports. Go home.”

“Of course,” Mary replied, though she lingered for a moment. “I’ve already filtered your schedule for tomorrow, but it’s still a very packed day. You have the board meeting at nine and the lunch with the developers at noon.”

“Fine, thank you, goodnight!” the man blurted out, his face starting to turn red as Flick gave his cock a particularly hard, wet tug with her mouth. He let out a sharp, choked-off gasp that he tried to turn into a cough.

Mary frowned, her gaze shifting to the thin stream of smoke drifting up from behind the desk, where the CEO was still holding the cigarette. “Is everything alright, sir? I see smoke. Do I need to grab an extinguisher?”

“It’s not necessary, Mary!” Giles raised his voice, his hand waving dismissively in the air. “I’m just… It’s nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The brunette woman nodded slowly, though she looked unconvinced. “Very well then. Goodnight, Mr. Westley.” She finally turned and walked out, the door shutting behind her.

Giles let out the breath he had been holding in a long, shaky rush. He looked down at Flick, who was looking back at him with a mindless, glazed expression, the cigarette still perched between her fingers. She didn’t say a word. She just opened her extremely plump, red-painted mouth and took the man back inside, sucking him with a renewed, dirty intensity. She was determined to finish what she started, her head bobbing as she buried his cock in her throat over and over. The sound of her slurping was the only thing in the room, a wet, filthy cadence that made the older man’s hips jerk forward in the chair.

“Fuck, Flick,” he hissed, his hands moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her blonde hair. He stopped trying to work, his focus entirely on the way those ridiculous, overstuffed lips were milking him. “Suck it. Suck every drop out, you little whore.”

Flick complied happily, her eyes rolling back in her head as she felt the pressure building in him. She increased the suction, her tongue working like a professional as she pushed herself to the limit. She wanted to taste him, to feel the proof of her hard work filling her mouth. Giles’ body went rigid, his breathing coming in short bursts as he reached the point of no return.

“I’m gonna cum!” he growled, his fingers digging into the blonde’s scalp.

The older man didn’t pull out. He thrust his hips forward, burying himself as deep as he could go in her throat as he erupted. Flick felt the hot, thick jets of cum hitting the back of her mouth, and she didn’t flinch. She kept sucking, swallowing every bit of him with a greedy, mindless focus. She ensured he was totally clean, her tongue sweeping over the head of his cock until he finally slumped back in his chair, completely spent. She pulled away with a wet pop, a thin string of saliva and cum connected her still-perfect red lips to his shaft for a brief second before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a vapid, satisfied smile stretching across her face.

In an instant, the invisible tether that had been yanking Flick’s strings for the last half hour snapped. The fog in her brain evaporated, leaving behind a cold silence that made her ears ring. She looked up at Giles from her knees on the floor, and the satisfied smile on her face died a sudden death. Absolute horror washed over her, a wave of such intense revulsion that she felt her stomach heave. She stared at the man she had just serviced, her blue eyes widening as she realized the gravity of the submissive ritual she had just cemented. She wasn’t the beautiful, manipulative girl used to pulling the strings of the men around her; she was just a girl on the floor, covered in the mess of a man she was supposed to control.

Flick tried to stand, but her legs felt like lead, and she fell back down to her knees. The blonde absently touched her mouth with her trembling fingers, feeling the wet, tacky remnants of the CFO’s climax smeared against the glossy red paint she had applied at the clinic. She was abjectly humiliated, and she had no idea where to go from here.

Giles didn’t move to cover himself. Instead, he leaned forward, his face no longer twisted with the earlier angst he was feeling. He looked down at the woman he had lusted after for years with a calm, patronizing warmth. He reached out and stroked the kneeling woman’s face, his fingers trailing slowly over the line of her jaw and stopping at her chin. He tilted her head up slightly, forcing Flick to meet his gaze.

“There’s no need for that look, Felicity,” Giles said, his voice smooth and confident in a way that made the CEO’s skin crawl. “I told you I was frustrated, but you’ve made a very convincing apology. You are forgiven.”

The words felt like a slap. Flick wanted to scream at the man, to tell him that she didn’t need his forgiveness, and certainly didn’t intend to apologize in the way she did. However, as she parted her lips, her sentences came out as a garbled mess, her mind reeling with too many thoughts to get a coherent word out. As Giles continued to stroke the blonde’s face like a prized pet, Flick realized that nothing would be the same again.

End of Chapter Three.