Boss Claims His Cut

When the boss finds what’s under my jeans, the late shift turns filthy and brutal.

The afternoon sun filtered through the chain-link fence as Finn and I lingered behind the school after the final bell. He stood there with that familiar lean energy, messy brown curls tumbling over his forehead and those bright blue eyes sparkling with the usual spark of mischief. His faded graphic tee was tucked loosely into cargo shorts, scuffed sneakers planted wide, backpack slung over one shoulder like he had nowhere better to be. I leaned against the warm brick wall of the old storage shed beside him, my tight jeans hugging the generous flare of my curvy hips and the thick, rounded swell of my chunky ass over the black thong hidden beneath. The Metallica t-shirt hung loose across my lean torso, high-top sneakers planted firmly on the pavement, baseball cap pulled low over my dark chin-length wavy hair to shade my round feminine face. My large brown eyes flicked toward him as we talked, my narrow nose catching the faint breeze while my naturally pouty lips curved into a small smile. At sixteen years old and standing five-foot-eight at around sixty-seven kilos, my light brown skin stayed smooth and completely hairless everywhere except for the soft waves on my head, my eyebrows, and those long lashes that framed my eyes so prettily. Most of my weight settled in all the right places—the soft, conical swells on my chest that pressed gently against the fabric, the shapely thickness of my thighs, the inviting dip of my narrow waist, and that plush, jiggly rear that shifted with every little movement.

The OnlyFans page Finn had set up for me as DivineDollBoi was pulling in some traffic from the teaser clips we’d posted, but it still paled compared to the explosion of views on that first free-site video we’d uploaded weeks ago. A quiet disappointment settled in my chest as I scrolled through the numbers on my phone, the late afternoon light warming my light brown skin. Finn stayed upbeat as always, bumping my shoulder with his and insisting the audience would build steadily once I uploaded more content and grew a proper library of scenes. “Just wait, man,” he said, voice light and encouraging. “You looked so fucking hot in that wig and those heels with Big Kev. People are gonna eat up whatever we drop next. Your body’s made for this—those soft little tits, that fat ass bouncing, the way your pretty face flushes when you’re taking it. Trust me.”

I nodded, feeling that familiar warmth creep through me at his words, but the conversation shifted when Finn admitted he’d rewatched the footage of my encounter with Big Kev countless times over the last couple of days. His usual playful demeanor gave way to something clearer, more urgent, his bright blue eyes darkening with arousal as he stepped closer. “Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about it,” he muttered, hands already brushing my waist, fingers tracing the curve of my hips through the tight jeans. “The way you looked all dolled up, taking that massive cock… I need you right now. Let me fuck your ass, right here on school grounds. Please. I’ll be quick—I swear.”

The risk of it sent a familiar thrill racing through my veins, my pouty lips parting on a shaky breath as my large brown eyes met his. My heart hammered against my soft conical chest, but the heat between my thighs won out. I glanced around the empty stretch behind the shed, the overgrown bushes and the building’s long shadow creating a discreet pocket shielded from view. “Okay,” I whispered, voice breathy and expressive, already turning toward the wall. “But hurry—someone could walk by any second.”

Finn didn’t waste a moment. He dropped to his knees behind me on the cracked pavement, his hands eager as he tugged my tight jeans down to my knees along with the waistband of the black thong. The thin strip of fabric caught briefly on the generous swell of my chunky ass before he pulled it aside, fully exposing my smooth, hairless cleft and the tight pink ring nestled between those plush cheeks. Cool air kissed my skin, making my shapely thighs tremble as he buried his face between them without hesitation. His hot tongue dragged flat and slow from the base of my full sac all the way up, lapping greedily over my hole with wet, insistent strokes that left me slick and quivering. He swirled the pointed tip around the sensitive rim, then pushed inside, spearing deep with messy, probing thrusts that made my inner walls flutter and clench around the invading muscle. Saliva dripped messily down my crack as he devoured me, groaning low against my skin while his hands gripped the thick, rounded curves of my rear, kneading the soft flesh and spreading me wider so he could lick even deeper. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working me open filled the shadowed space, my pouty lips falling open on soft, needy whimpers as pleasure sparked up my spine. My five-inch circumcised cock twitched inside the bunched thong, the full sac beneath it drawing tight while my soft conical swells rose and fell faster under the t-shirt.

After several long minutes of his tongue fucking me like that—lapping and swirling until I was dripping and open—he stood up behind me, breathing hard. I heard the rustle of his cargo shorts dropping, then felt the blunt, hot head of his six-inch cock press against my spit-slick entrance. He spat generously onto his length, smearing it quickly, and pushed in steadily from behind. The initial burn flared sharp through my stretched ring as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips met the jiggling plushness of my chunky ass. “Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he groaned, hands gripping my waist tight as he started moving. His hips snapped forward in controlled thrusts, the angle letting him drive straight into me against the shed wall, my high-top sneakers planted wide for balance while my palms braced against the rough brick. Each pump sent jolts of heat through my core, his cock dragging along my inner walls and grinding against that sensitive spot inside with every rock of his hips. My large brown eyes fluttered half-closed, wavy hair sticking to my flushed cheeks under the baseball cap as I pushed back to meet him, moaning softly. “Yes… just like that, Finn—fill me up,” I gasped, voice trembling with need. The risk of getting caught only made it hotter, my curvy hips rolling to take him deeper while my thick rear rippled from the impact of his thrusts.

He didn’t last long in the urgency of it all. His rhythm grew erratic, fingers digging into my narrow waist as he buried himself to the hilt one final time. A deep shudder ran through him, and I felt the hot rush of his load spilling deep inside me—thick pulses flooding my channel until it overflowed and leaked warm down my inner thighs. He stayed pressed against me for a heavy breath, then pulled out slowly with a wet sound, leaving me gaping and dripping. We dressed quickly afterward, the warmth of his cum still leaking into the black thong as I yanked my tight jeans back up over my hips. I adjusted my baseball cap, feeling the pleasant ache settle between my shapely thighs, and we parted ways with a shared grin and a quick fist bump. “Catch you later,” he said, already backing away with that mischievous sparkle back in his eyes. I watched him go, my pouty lips curved in a satisfied little smile, the secret thrill humming through every inch of my light brown body as I headed toward the grocery store for my shift.

Later that afternoon I reported for work at Mr. Wilson’s grocery store, still wearing the same tight jeans hugging my curvy hips and thick ass over the cum-damp black thong, the band t-shirt loose across my soft conical swells, high-top sneakers on my feet, and the baseball cap shading my round feminine face. My backpack was stowed in the break room, and I moved through the early evening rush with the usual rhythm—stocking shelves, ringing up customers, trying to ignore the faint leak of Finn’s load still warming inside me. Mr. Wilson, the stocky white man in his early fifties, watched me from behind the counter the whole time. His ruddy, weathered face stayed set in that perpetual scowl, short graying hair cropped close to his scalp, heavy brows furrowed under the faded store cap. He wore his standard blue polo shirt tucked tightly into khaki work pants, the name tag pinned crookedly to his chest pocket, and his stocky frame radiated the same gruff impatience it always did.

He had noticed my recent pattern of slacking during shifts and taking excessively long on delivery runs, no doubt tied to my lingering highs with Finn and everything else I’d been juggling. As the store emptied out near closing time, his suspicion finally boiled over. The last customer left, and the automatic doors hissed shut behind them. Mr. Wilson flipped the sign to CLOSED with a decisive click and locked the front door, then turned to me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You’re staying late tonight, kid,” he growled, voice rough and commanding. “Full inventory count in the stockroom. No excuses. You’ve been half-assing it around here for weeks, and I’m done letting it slide. Prove you still give a shit about this job or you can find somewhere else to slack off.”

I swallowed hard, my large brown eyes widening slightly under the brim of my baseball cap, but I nodded without argument. “Yes, sir,” I murmured, my pouty lips pressing together as I followed him through the swinging door into the back stockroom. The space smelled of cardboard and dust, harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and casting stark shadows across the metal shelves lined with crates and boxes. Mr. Wilson handed me a clipboard and barked orders, pointing out sections that needed counting and sorting. I moved through the task methodically at first, bending and lifting boxes as instructed, my shapely thighs flexing under the tight jeans while my curvy hips swayed with each movement. The soft conical swells on my chest shifted gently beneath the t-shirt, and my thick, chunky ass filled out the denim in a way that always drew second glances.

But when I crouched low to hoist a small crate from the bottom shelf, my tight jeans pulled down just enough at the waistband to expose the upper edge of the black lace thong. The delicate fabric peeked out clearly against my smooth light brown skin, the thin band hugging the narrow dip above my wide hips. Mr. Wilson froze behind me, his ruddy face flushing a deeper shade of red as the discovery registered. I straightened up quickly, but it was too late—he stepped closer, his stocky frame looming as his eyes narrowed on the exposed lace.

“What the hell is that?” he demanded, voice low and edged with disbelief. He reached out and hooked a thick finger into the waistband of my jeans, yanking them down an inch further to confirm. “Panties? Under your work clothes? You some kind of freak, boy?”

Heat flooded my light brown cheeks, my narrow nose flaring as I met his gaze. My large brown eyes flicked down for a second before I forced them back up, my pouty lips trembling slightly. “I… I’m gay, Mr. Wilson,” I admitted softly, voice expressive and honest despite the shame twisting in my stomach. “I like wearing them. They make me feel… good. I didn’t mean for anyone to see.”

His heavy brows shot up, then his scowl deepened into something darker, hungrier. Things escalated instantly, his stocky frame closing in until the heat of his body pressed close enough for me to smell the faint mix of sweat and aftershave on him. “Gay, huh? And prancing around my store in lace like some little slut while you waste my time on those long delivery runs? You think I didn’t notice how you’ve been dragging ass lately?” His tone laced thick with humiliation, eyes raking over my round feminine face and the way my t-shirt clung to the soft swells beneath it. “Well, this late-night inventory duty just got a whole new set of rules. You’re gonna make it up to me fully tonight, or I’ll make sure every shift you’ve slacked off gets docked—and maybe I’ll let slip what you’ve got hiding under those jeans. No more half-assing it. You’re gonna earn your keep right here, right now.”

The implication hung heavy in the dusty air, his commanding presence leaving no room for refusal. My heart pounded, a strange mix of fear and that deep, secret thrill pulsing low in my belly as his ruddy face hovered inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his chest rose and fell under the blue polo. Before I could even form a response, his big hand clamped down on my shoulder, fingers digging in with bruising pressure. He shoved me down hard, forcing me to my knees on the cold concrete floor amid the scattered crates. My high-top sneakers scraped against the grit as I knelt before him, baseball cap still low on my wavy hair, my large brown eyes looking up at his flushed face while my pouty lips parted on a shaky inhale. The clipboard clattered forgotten to the floor beside me.

Mr. Wilson’s hands worked open his khaki work pants with deliberate slowness, his stocky frame towering over my kneeling form as he freed his thickening six-and-a-half-inch cock right in front of my face. The ruddy length bobbed heavily in the harsh fluorescent light, veins standing out along the shaft as it swelled thicker under my gaze, the flushed head already glistening at the tip. My large brown eyes widened, long lashes fluttering as I looked up at his weathered face, my pouty lips parting on a soft, shaky breath while my dark chin-length wavy hair shifted under the baseball cap. At eighteen, my smooth light brown skin flushed hot across my round feminine features, the narrow bridge of my nose catching the faint sheen of nervous sweat as my curvy hips settled back on my heels, high-top sneakers scraping the gritty concrete.

I leaned forward without being told twice, my soft hands rising to cup the heavy weight of his balls, fingers gently rolling and massaging the full sac in slow circles while my full lips brushed the fat head. I kissed it open-mouthed, tongue swirling around the slit to taste the salty bead that welled there, then parted wider and took the thick crown into the wet heat of my mouth. My cheeks hollowed as I sucked reverently, lips stretching around the girth while my tongue pressed flat along the underside, tracing every pulsing vein. Mr. Wilson grunted low, one big hand yanking the baseball cap off my head and tossing it aside before gripping the back of my wavy hair. He forced me deeper, the shaft sliding hot and heavy across my tongue until the head nudged the back of my throat. I gagged softly at first, eyes watering as saliva built fast, but I relaxed my jaw and let him push further, swallowing around the invasion so the tight muscles rippled along his length.

“Pathetic little slacker,” he growled, voice rough and laced with disgust as he started thrusting into my mouth with rough, deliberate pumps. “Prancing around my store in lace panties like some desperate whore, wasting my time on those long delivery runs, and now look at you—on your knees sucking cock like you were born for it.” His hips rocked forward, using my throat like a toy, the wet, sloppy sounds of my gagging and swallowing echoing off the stockroom shelves. Saliva dripped messily from the corners of my stretched lips, running in shiny strands down my chin and soaking into the front of my t-shirt. My hands never left his balls, continuously cupping and massaging them, rolling the heavy sac in my palms while my tongue worked frantically underneath every thrust. The burn in my throat mixed with a deep, shameful heat low in my belly, my own five-inch circumcised cock twitching hard inside the black thong, the full sac beneath it drawn tight as I moaned around his thickness.

He held my head steady with both hands now, fucking my face in long, steady strokes that made my wavy hair sway and my soft conical swells jiggle faintly under the t-shirt. “Fuck, you’re good at this—too good for a lazy little shit like you,” he sneered, his ruddy face flushed darker as he watched my large brown eyes stream with tears. “Bet you wear those panties every day, don’t you? Hiding that tiny dick between your thick thighs while you bend over for customers. Pathetic.” I whimpered around his cock, the vibration pulling a rough groan from him as I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks and swallowing convulsively to milk every inch. The taste of him filled my mouth—salty, musky, overwhelming—and I kept my hands working his balls the whole time, squeezing gently, tugging lightly, never stopping the fondling even as my throat convulsed and more spit spilled down my neck.

It felt like endless minutes of him using my mouth like that, his stocky hips snapping forward until his heavy balls slapped wetly against my chin with every deep thrust. My knees ached against the cold concrete, high-top sneakers planted wide for balance, but I didn’t pull away. Instead I looked up at him through wet lashes, my pouty lips stretched obscenely, and moaned encouragement around his shaft. “Mmmph… please… use my throat,” I gasped in the brief moments he pulled back enough for air, voice hoarse and needy. He laughed low and mean, gripping my hair tighter. “Listen to you begging like a cheap slut. This is what you get for slacking—your mouth full of my cock while I remind you who runs this place.”

Finally he yanked out with a wet pop, strings of thick saliva connecting my swollen pouty lips to his glistening length. I gasped for breath, chest heaving, the front of my t-shirt now soaked and clinging to the gentle curves of my soft conical swells. Mr. Wilson grabbed me by the collar of the shirt and hauled me up roughly, his stocky frame spinning me around before shoving me forward over a sturdy stack of low crates. My palms slapped against the cardboard as I bent at the waist, my tight jeans and black thong shoved down to my ankles in one harsh yank. The cool air hit my exposed skin, my shapely thighs trembling as my high-top sneakers planted wide on the floor for balance, the thick, rounded swell of my chunky ass pushed out high and inviting. He spat thickly onto his cock, smearing the saliva along the shaft, then pressed the fat head right against my slick hole and drove in from behind without warning.

The rough entry sent sharp pain blooming deep inside me, my smooth walls stretching wide around his girth as he sank to the hilt in one brutal push. I cried out, fingers digging into the crates, but the sting quickly melted into a throbbing fullness that made my own cock leak against the bunched thong at my ankles. “Fuck… it hurts,” I whimpered, voice expressive and trembling, yet I pushed back against him anyway. “Don’t stop—please, fuck me deeper.” Mr. Wilson laughed darkly, one hand cracking across my exposed cheek in a sharp, stinging slap that made the plush flesh ripple and burn. “Hurts? Good. This is what slackers get—my cock wrecking that fat ass while you whine like a little bitch.” His other hand groped and kneaded the soft, yielding curves roughly, fingers sinking deep into the jiggling flesh as he started pounding hard and deep. Each thrust made my chunky rear bounce and quake, the wet slap of his hips against my skin echoing through the stockroom while he alternated between spanking my reddening cheeks and squeezing them hard enough to leave marks.

He kept me bent there for long minutes, hips snapping forward with punishing force, the angle letting him grind against that sensitive spot inside with every drive. My large brown eyes fluttered, pouty lips falling open on broken moans as pain and pleasure twisted together. “Yes—spank me harder,” I gasped, pushing back to meet him. “It feels so good when you hit that spot…” His verbal abuse never stopped, each thrust punctuated by another degrading remark. “Look at you, bent over like a cheap whore in my stockroom—lace thong around your ankles, that girly little body taking dick like it was made for it. And that pathetic excuse for a cock twitching between your legs? Tiny thing on such a soft, curvy frame. Disgusting.”

He suddenly pulled out, leaving me gaping and whining, then yanked my jeans and thong completely off and flipped me onto my back atop a cleared metal workbench. My high-top sneakers came up as he hooked my shapely legs over his broad shoulders, the new angle tilting my thick ass upward while he loomed over me in his blue polo and khaki pants. He drove back inside in one smooth thrust, pounding downward with relentless strokes that made the workbench creak beneath us. His stocky frame pressed close, one hand reaching down to molest my chest through the damp t-shirt, fingers pinching and twisting my sensitive nipples roughly until they ached. The sensation shot straight to my groin, my five-inch cock slapping wetly against my lower belly with every punishing drive. “Oh god—your fingers… they’re making my tits hurt so good,” I moaned, back arching off the metal as I reached up to grip his arms. He twisted harder, sneering down at me. “Tits? On a boy? You really are fucked up—soft little swells like a girl, and that useless prick leaking all over yourself. Keep moaning, slut. This is what you earned.”

The angle let him hit impossibly deep, his cock dragging along every sensitive inch inside me while his hips slammed forward. I cried out with each thrust, my wavy hair sticking to my flushed round face, large brown eyes locked on his ruddy scowl. “Please—pinch them more… I’m so close already,” I begged, voice breathy and desperate. He kept molesting my chest without mercy, the rough pinches mixing with the deep pounding until my whole body trembled.

He pulled me off the workbench next, stripping my t-shirt over my head and tossing it aside before pinning me against the cool concrete wall. My back pressed to the rough surface as he lifted one of my knees, hooking my shapely leg around his hip for leverage. He fucked up into me standing, his stocky body grinding close while his ruddy face hovered inches from mine. Both his hands groped my now-bare torso, fingers digging into the soft conical swells with bruising pressure, kneading the yielding flesh as he thrust upward in short, powerful strokes. The position let him fill me completely, his cock stretching me wide while my other sneaker stayed planted on the floor for balance. I wrapped my arms around his neck, moaning loud against his ear. “It’s so deep like this… I can feel you in my stomach,” I whimpered, my curvy hips rolling to take every upward drive. He shoved two thick digits into my mouth suddenly, finger-fucking my pouty lips in time with his cock. “Suck them, you greedy little whore,” he snarled. “That’s it—choke on my fingers while I wreck your hole. Bet no one at school knows what a pathetic cocksleeve you really are.”

I sucked greedily around his fingers, tongue swirling as saliva dripped down my chin, my soft conical chest heaving with every brutal thrust. The wall scraped my back lightly, but the pain only heightened everything, my five-inch cock leaking steadily between us as he humiliated me with every word. “Tiny dick on a body like this—soft tits, fat ass, and you still think you’re a boy? Laughable.”

He dragged me down to the floor after that, positioning me on all fours amid the scattered inventory clutter. My palms and knees pressed into the cold concrete as he mounted me from behind again, even more aggressively this time. His hands cracked across my chunky ass in rapid, stinging spanks that left the plush cheeks glowing red and jiggling wildly, then kneaded the burning flesh roughly while he slammed back inside. One arm reached around to wrap his rough hand around my leaking cock, stroking it in firm, twisting pulls that matched the punishing rhythm of his hips. The dual sensations overwhelmed me—his thick length pounding deep from behind while his calloused palm worked my smaller shaft relentlessly. “Fuck—your hand feels so rough on me,” I moaned, pushing back hard, my wavy hair falling into my face as my thick rear rippled from the impacts. “Don’t stop… I’m gonna cum if you keep stroking me like that.” He laughed cruelly, spanking me harder. “Cum then, you worthless little slut—shoot that pathetic load while I use you like the stockroom whore you are. Tiny cock doesn’t even deserve to cum, but go ahead and make a mess on my floor.”

The intensity built until I couldn’t hold back. My hole clenched around him as thick ropes shot from my five-inch cock onto the concrete below, my whole body shaking while he kept pounding and stroking through my release. The squeeze nearly pushed him over the edge too. He yanked out, rolled me onto my back on a flattened cardboard mat, and shoved my legs wide apart in a deep V, my sneakers pointing toward the ceiling as he drove back inside with long, brutal strokes. His stocky body pressed down over me, holding my ankles wide open while he fucked me with everything he had, the new angle letting him bottom out completely. I cried out, hands gripping his blue polo as the overwhelming fullness returned. “Yes—fill me up… I want it all inside,” I gasped, my large brown eyes locked on his face, pouty lips trembling with each deep thrust.

His rhythm faltered after several more punishing strokes, and with a guttural sound he buried himself to the hilt one last time. Hot, thick pulses flooded deep inside me, pulse after heavy spurt painting my inner walls until it overflowed and leaked warm down my crack onto the cardboard. I clenched around him hard, milking every drop as the mix of pain, humiliation, and deep satisfaction crashed through me in waves.

Mr. Wilson stayed buried for a long moment, breathing heavy, then finally pulled out with a wet sound. A thick trickle of his load followed, dripping from my stretched hole as he stood and adjusted his khaki work pants and blue polo, the name tag still crooked on his chest. I lay there on the flattened cardboard amid the inventory clutter, spent and leaking, my light brown skin flushed and marked with red handprints, my soft conical swells rising and falling fast while my five-inch cock softened against my belly. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as the reality of my growing secret life pulsed in every sore muscle. The mix of pain, humiliation, and deep satisfaction settled over me like a warm, filthy blanket, leaving me breathless and already wondering what would come next.