Megan twirled her fiery red hair around her finger, the ends tickling her nose as she stared out the window of the small, rickety bus.

The dusty Texas landscape rolled by in a lazy wave of heat mirages.

The town looked almost the same as it did when she left for university three years ago, but smaller somehow, like the world had shrunk around her childhood memories.

She had only returned occasionally for family celebrations, but she never stayed long, so it was the very first time she had really gone back.

The excitement of coming home overwhelmed her in a bittersweet wave; she, who had done everything to leave this lost hole where she saw no future, was here again.

Yet it was with great pleasure that she had found her old friends the previous afternoon, in particular Laura, who could always have passed for her twin if she hadn't been blonde.

These thoughts drifted.

She remembered the strange phone call from three months ago, the one that put her on this bus now.

Her mother told her that her father was not well and asked her to spend the holidays with them rather than wandering around somewhere with her friends.

Reluctantly, she agreed because her mother never asked her for anything.

But the family reunion didn't go as planned.

His father was cold and distant, especially with his mother.

It was weird, because she remembered that he used to cherish her, that he was always very tender with her, unlike his friends, who treated women like inferior creatures, only good for staying at home, cooking, and raising the kids.

Yet the pièce de résistance of this transformation occurred last evening during the dinner when she proposed to her mother that they should go together to the town center.

To her surprise, she saw her mother's eyes light up at the suggestion of a shared shopping trip in the bustling heart of the city, as if it had awakened a sense of fear and something else within her that Megan didn't recognize.

Her father's response, however, was utterly unforeseen and theatrical in nature.

He pounded the table with such ferocity that it startled her, and then he angrily exclaimed, "I forbid it! Can't you hear me?"

Before she could grasp his sudden outburst, he stormed out of the house, the door slamming loudly behind him.

Her mother told her that he had been like that since a Black man and his all-Black crew bought the supermarket a little over a year ago.

This revelation struck a chord with Megan, as she recalled that the former owner had been a close friend of her father's.

Moreover, she was aware that her father harbored racist sentiments, which had been one of the reasons why she decided to leave home after high school.

But she was an adult now, and she was determined to understand the tension between her mother and father.

It was her instinct that had driven her to take the bus to see the famous 'store.'

The wagon pulled up to the one-story supermarket at the edge of town, the sign above the entrance creaking slightly in the relentless heat.

Megan stepped off and squinted in the bright light, her skin already prickling with the promise of a sunburn.

It had been forever since she'd worn anything other than oversized college t-shirts and sweatpants, but the Texas hotness had convinced her to go for something lighter.

She smoothed down her shorts and adjusted her tank top, feeling a bit self-conscious as she approached the entrance.

In front of the door of the supermarket, she saw a small poster: “Hiring / Full or part-time / Seasonal jobs accepted.”

She had come to see who or what was making her father aggressive, but why not combine business with pleasure, and a little money wouldn't hurt.

The bell over the door jingled, announcing her arrival, and, inside, the cool air-conditioning was a welcome embrace.

The store was silent except for the distant sound of light laughter coming from a storage room in the back.

Tyrone turned, his biceps flexing, as he placed a heavy case of soda cans on the shelf next to the register.

His deep brown eyes took her in, and a slow smile spread across his face, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

"Welcome to Tyrone's grocer," he said, extending a hand.

Megan's cheeks flushed as she took his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. His skin was smooth and warm, and she couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled beneath his tight shirt.

"Thank you," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm Megan."

Tyrone nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he released her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Megan. I'm Tyrone, the owner of this little slice of heaven. You're here for the job?"

"Yes, I am," she said, her voice a little shakier than she would have liked.

"I'm back for the summer, and I need something to keep me busy."

"Well, you're just in time," Tyrone said, his eyes lighting up.

"We've got a lot of work to do around here, and I'm always happy to have some fresh blood."

He winked at her, and Megan felt a thrill run through her. "Come on, I'll show you around."

Megan followed him through the aisles, her eyes widening at the sheer size of the man.

His shoulders seemed to span the entire width of the corridor, and the muscles in his arms bulged as he effortlessly tossed items onto the shelves.

The rest of the team was busy stocking up the store for the weekend rush, but they all took a moment to greet her with nods and smiles, their dark eyes gleaming with curiosity.

They were all built like Tyrone, powerful and intimidating, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to them than just their physical presence.

The tour ended at the back of the store, where the office was accessible from a small staircase tucked behind a shelf of cleaning supplies.

The room was surprisingly quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the stockroom.

Tyrone leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his broad chest.

"So, Megan, I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised to see a beauty like you here."

Megan cocked her head, a puzzled expression crossing her face. "Why's that?"

Tyrone chuckled, his deep voice resonating through the small room.

"Well, you're not exactly what I expected. We're in Texas here, and ... the 'local folks' around here don't have the guts to take a job at my house.

"And girls. Hum, let's be frank, most gals of your age around here prefer to do their shopping elsewhere than get tied down with us.

"They're scared of the juicy whispers, if you catch my gist."

She inquired, blushing slightly. "What are you getting at?"

Tyrone bent closer; his breath was warm. "Let's just say we can be a bit... too intense for most of the local babes. They usually don't last more than a week before they run off like a cart with a wonky wheel."

Her curiosity piqued, she ventured further. "So, what happens if I stick around?"

"Oh, if you play your cards right," he replied with a wink, his voice dropping to a seductive purr, "and I do mean get your hands good and sticky in the honey pot, you'll be much more than just a cog in the machine.

"You'll be the cream rising to the top, if you catch my drift."

His eyes twinkled with the promise of unspoken rewards.

The air thickened between them, and Megan felt the beginnings of a thrilling fear melding with her desire. He was so much larger than her, so commanding and powerful.

Yet, she didn't feel threatened; instead, she felt a strange sense of safety and excitement.

Her pulse quickened as she met his gaze, finding more questions than answers in his stare.

Tyrone reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her skin.

"But if you want the job, it's yours," he said, his voice deeper. "And we have a big day ahead of us, so we might as well get started."

His fingers slid down her arm, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

Megan's breath hitched as she nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

She knew what he was implying, and she couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine.

But she was different. She wasn't some naive local girl; she'd seen the world, experienced things they could only dream of. Or so she liked to think.

The morning passed quickly, filled with the mundane tasks of stocking shelves and organizing produce.

Still, every time she walked by one of the Black men on the team, she could feel their eyes on her, their gazes lingering just a beat too long.

They spoke in low, suggestive tones about their conquests from the night before, the girls who couldn't handle them, the panties the 'white' girls couldn't keep on...

Their smirks on their faces told her they were well aware she was listening.

Megan's face flushed with a blend of embarrassment and growing desire, unsure if their words were merely teasing or a reflection of a deeper truth.

Her body, the traitorous little minx, was responding in the most primal of ways.

Her breasts swelled in her bra, nipples pebbling visibly against her shirt as she attempted to tune out their provocative banter.

The way their muscles flexed and moved as they worked, the sound of their deep laughter, and the way their skin glistened with sweat made her imagination run wild.

So far, she held her ground, smiling sweetly and playing the innocent part.

She was the one in control here, even if her body was screaming otherwise.

But deep down, she was envisioning a steamy scenario where she was their plaything, the new fresh meat in town, and they were the big bad wolves, but she had no intention of being so easily devoured.

As the morning grew hotter, so did the sexual tension in the air, setting the atmosphere alight with a lustful energy.

Megan noticed the subtle glances, the way they'd ‘accidentally’ brush against her as they passed, their fingers lingering just a bit too long.

And just when she was on the brink of succumbing, the suggestive tension always dissipated, leaving her to wonder if the flirtatious moments had merely been a playful trick of her mind.

They all maintained an unyielding facade of professionalism with her, keeping their interactions strictly within the bounds of their work-related roles.

And for her? The wait was more and more exasperating, but she was determined to do her best.

Tyrone would often come by, inspecting her work with a critical eye, his muscular chest brushing against her arm as he pointed out where she could improve.

Each time, she'd feel a jolt of electricity, her breath hitching in anticipation.

She'd catch his eyes on her breasts, the way they bounced slightly in her tight tank top as she reached for cans on the top shelf. The way he'd bite his lip when she bent over to pick up a fallen box was driving her wild with desire.

His hand lingered on her lower back as he spoke to her, his fingertips barely grazing the swell of her ass.

Each time, her heart pounded in her chest, her panties growing damp with every little touch.

It was when she was in the back, surrounded by towering shelves of canned goods, that she heard the unmistakable sound of Mrs. Thompson's high-pitched voice, or 'Janie' for her 'upper class' friends.

Megan peered around the corner, her eyes wide in surprise.

It was definitely Janie, the town's notorious racist.

Megan's stomach churned.

Janie was married to the mayor, a man who shared his wife's beliefs about the 'superiority' of the white race.

His father and those two had taught her to stay away from Black people and had warned her of their "base instincts" and "dangerous nature."

As she turned to stay hidden, she heard a low murmur from one of the team members behind her.

"Damn, it's been almost eight months since we last saw her."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and, surprised by the implications of the comment, Megan stumbled.

That's when Janie saw her.

She gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Megan! What on earth are you doing here?"

Megan's stomach clenched even more as she pasted on a smile. "Hi, Mrs. Thompson. I'm just helping out for the summer."

The woman's eyes darted around nervously before settling back on Megan.

"Well, I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you had learned your father's lessons."

Megan felt her cheeks flush, and she swallowed hard. "It's a summer job, just to keep busy and earn some money."

She tried to keep her voice light, hoping the woman wouldn't say anything to her father about her new employment.

But Janie had other plans. "I see," she said, her voice dripping with venom.

"You're working for these... savages."

Megan's gaze narrowed at the slur, and she took a step closer to Janie, her hands clenched into fists.

"They're my colleagues, Mrs. Thompson," she spat out, her voice tight with anger. "And I'll thank you not to speak about them that way."

Janie's smug expression faltered, and she took a step back, her hand moving protectively to her rounded stomach.

It was then that Megan noticed the unmistakable bulge beneath Janie's loose dress.

Her peepers widened in shock.

The baby bump was sticking out like a more-than-ready bun in the oven, practically waving a neon "I'm almost cooked" sign.

But before she could say anything, one of the team sauntered over, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

"Is there a problem here, ladies?"

He ogled Janie's belly like it was a surprise party waiting to pop.

"Looks like someone's been playing hide-and-seek with a soccer ball," he chuckled, "and obviously lost. Congrats, I guess?"

The sarcasm was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The expectant lady's face flushed with a hint of scandal, her hand slipping down to her side as if to cover an illicit secret.

"It's none of your business," she hissed, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Tyrone, materializing as if conjured, stepped in. "Now, now, Janie, don't be feisty with the new recruits," he purred, his voice smooth as velvet.

"If my memory is good, it was everyone's business back then."

Janie's eyes bulged, and she stuttered, "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

Tyrone's smile grew wider, his hand sliding up Janie's belly to rest just below her mouth, his fingers tenderly caressing her cheek.

"Oh, I think you do," he said, his voice low and seductive.

Tyrone leaned in, his eyes glinting like a wolf eyeing its prey.

"Janie, my sweet," he cooed, gently tapping her chin.

"Janie, Janie, Janie," he repeated, his tone dripping with the kind of innuendo that could melt the iciest of hearts.

"It's been such an eternity since you graced us with your presence, darling. Three or four months, perhaps?"

Seething, she shot back, confirming what Megan had heard.

"It's been eight, and you're fully aware, you cad!"

"And I'm here because I've been trying to contact you for months, but you never return my calls!!!"

Tyrone replied with a seductive smile, "Oh, really? I must have missed your scent... I mean, your calls. How could I have forgotten?"

"Last time was at the inauguration day of my supermarket," he reminisced, his voice dropping an octave. "When we had the pleasure of the mayor's company, along with everyone else who's anyone in town, remember?

"...oh wait, my error," he murmured, his tone a seductive purr. "It was actually the intimate, exclusive afterparty I set up just for my staff that you graced us with your tantalizing presence."

"And if I recall," he went on, his voice thick with desire, "you were there, all by your luscious self, sans the mayor, your devoted husband.

"And that's when everyone got a delightful nibble of the scrumptious apple tart you so thoughtfully brought, eight months ago to the day, hmm?"

Megan, unable to ignore the lewd undertones, could feel the heat rising in the room as the guys around her exchanged glances and hushed whispers.

"It doesn't tell us why she's swollen like a balloon," one of them murmured, his gaze raking over Janie.

"Stupid, it's no wonder she had devoured all the homemade whipped cream that day," another chimed in, his voice laden with innuendo.

"Hehehe, the greedy little thing didn't leave a drop. All the baby bottles were completely dry after she left," a third added, his tone thick with lustful remembrance.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Janie hissed, her voice a cocktail of desire and warning.

Mrs. Thompson looked back and forth between them, her eyes wide with fear and something else, something that Megan couldn't quite place.

Her hand was trembling, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Megan, you might want to keep your distance unless you want to be serving up a very bad Thanksgiving surprise for your dear dad! And you... stay away from her," she managed to spit out before turning on her heel.

"Don't fret, Janie," Tyrone called after her, his voice thick with amusement.

"We'll take good care of her. In fact, as you suggest, I think Megan will be just the right size for our homemade Thanksgiving turkey’s...filling."

The words hung in the air like a promise. The double entendre was clear, and Janie had picked up on it.

The woman's eyes widened in horror, and she hastened her retreat, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor as she stormed out of the store.

"Wait, we didn't have time to have the conversation you wanted.

"Remember to come back one evening; we'll have more time to talk and reminisce about the good old days," he called out as the store door abruptly closed.

The drama was thicker than the crust on her infamous pie.

Megan's heart raced as Tyrone murmured, his breath hot against her neck. "You’re okay?"

"Yeah," she replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Just... shocked."

The rest of the day passed with new tension in the air. Megan felt the team's eyes on her, their smiles wider than before.

She wasn't sure if it was because of what had happened with Jannie or if her imagination was playing more tricks on her.

As the last customer left and the bell above the door rang goodbye, Tyrone called out to her in a siren-like voice through the silence of the supermarket.

"Megan, come to the office. We need to chat about our day."

Heart pounding, Megan joined him in his office while the rest of the team prepared for the post-closing cleanup.

The door clicked shut behind her, and suddenly, the air was charged with a raw, primal energy.

"I'm glad you didn't run away after this morning's scene.

"Even more, you defended us. You showed that you weren't a shy little girl but a beautiful, courageous young woman."

Tyrone leaned against the desk, his muscular arms crossing over his broad chest, and Megan felt her knees go a little weak.

"Take a seat," he said, his voice low and commanding.

Megan's eyes darted around the room, looking for the armchair he gestured to.

It was pushed back, leaving a space in front of the desk for a large black carpet spread out in the middle of the room.

Tyrone took his time walking around the desk, his eyes never leaving hers.

When he was close enough, he reached out and slid the chair back, the legs scraping against the floor.

"Here," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "Let me help you."

Megan sat down, her legs shaking as she watched him.

His hand rested on her shoulder, his thumb tracing the line of her collarbone.

She felt the warmth of his body, the promise of something more.

Tyrone bent above her, his breath hot against her ear. "You deserved a reward for that, Megan," he murmured.

"But I don’t know you…yet. Tell me, what do you want, white sugar?"

His hand slid down to her chest, cupping her breast gently, and she gasped.

His other hand found its way to her thigh, squeezing gently, then started to slide up her thigh, almost going under her shorts.

Megan's breath hitched, and she closed her eyes, feeling the heat from his body wash over her.

She started to feel a wetness pool between her legs, her body betraying her as she succumbed to his touch.

Tyrone brought his mouth to her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above her collarbone, his breath hot and humid.

"Humm, you taste like honey," he murmured, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

"And now, tell me, what is your darkest desire?"

Megan tilted her head, offering more of her neck, and whispered. "You."

She could feel his erection pressing against her as he bent down to nibble at it, and she bit her lower lip, trying to hold back her moan.

Tyrone's smile widened as he stepped back, his hand sliding away from her thigh.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now, stand up for me."

Meghan's legs wobbled as she did when he asked her, not turning around so as not to show him how flustered she was by him.

She felt him settle in the chair, thighs spread wide, and she could almost feel the heat of his gaze urging her to claim the space before him.

She envisioned herself standing before him, like a seductive dancer awaiting the opening notes of a passionate ballet.

"Let's see what you've got, baby."

Strangely, his command had been like a soft caress against her sensitive skin, leaving her craving the touch she knew was coming.

The air grew thick with a palpable tension, the space between them charged with a sexual energy that seemed to make the very fabric of her clothing cling to her heated body.

She'd always had a flair for the drama, a love of being the center of attention. So, she took a deep breath, and she took off her shoes like she imagined a cabaret dancer would.

Her dance lessons from childhood flooded back to her: the rhythmic movements of her hips, the art of seduction wrapped in the guise of innocence.

She began to sway, her body moving in time with the beat of her racing heart.

With each movement, her A-shirt inched up, revealing a strip of pale, freckled skin.

Megan felt a heady mix of power and vulnerability, thinking she had him wrapped around her finger. She danced closer, her hips gyrating in a way that made his eyes widen.

Her hands slid up her figure, her thumbs delicately tracing the path under the thin bands of her tank top.

With each sinuous movement, she taunted him, keeping her back to him as her hips swayed, offering a mesmerizing view of her firm, round buttocks.

The air grew thick with the unspoken promise of carnality as she continued her seductive performance.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled them down. Then, as if she had had this her whole life, she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, letting it fall to her feet.

Her breasts bounced freely as she twisted and twirled, finally facing him.

The pink tips of her nipples taunted him, poking out from the shadows cast by her hair.

Megan's hips undulated in a tantalizingly erotic rhythm as she danced onward, her knockers swaying shamelessly, her fingertips teasing the hem of her shorts with the lightest of touches.

Her bare feet glided soundlessly across the velvety black carpet, bringing her closer with each sultry step.

Megan took a deep, deliberate inhale and hooked her pinkies under the waistband of her underwear, gently lowering the fabric just enough to expose the soft, trimmed mound of her sex.

The scent of her arousal filled the room, mingling with the faint smell of the cleaning supplies and the heat of their bodies.

Though his hands remained firmly planted on the chair arms, the tension in his fingers betrayed his longing to caress her, to succumb to the temptation she presented so irresistibly.

Lost in her bubble of lust, for her, the room was silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the supermarket's refrigerators.

Megan slanted over Tyrone with a sultry grace, the gentle graze of her bare boobs against his firm chest eliciting a deep, yearning groan from him.

His hands, as though driven by a magnetic force, began to trace their way up her legs, pausing at the juncture where her wifebeater clung to her waist, now serving merely as a delicate band around her midriff.

She could sense the smoldering embers of passion within him, the tightness of his muscles speaking volumes about his restrained longing.

She knew he was holding back, waiting for the moment she gave him the go-ahead.

Her heart raced with excitement, the thrill of the unknown coursing through her veins.

With a graceful rotation of her hips, she granted him the invitation he desired. The message was clear: she was ready for him to take the lead.

In one swift, deft motion, her shorts and tank top floated to the ground, leaving her in just her lacy pink panties.

The atmosphere crackled with a sensual energy, their connection hovering on the precipice of the erotic dance they were about to share.

The dampness of her panties was a testament to her desire, and she could see the hunger in Tyrone's eyes as they latched onto the sight.

Tyrone leaned forward, his breath coming in harsh pants.

It was like a silent command, a magnetic force impossible to resist, and she stepped closer, her legs parted slightly, offering him a tantalizing peek at the wetness that glistened through the fabric.

His hands moved to her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her closer. "That's enough," he said, his voice hoarse with need.

Megan's heart skipped a beat, and she stilled, her chest heaving.

"Turn around," he instructed, his voice low and commanding.

She spun around, giving him a view of her pert ass, the cheeks wiggling slightly as if to taunt him into spanking her.

Megan felt Tyrone's hand on her lower back, guiding her with a firm yet tender touch.

He led her to the heart of the opulent, velvety black rug, which had been meticulously arranged across the floor, creating a decadent stage for their impending intimacy.

The thought of what was to come had her legs trembling.

“Stay here,” he whispered, before returning to his seat.

He sat back, his eyes feasting on her nearly naked body.

"Now, baby girl, spread those gams wider than the Grand Canyon.

"Be that smug ho in your 'yoga bitches' class, thinking she's all high and mighty with her pyramid pose."

Megan's face turned beet red with a blend of humiliation and craving as she obeyed.

"Good, now yank down those skivvies with both hands, like you're peeling a banana, nice and slow. Make it a show for me."

With trembling hands, she shoved her thumbs into her undies and started tugging, the material clinging to her damp skin.

"While you're at it, stick that ass out like a peacock flaunting its feathers and arch that back like you're begging for it."

Her hips swayed as she pushed her panties down, the fabric snagging on her ass crack.

"Stop teasing me and arch that back more, bitch!

"Show me what you're hiding. I wanna see that sweet, juicy snatch of yours glistening like a freshly unwrapped lollipop."

The fabric of her panties finally gave way, revealing her wet, swollen folds to him, sparkling with arousal.

Tyrone’s breath grew heavier as she revealed inch by inch of her smooth, pale skin.

"And above all, you better keep those hooves planted unless I give you the green light...otherwise you will be punished, sweetheart."

She paused when the fabric was around her ankles, not knowing how to react.

"Good girl," he rumbled. "Now, turn your head and watch me."

Her body exposed, she turned her head to Tyrone, her eyes fixed on him.

"Watch the birdie," he murmured, his smile turning predatory.

She knew what he meant; she'd heard it before in the context of taking family photos, but here, in this moment, it was a command that left no room for doubt.

She was the birdie, and he was about to capture her in the most intimate way possible.

Megan felt a rush of excitement and fear as Tyrone slowly pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up his dark features.

One finger danced across it, and she could see the light of the camera when the app opened.

"Spread your legs even wider; I want your panties to start ripping. You won't need them anymore anyway, sweetie," he said, his voice low and velvety.

She did as she was told, the warm air of the office hitting her sensitive folds; her hands still clinging to her ankles.

She watched him take his time, choosing the perfect angle, the phone rising to capture the view he so clearly desired.

The camera clicked, and she felt a thrill of exhibitionism wash over her.

He was taking photos of her here in the office, where anyone could walk in at any moment.

The thought was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She spread her legs wider, her pussy glistening with arousal.

"Good," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Now, play with yourself. I wanna know what you'll be up to tonight when you're fantasizing about me."

As if with a will of its own, her right hand lazily crept up her leg, the other resting on the floor to keep from falling, forcing her to arch her back further for his pleasure.

Her fingers slid to brush against her pleasurably swollen folds all this while continuing to smile at him like the most seductive stripper at the famous Scarlett's Cabaret.

She was wet, so wet, when her fingers reached her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her.

She started playing with herself like a college slut who couldn't get enough, but this time, it wasn't the quarterback's dick she was fantasizing about.

Maybe she'd switched gears and was craving a taste of chocolate.

He let her enjoy herself for a few moments, catching the blush creeping up her face as her pleasure mounted.

Then, as she closed her eyes and tried to sink her fingers into her burning vulva, he ordered in a deep voice that made her shiver.

"Stay in that position, but take off those panties."

Megan's hands trembled as she leaned forward a little further to slide the damp fabric over her ankles, leaving it on the floor.

She couldn't keep her balance and ended up on all fours on the carpet.

"Perfect, you understand your place." She heard him as she tried to sit up.

"Get your ass over here," he ordered, his voice low and authoritative. "Crawl on your hands and knees. Be a good little horny pup."

Megan obeyed, her butt wiggling in the air like a dog begging for a bone. She couldn't help but whine with need as she shuffled closer to the man who had her panting like a slut.

A wave of dirty pleasure and submission hit her as she scurried closer, her eyes never leaving his crotch.

Tyrone's gaze was glued to the phone, his thumb scrolling through the images he'd captured. "These'll be perfect for peddling your soiled knickers on the web," he quipped under his breath, not giving a shit if she heard him or not.

But she was too busy drooling on his dick to pay attention.

Megan felt a thrill of excitement as he set the phone down on the desk, revealing the lewd photos of her sprawled out like a cheap hooker.

He leaned back in his chair, casually popping open his shorts, giving her a peek at his boxers that were bulging with his hard-on.

She could see the outline of his cock, thick and heavy, begging to be released.

"Closer," he murmured, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.

Megan pressed her head against the inside of his thigh, her breath hot against his. She could smell the musk of his skin, the scent of his arousal filling her nostrils.

She licked her lips as if she were savoring in advance the delicious treat that her underwear hid.

Tyrone's hand slid down to her neck, one finger tracing the delicate line of her throat as he guided her closer.

"Free the beast," he commanded, his gaze never leaving hers.

Megan's hand trembled as she reached out, her fingertips brushing against the warmth of his shaft beneath his underpants. She could feel the thump of his arousal, the throb of his desire.

With a gentle tug, she pulled it down, freeing his prick.

It sprang forth, thick and heavy, the head a dark, angry red.

She gasped, her eyes widening at the size of him.

Tyrone's hand tightened on her neck, guiding her closer until her face was mere inches from his cock.

"Take it," he murmured, his voice a dark command that she couldn't resist.

Megan complied, her mouth dropping open and taking his swollen cockhead past her lips. It was a salty, warm intrusion, the shaft's bulbous cap bumping against her tongue.

He grunted as she went to work, his cock jolting slightly with every touch of her tongue. "Yeah, take it all, snow bunny. That's what you're here for."

With a smug grin, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head closer to his crotch. "Gulp it all, baby," he jeered, pushing his hips forward. "You know you want it."

Megan's peepers fluttered shut as she took more of him in, her lips stretching around his thickness. She could feel his heartbeat in the veins that pulsed along his length and could feel the heat of his desire.

Her hand clamped down around his base, her thumb playing with his nuts like they were yo-yos as she ramped up the head action. The noises of his panting and the random grunts were music to her ears, pushing her to go full throttle.

He tightened his grip on her hair, yanking it a little to set a pace that was all his. The more he pushed her, the more eager she was to please, her own arousal building with every obscene gag she took.

Tyrone's stomach muscles tensed up as he stared at Megan going to town on his dick.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes watering slightly as she took him all the way in, her throat bulging around his shaft.

"Like that," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Choke on it like it's the last thing you'll ever get to suck."

Her hands clawed into his legs, nails digging in like she was holding on for dear life. She submitted, taking it all, letting him use her mouth like a cheap fucktoy.

She felt his cock pulse in her mouth, and she knew he was close. She could feel the power she held, the way he was at her mercy.

But it was a power she didn't want, not yet. She wanted more, needed more of him.

Her eyes snapped open, and she locked onto his, pupils blown wide with lust.

He saw the question in her eyes, the silent plea for permission to take control.

As if she were saying, "You like that, huh? You're gonna blow your load down my throat like it's the last time you'll ever cum, aren't you?"

Tyrone's smirk widened, his mitt slithering from her neck to her shoulder.

"Go on, then, show me what that mouth can really do, you little cockslut," he goaded.

Megan felt a surge of power at his words, her body responding instinctively.

Practically lying on his lap, her mouth drooled as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around his knob. She felt him palpitate in her mouth, his hips lifting slightly as he fucked her face.

"What a surprise, who would have known the kind Megan had a mouth made for dick?" He said, his words punctuated with his harsh breaths.

The way he talked to her, like she was nothing but a piece of meat to fuck, it did something to her. Her pussy was soaking wet, begging for his cock, his roughness.

"You live for this, don't you? Being used like a dirty, fucking hole?"

Tears streamed down her face, but she couldn't stop nodding. Her throat was tight around his cock, but she liked it; she fucking loved it. She was his little slut, his playground to use however he wanted.

Tyrone's grip tightened on her hair, and she thought she was going to get what she wanted. But then, surprise, motherfucker! He yanked her head back, and his dick slipped out of her mouth with a wet pop.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, his voice harsh. "Spread those legs wide."

Megan's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire as she complied, her body trembling with anticipation.

She felt his hands on her hips, guiding her until she was right where he wanted her, right in the middle of the mat just in front of the office door, which is still closed.

Tyrone straightened up, his cock standing tall and proud.

"Look at you, not so long ago a respectable young girl," he said, his voice thick with lust and disdain. "And now a white whore stretched and ready to be devoured like a Thanksgiving Day feast by the big black wolf."

He reached down, his fingers tracing the line of her ass, sliding into the wetness of her pussy.

He slid his fingers out, a wet, sticky sound filling the room.

He brought them to her face, holding them under her nose.

"Smell that," he growled. "That's how much you want it, isn't it?"

Megan's cheeks burned as she panted like a female dog in heat, excited by the smell. She nodded, unable to find the words to protest.

Tyrone leaned in, his cock brushing against her cheek as he whispered, "You're going to be my good little white girl, aren't you?"

The words sent a jolt of electricity through her, making her pussy clench.

She nodded again, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Tyrone's hand slammed down on the desk, the sound echoing through the empty supermarket.

"I said, aren't you?" His voice was a harsh bark, full of command.

"Yes," Megan whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm your little Snow White."

Tyrone chuckled, his hand leaving her cheek to grip her hair again.

"That's what I like to hear," he said, before leaning down to kiss her hard.

His tongue forced its way into her mouth, tasting of his own arousal, and Megan moaned, her body responding despite herself.

He broke the kiss and slammed his cock into her pussy, the suddenness of it making her gasp. It was a rough, punishing thrust that had her nails digging into the mat.

"You like that, don't you, slut?" He growled, his hips moving in a brutal rhythm that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body.

Megan nodded, unable to form words as she felt herself being used, being taken.

Tyrone's hands were everywhere, grabbing her tits, her ass, or her hair, his fingers sliding into her mouth as he talked dirty to her.

"You're nothing but a little white hole for me to fill," he said, his words a mix of insult and praise that had her pussy clenching around him.

"A good little white slut who can't get enough of this big black cock."

Megan's cheeks were scarlet, but she couldn't help the way her body responded to his words.

Every time he called her a slut, she felt a thrill, a sense of release that was as intoxicating as it was degrading. She was his, utterly and completely, and she reveled in the filthiness of it.

He pulled out of her pussy with a wet pop, leaving her feeling empty and exposed.

Megan looked back at him, her eyes pleading for more.

"What's wrong, baby?" He taunted, his cock glistening with her juices. "You want more, don't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he slammed into her again, this time hitting her ass with the force of his hips.

Megan yelped, her body not prepared for the assault. But she didn't pull away, didn't even think about it. Instead, she pushed back into him, her body begging for more.

"That's right," Tyrone murmured, his voice a dark promise.

"Take it like the good little bitch you are." His hand slammed down on her ass, leaving a red handprint that burned like a brand. "You're no different from the rest of these lame Lone Star whores that have been through here."

Megan's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking with the intensity of the pleasure-pain.

He pulled out of her again, the loss making her whine. "What do you want, baby?" he asked, his voice mocking. "Tell me what you want, and maybe I'll give it to you."

Megan's voice was a shaky whisper. "I want... I want you to use me, Tyrone. I want you to fill me up in every way you can."

His smile grew, his teeth flashing in the dim office light.

"As you wish," he said, his tone dark and dangerous.

His thumb circled her asshole, teasing it open before he pushed inside.

Megan gasped, her body tightening around his finger. It was wrong, so wrong, but she couldn't deny the way it made her clit throb.

Tyrone chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "So tight," he murmured. "But we're going to fix that."

He slammed back into her pussy, his digit still in her ass, stretching her until she thought she'd break.

She could feel herself getting wetter, her body betraying her with every thrust.

"You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "You like being used like a cheap toy."

Megan nodded, her eyes squeezed shut. "Yes," she murmured. "I do."

Tyrone leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. "Say it," he demanded. "Tell me you're my little white slut."

"I'm your white onahole, your free human dildo," Megan gasped, the words leaving her on a sob.

He grunted in satisfaction, his thrusts growing more erratic.

Megan could feel the tension in his body and could feel him getting closer to his release.

She reached down, her hand wrapping around his nuts, her thumb pressing against the spot that she knew would drive him wild.

"Fuck," he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut. "You're going to make me cum, baby."

Megan's own orgasm was building, her pussy clenching around his cock.

"Fill me," she begged, the words leaving her mouth without thought.

"Please, Tyrone. Come inside me."

With a roar, he did, his cock pulsing deep within her, filling her with his seed.

Megan's body shuddered, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She felt dirty, used, and utterly satisfied.

When he pulled out, she felt empty, her pussy and ass gaping open.

"Good girl," Tyrone murmured, his voice gentle now. "You took it all."

Megan looked up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure.

"Thank you," she whispered again, the words a mix of genuine gratitude and self-loathing.

But before she could say more, the door to the office opened and a shadow fell across the carpet.

Laura, her best friend since childhood, stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

Megan's heart stopped, her body frozen in place.

"Megan?" Laura's voice was high with disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Megan scrambled to cover herself with her hands, her cheeks burning with shame.

Tyrone just chuckled, his cock still hard and glistening with their combined juices.

"Just taking a break," he said, his tone casual. "Megan was feeling a bit stressed, and I offered to help her out."

Laura's eyes narrowed, her gaze moving from Megan to Tyrone and back again.

"What the hell, Megan?" She hissed, her voice low and furious. "You're fucking your boss?"

Megan's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

She felt Tyrone's hand on her shoulder, a silent reminder of his power over her.

"It's okay, baby," he murmured. "You don't have to explain."

But Laura wasn't so easily dismissed.

"Is this what you do to all the new girls?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "You make them your little white fuck dolls?"

Tyrone's smile grew, his eyes cold. "Only the ones that beg for it," he said, his voice a low purr.

"Isn't that right, Megan?"

Megan swallowed hard, her throat tight.

She couldn't lie, not with Laura staring at her like that.

She nodded, the truth of his words echoing in her ears.

She had begged for it, begged to be used. And now she was going to pay the price.

"Come on," Laura said, her voice trembling with anger and something else, as if she were troubled. "Let's go."