The clock ticked past 6 PM on that fateful Monday and Stilinski Enterprises slowly emptied out like a deflating balloon. Employees filed out one by one, whispering goodbyes and shooting curious glances at Stiles’s closed office door. No one dared knock—her unusual silence all day had everyone on edge, but they were just glad to escape without another tirade. Stiles sat alone in her executive sanctuary, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows like mocking stars. Her heart raced, nerves twisting her stomach into knots. Her pink fat pussy clenched repeatedly under her desk, a steady throb of anticipation and fear making her thong soaked through. “Fuck… what have I gotten into?” she muttered to herself, thighs rubbing together as she replayed the copy room humiliation. Those filthy prints of her body were in Derek’s hands now, and his promise to fuck her holes raw echoed in her mind. She was the CEO, the queen bitch, but tonight? She was his toy.