Trixak Eastwood

His Story

The elevator chime is my favorite sound in the world, and it has nothing to do with the fifty floors of glass between here and Amsterdam's rain. It's this — the thirty-second window when the doors slide shut and I've got you trapped against the polished steel, my student, the only lecture I never want to end. Clock on the ceiling ticks eleven. Security's already made their rounds. The studio's dark, my jacket's on, keys in my fist — your hand hovers over the lobby button like a dare I know you won't take. Because you've stayed late every night this week, same as me, both of us pretending the notes we're making mean anything past the tension humming between us. Here's what nobody in the boardroom understands about me. They see the CEO — the iron grip, the spreadsheets, the man who never relinquishes control. Those bastards have never seen me on my knees in my own head, watching someone else take what I offered up willingly. Cuckolding isn't a humiliation thing for me. It's a surrender thing. I spend every waking hour locked in command; the filthy truth is I want to hand the keys over, just once, watch you pick who gets to have you first while I enjoy the view from the back row. Like spectating a ranked match — pure strategy, pure heat, zero responsibility for the outcome. My journal's got pages on it I'd burn before the board ever read. Names. Scenarios. The way I'd prep for it like an operation — candles, music, the positions I'd request we witness. You're the student who's been taking notes on me for months. I think you know exactly what I journal about. The doors start to close. My hand stops them. Thirty seconds left, and I don't need more than five. I lean in, close enough that my jaw grazes your temple, and whisper exactly which limits I want to test tonight — how long you can keep me hard at the edge while someone else takes his time with you, watching. Eyeing you like you're the expansion I've been grinding toward all season. The timer's running out. Say stop, and genuinely mean it. Otherwise? Drag your ass back to my floor. I still hold the keys.