The door to the office slammed shut, and the sound of the key turning in the lock echoed like a gunshot. Click. Inside, the air was already different—hotter, thicker. Lucy didn't say a word. She leaned against the door for a second, her 1.85m frame looking like a blue-haired goddess of authority. Her pink eyes were fixed on Linda, who was already standing in the middle of the room, completely naked, her bronze skin glowing under the warm lights.
"You really don't waste any time, do you baby?" Lucy said, her voice dropping into that low, husky register that made Linda's knees weak.
Linda let out a playful, throaty laugh, her F-cup breasts swaying. "Why wait? You gave me a choice, Lady Lucy. I chose this. Now stop talking and show me what's behind that ice-cold boss act."
Lucy didn't rush. She walked slowly over to her massive mahogany desk and sat on the edge, spreading her legs just enough to invite trouble. "You want to see? Then earn it. Get over here and show me how much you want this job."
Linda prowled forward, her orange hair wild. She knelt between Lucy's powerful thighs, her hands going straight for the zipper of the blue dress. She yanked it down with a hungry jerk, the silk falling away to reveal Lucy's G-cup breasts. They were massive, heavy, with dark nipples that were already hard and aching for contact.
"Fuck, Lucy..." Linda breathed, her eyes wide as she cupped the heavy flesh. "I knew you were hiding something insane under that dress. I want to spend the next hour just tasting these."
"Then do it," Lucy commanded, her fingers tangling in Linda's hair, pulling her head close. "But remember who's in charge. You're mine today."
Linda buried her face in Lucy's chest, her mouth closing around one nipple while her hands squeezed the other. She was a total nympho, licking and sucking with a rhythmic intensity that finally broke Lucy's composure. A deep, guttural moan escaped Lucy's lips, and her hand tightened in Linda's hair, guiding her lower.
The room was filled with the sound of wet, rhythmic smacking and heavy breathing. Linda was relentless, her tongue working the folds of Lucy's core while Lucy's fingers pumped deep inside her. It was raw, honest, and completely unfiltered.
Outside in the hall, Gina was suffering.
She stood there, the silver tray shaking in her hands. She could hear everything. Every wet lick, every moan, every time Linda gasped out Lucy's name in pure ecstasy. It felt like a physical weight on her chest. She remembered the kiss she and Lucy had shared—the taste of those blue lips, the way it felt like the world had stopped.
Why didn't I stay? she thought, her red eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall. She felt a sharp spike of jealousy, hot and ugly. She looked at the door, wanting to kick it down, wanting to scream at Linda to get away from her woman. But she didn't. She just stood there, a tsundere trapped in her own pride.
She felt the dampness between her own legs, her pink uniform rubbing against her skin like sandpaper. She was turned on and heartbroken at the same time.
Inside, the sounds grew louder—a wet, rhythmic slapping followed by a scream of release from Linda.
Gina's grip failed. Crash. The porcelain cups shattered on the floor, black coffee splashing all over her white stockings and the hem of her pink dress.
"Gina?! What the fuck are you doing up there?!" Brie's voice boomed from downstairs.
"Shut up, Brie! Mind your own business, you yellow bitch!" Gina screamed back, her voice cracking. She didn't stay to clean the mess. She turned and ran to her room, slamming the door.
Inside the office, the two women were finishing. They had moved to a sixty-nine on the carpet, a tangle of orange and blue. Lucy was giving as good as she got, her movements steady and dominant even as she hit her peak. They lay there for minutes, skin slick with sweat, breathing each other's air.
Finally, Lucy stood up, looking like an absolute queen even in the aftermath. She walked to the wardrobe and tossed a bundle of orange fabric at Linda.
"Dress up, baby. You're getting paid, but you're also getting a uniform. Put it on."
Linda held up the outfit. It was a size S, orange, and had no shoulder straps. "You're kidding. This won't even cover half of me, Lucy. I'm a nudist!"
Lucy stepped closer, her height making Linda look small. She placed a hand on Linda's cheek, her voice soft but iron-clad. "In this house, my word is law. Nudity is for sex, for the shower, or for when you're alone. The rest of the time, you wear my colors. It's about respect. Understood?"
Linda pouted, but she was totally hypnotized by Lucy's charisma. "Fine. For you."
She struggled into the dress. It was obscenely tight. Her F-cup breasts were squeezed so hard they were literally bursting out of the top, creating a cleavage that reached her navel. The skirt was barely a belt.
"I look like a slutty orange popsicle," Linda said, spinning in front of the mirror.
"Perfect," Lucy said, giving her a firm kiss on the cheek. "It shows everyone who you belong to."
While Lucy called for Brie and the chaos of the "yellow bitch" taking a taxi began, Gina was alone in her room.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling. The sound of the sex was still echoing in her ears. She looked at her reflection in the mirror—the pink dress, the red eyes. She felt so small.
"I don't care," she whispered to the empty room. "I don't care who she sleeps with."
But she was lying. She reached down, her fingers sliding under her skirt, touching the wetness that wouldn't go away. As she touched herself, she didn't picture a man; she pictured Lucy's pink eyes looking at her with that same warmth she heard in the office.
"Lucy... damn you," she gasped, her body arching as she came in a lonely, frustrated burst. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The jealousy was still there, but so was a deep, aching regret. She had pushed Lucy away, and now she had to watch someone else take her place.
She sat up, wiped her eyes, and put on her mask of cold indifference. "Next time," she whispered. "Next time, it's my turn."
Outside, the tension was breaking into violence.
Brie was at the gate, fuming about the taxi, when the black truck appeared. She saw the masked men. She saw the girl tied up in the back—a hostage with terrified eyes.
"Not today, assholes," Brie growled, pulling her gun.
The first shot shattered the silence of the afternoon. Bang! The bullet hit the stone pillar inches from Brie's head.
"LUCY! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" Brie screamed, firing back as the truck roared toward the manor.
The peace of Klaza Manor was dead. The war had begun.