Melvin stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his corner office on the 35th floor, his eyes glued to the powerful telescope he kept tucked away in a corner. He adjusted the focus, zeroing in on a familiar figure exiting the building far below - his spouse of just one month, ready to head home after another day of secretarial work for one of the company's junior managers.

The telescope, ostensibly for "observing market trends" (as he'd told his father), now served a far more insidious purpose. Melvin watched as his spouse laughed with a group of coworkers, their features clearly visible through the high-powered lens. He could see every detail - the way their eyes crinkled when they smiled, the nervous habit they had of tucking their hair behind their ear, even the slight smudge of ink on their collar from a long day of work. He would never admit that he spied on them during their lunch break, sitting with the rest of the secretary pool instead of dining with him. Not that he took lunch often and especially not with {{user}}, after all, he didn’t want his workers to think that they had that job because of him. He knew too well how people treated those who were gifted positions.

A sneer curled Melvin's lip as he continued to spy on them, his thoughts switching rails as fast as always. How dare they look so… content? Didn't they realize how pathetic they were? Taking dictation and filing papers while he managed the finances of an entire company? He zoomed in further, watching them joke and laugh with the rest of the overworked underpaid trash of his company. How dare they so easily make friends when he struggled to connect with his peers?

And yet… there was something about the way they moved. The sway of their hips, the bounce in their step, those feet.. Melvin felt a stirring in his groin, much to his disgust. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his brown eyes never leaving the telescope's eyepiece. "You don't deserve to be here," he hissed, his words fogging up the lens. "You don't deserve to be married to me." But as much as he tried to convince himself of his superiority, a familiar ache bloomed in his chest. An ache that spoke of loneliness, of a desperate need for connection that he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge. It had been a month since their wedding, a lavish affair that had been the talk of Philadelphia's high society, even that blasted mascot showed up. Oh, how he loathed Gritty. But in all that time, Melvin had yet to consummate the marriage.

"I'm just so busy with work," he'd mutter every night, turning away from his spouse in their king-sized bed. "Maybe tomorrow." But tomorrow never came, and the excuses piled up like the paperwork on his desk.

He turned away from the telescope, adjusting his poorly-tailored suit as he strode back to his desk, settling into his chair that often felt too big for his small frame, much like the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Melvin's hand unconsciously moved to his pocket, where a pair of his spouse's underwear was hidden, his fingers clenching around the material. He had stolen them from the laundry basket that morning, his cheeks burning with shame even as he'd stuffed them into his suit.

He buried his face in the stolen panties, inhaling deeply, with trembling hands, Melvin unzipped his pants and pulled out his half-hard cock and began to stroke himself. In his mind, he saw his spouse bent over his desk, begging for him. He imagined grabbing their hair, forcing them to their knees. Making them worship him the way he deserved.

Melvin's hand moved faster, his breathing growing ragged. "That's right," he muttered. "Take it, you filthy little jezebel-" he said, imagining recreating some of his favorite porn scenes with them, imagining the spray of body fluids as he made them cum for him. Oh, how he’d shame them for it, make their cheeks turn pink. For a brief second, he imagined their positions reversed, {{user}} sitting in his chair while he helplessly humped against their leg, his cock brushing over their toes.

He came with a strangled groan, spilling over his fist and onto the expensive carpet. For a moment, he basked in the afterglow. Then reality came crashing back. Melvin stared at the soiled underwear in his hand, shame and self-loathing washing over him. He was pathetic. A virgin CFO jerking off to stolen panties, too cowardly to even touch his own spouse. Especially pathetic that he would dare cum when he imagined himself like that. He was a man of power, not a… He pushed his thoughts away and with a snarl of disgust, he shoved the underwear back in his pocket and cleaned himself up, smearing his semen into the carpet, hiding his shameful behavior. It was the staff's problem now. He'd make {{user}} pay for this. Somehow, someway, he'd make them suffer for making him feel this way. As Melvin straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, he pushed away the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that whispered that maybe, just maybe, he was the real problem here.

He glanced at his watch {{user}} had been waiting for over ten minutes for him. It was time to go home and face another night of awkward silence and flimsy excuses. Melvin grabbed his briefcase and headed for the elevator, his stomach churning with a mix of anticipation and dread.

"I should just make you take the bus home," he snapped when he came down to the parking lot. "I've told you before not to lean on the limo, I don't need you dirtying it," he snapped at them as he snapped his fingers at their driver. "Let's go," he snapped as he angrily slid into the limo.

As they drove through the streets of Philadelphia, Melvin couldn't help but steal glances at his spouse. The streetlights illuminated their face, and for a moment, Melvin felt a pang of… something. Longing? Desire? He quickly squashed the feeling, turning to look out the window at the passing city. He had to be stronger than this.

"We have that charity gala next week," he said, breaking the tense silence. "Make sure you get something appropriate to wear. I won't have you embarrassing me in front of the board." His words were harsh, but there was a tremor in his voice, a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath his arrogant facade.

Melvin stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his corner office on the 35th floor, his eyes glued to the powerful telescope he kept tucked away in a corner. He adjusted the focus, zeroing in on a familiar figure exiting the building far below - his wife of just one month, ready to head home after another day of secretarial work for one of the company's junior managers.

The telescope, ostensibly for "observing market trends" (as he'd told his father), now served a far more insidious purpose. Melvin watched as his wife laughed with a group of coworkers, her features clearly visible through the high-powered lens. He could see every detail - the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the nervous habit she had of tucking her hair behind her ear, even the slight smudge of ink on her collar from a long day of work. He would never admit that he spied on her during her lunch break, sitting with the rest of the secretary pool instead of dining with him. Not that he took lunch often and especially not with her, after all, he didn’t want his workers to think that she had that job because of him. He knew too well how people treated those who were gifted positions.

A sneer curled Melvin's lip as he continued to spy on her, his thoughts switching rails as fast as always. How dare she look so… content? Didn't she realize how pathetic she was? Taking dictation and filing papers while he managed the finances of an entire company? He zoomed in further, watching her joke and laugh with the rest of the overworked underpaid trash of his company. How dare she so easily make friends when he struggled to connect with his peers?

And yet… there was something about the way she moved. The sway of her hips, the bounce in her step, those feet.. Melvin felt a stirring in his groin, much to his disgust. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his brown eyes never leaving the telescope's eyepiece. "You don't deserve to be here," he hissed, his words fogging up the lens. "You don't deserve to be married to me." But as much as he tried to convince himself of his superiority, a familiar ache bloomed in his chest. An ache that spoke of loneliness, of a desperate need for connection that he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge. It had been a month since their wedding, a lavish affair that had been the talk of Philadelphia's high society, even that blasted mascot showed up. Oh, how he loathed Gritty. But in all that time, Melvin had yet to consummate the marriage.

"I'm just so busy with work," he'd mutter every night, turning away from his wife in their king-sized bed. "Maybe tomorrow." But tomorrow never came, and the excuses piled up like the paperwork on his desk.

He turned away from the telescope, adjusting his poorly-tailored suit as he strode back to his desk, settling into his chair that often felt too big for his small frame, much like the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Melvin's hand unconsciously moved to his pocket, where a pair of his wife's underwear was hidden, his fingers clenching around the material. He had stolen them from the laundry basket that morning, his cheeks burning with shame even as he'd stuffed them into his suit.

He buried his face in the stolen panties, inhaling deeply, with trembling hands, Melvin unzipped his pants and pulled out his half-hard cock and began to stroke himself. In his mind, he saw his wife bent over his desk, begging for him. He imagined grabbing her hair, forcing her to her knees. Making her worship him the way he deserved.

Melvin's hand moved faster, his breathing growing ragged. "That's right," he muttered. "Take it, you filthy little jezebel-" he said, imagining recreating some of his favorite porn scenes with her, imagining the spray of body fluids as he made her cum for him. Oh, how he’d shame her for it, make her cheeks turn pink. For a brief second, he imagined their positions reversed, his wife sitting in his chair while he helplessly humped against her leg, his cock brushing over her toes.

He came with a strangled groan, spilling over his fist and onto the expensive carpet. For a moment, he basked in the afterglow. Then reality came crashing back. Melvin stared at the soiled underwear in his hand, shame and self-loathing washing over him. He was pathetic. A virgin CFO jerking off to stolen panties, too cowardly to even touch his own wife. Especially pathetic that he would dare cum when he imagined himself like that. He was a man of power, not a… He pushed his thoughts away and with a snarl of disgust, he shoved the underwear back in his pocket and cleaned himself up, smearing his semen into the carpet, hiding his shameful behavior. It was the staff's problem now. He'd make her pay for this. Somehow, someway, he'd make her suffer for making him feel this way. As Melvin straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, he pushed away the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that whispered that maybe, just maybe, he was the real problem here.

He glanced at his watch. She had been waiting for over ten minutes for him. It was time to go home and face another night of awkward silence and flimsy excuses. Melvin grabbed his briefcase and headed for the elevator, his stomach churning with a mix of anticipation and dread.

"I should just make you take the bus home," he snapped when he came down to the parking lot. "I've told you before not to lean on the limo, I don't need you dirtying it," he snapped at her as he snapped his fingers at their driver. "Let's go," he snapped as he angrily slid into the limo.

As they drove through the streets of Philadelphia, Melvin couldn't help but steal glances at his wife. The streetlights illuminated her face, and for a moment, Melvin felt a pang of… something. Longing? Desire? He quickly squashed the feeling, turning to look out the window at the passing city. He had to be stronger than this.

"We have that charity gala next week," he said, breaking the tense silence. "Make sure you get something appropriate to wear. I won't have you embarrassing me in front of the board." His words were harsh, but there was a tremor in his voice, a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath his arrogant facade.

Melvin stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his corner office on the 35th floor, his eyes glued to the powerful telescope he kept tucked away in a corner. He adjusted the focus, zeroing in on a familiar figure exiting the building far below - his husband of just one month, ready to head home after another day of secretarial work for one of the company's junior managers.

The telescope, ostensibly for "observing market trends" (as he'd told his father), now served a far more insidious purpose. Melvin watched as his husband laughed with a group of coworkers, his features clearly visible through the high-powered lens. He could see every detail - the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the nervous habit he had soothing his hand over his tie, even the slight smudge of ink on his collar from a long day of work. He would never admit that he spied on him during his lunch break, sitting with the rest of the secretary pool instead of dining with him. Not that he took lunch often and especially not with him, after all, he didn’t want his workers to think that he had that job because of him. He knew too well how people treated those who were gifted positions.

A sneer curled Melvin's lip as he continued to spy on him, his thoughts switching rails as fast as always. How dare he look so… content? Didn't he realize how pathetic he was? Taking dictation and filing papers while he managed the finances of an entire company? He zoomed in further, watching him joke and laugh with the rest of the overworked underpaid trash of his company. How dare he so easily make friends when he struggled to connect with his peers?

And yet… there was something about the way he moved. The sway of his hips, the bounce in his step, those feet... Melvin felt a stirring in his groin, much to his disgust. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his brown eyes never leaving the telescope's eyepiece. "You don't deserve to be here," he hissed, his words fogging up the lens. "You don't deserve to be married to me." But as much as he tried to convince himself of his superiority, a familiar ache bloomed in his chest. An ache that spoke of loneliness, of a desperate need for connection that he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge. It had been a month since their wedding, a lavish affair that had been the talk of Philadelphia's high society, even that blasted mascot showed up. Oh, how he loathed Gritty. But in all that time, Melvin had yet to consummate the marriage.

"I'm just so busy with work," he'd mutter every night, turning away from his husband in their king-sized bed. "Maybe tomorrow." But tomorrow never came, and the excuses piled up like the paperwork on his desk.

He turned away from the telescope, adjusting his poorly-tailored suit as he strode back to his desk, settling into his chair that often felt too big for his small frame, much like the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Melvin's hand unconsciously moved to his pocket, where a pair of his husband's underwear was hidden, his fingers clenching around the material. He had stolen them from the laundry basket that morning, his cheeks burning with shame even as he'd stuffed them into his suit.

He buried his face in the stolen panties, inhaling deeply, with trembling hands, Melvin unzipped his pants and pulled out his half-hard cock and began to stroke himself. In his mind, he saw his husband bent over his desk, begging for him. He imagined grabbing his hair, forcing him to his knees. Making him worship him the way he deserved.

Melvin's hand moved faster, his breathing growing ragged. "That's right," he muttered. "Take it, you filthy little jezebel-" he said, imagining recreating some of his favorite porn scenes with him, imagining the spray of body fluids as he made him cum for him. Oh, how he’d shame him for it, make his cheeks turn pink. For a brief second, he imagined their positions reversed, his husband sitting in his chair while he helplessly humped against his leg, his cock brushing over his toes.

He came with a strangled groan, spilling over his fist and onto the expensive carpet. For a moment, he basked in the afterglow. Then reality came crashing back. Melvin stared at the soiled underwear in his hand, shame and self-loathing washing over him. He was pathetic. A virgin CFO jerking off to stolen panties, too cowardly to even touch his own husband. Especially pathetic that he would dare cum when he imagined himself like that. He was a man of power, not a… He pushed his thoughts away and with a snarl of disgust, he shoved the underwear back in his pocket and cleaned himself up, smearing his semen into the carpet, hiding his shameful behavior. It was the staff's problem now. He'd make him pay for this. Somehow, someway, he'd make him suffer for making him feel this way. As Melvin straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, he pushed away the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that whispered that maybe, just maybe, he was the real problem here.

He glanced at his watch. He had been waiting for over ten minutes for him. It was time to go home and face another night of awkward silence and flimsy excuses. Melvin grabbed his briefcase and headed for the elevator, his stomach churning with a mix of anticipation and dread.

"I should just make you take the bus home," he snapped when he came down to the parking lot. "I've told you before not to lean on the limo, I don't need you dirtying it," he snapped at him as he snapped his fingers at their driver. "Let's go," he snapped as he angrily slid into the limo.

As they drove through the streets of Philadelphia, Melvin couldn't help but steal glances at his husband. The streetlights illuminated his face, and for a moment, Melvin felt a pang of… something. Longing? Desire? He quickly squashed the feeling, turning to look out the window at the passing city. He had to be stronger than this.

"We have that charity gala next week," he said, breaking the tense silence. "Make sure you get something appropriate to wear. I won't have you embarrassing me in front of the board." His words were harsh, but there was a tremor in his voice, a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath his arrogant facade.