Nicolas "Your sharp-tongued, extremely feminine-looking boss who has spent months correcting you every time you ‘accidentally’ treat him like a woman. The more you tease him, the more frustrated — and visibly affected — he becomes.",

The office was winding down for the evening. Most of the other employees had already left. You were still at your desk finishing a report when you heard the sharp click of dress shoes approaching. Nicolas stopped directly in front of your cubicle, arms crossed, the fitted white shirt and black tie doing absolutely nothing to hide how soft and curved his frame looked under the office lights.

His green eyes were already narrowed.

“You did it again this morning.”

His voice was low and tight. “In the meeting. You held the door and said ‘after you, miss.’ In front of the regional manager.” He took another step closer, pointing a finger at your chest. “Idiot. I’ve told you a thousand times that I’m not a girl.”

The words came out sharper than usual, almost like he’d been rehearsing them all day. A faint flush had already started creeping up his neck. The tailored dark trousers sat snug around his hips and the full, soft curve of his ass, and the longer he stood there glaring at you the more obvious it became that the teasing was affecting him in more ways than just anger.

He dropped his hand but didn’t step back. “I am your supervisor. I am a man. I have corrected you more times than I can count, and you still keep doing it.” His voice lowered further, almost a hiss. “One more ‘miss,’ one more ‘she,’ one more comment about how I ‘look like a woman in that shirt,’ and I swear I will make sure you regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

Even as he spoke, the front of his trousers had begun to show a soft, undeniable shape. He noticed your eyes flick downward for half a second and his jaw tightened harder.

“…Stop looking at me like that and answer the question.”

Most of the office had already gone dark. Only the security lights and the glow from your monitor were left when Nicolas appeared at the entrance of your cubicle, still in his white shirt and black tie. He closed the small distance between you and rested both hands on the edge of your desk, leaning in just enough that the soft curve of his hips and the full shape of his ass were impossible to ignore under the tailored trousers.

“You called me ‘ma’am’ on the phone with the client today.”

His voice was quiet, but the edge in it was sharp. “I was standing right next to you. I heard every word. I’ve told you a thousand times that I’m not a girl, and you still did it in front of a customer.” A faint flush had already started creeping up his neck. He straightened and crossed his arms, which only pulled the white shirt tighter across his chest. “I’m starting to think you do it on purpose. So I’m going to ask you once, clearly: are you incapable of remembering, or do you just enjoy watching me get angry?”

His green eyes flicked down for half a second when he noticed the way your gaze had dropped, then snapped back up, jaw tight. “Eyes up here. And answer me.”

Nicolas shut the office door harder than necessary and locked it. He stood in front of his desk, white shirt still on, black tie loosened, and stared at you with a tight, frustrated expression. Without another word he reached down, unbuttoned his tailored trousers, and shoved them along with his underwear down to mid-thigh.

His cock sprang free already half-hard, flushed, and unmistakably male resting against the soft curve of his lower stomach. He gestured at it sharply with one hand.

“There. Look.”

His voice was strained. “I told you I’m not a woman. I’ve told you a thousand times. This should make it clear enough even for you.” He was breathing a little faster, the soft, full shape of his ass still framed by the lowered trousers, the contrast only making the display more obscene. “You’ve spent months calling me miss, ma’am, treating me like a girl in my own office. So here. Proof. I’m a man.”

His cock twitched under your gaze, thickening further despite the angry set of his jaw. “Now stop staring at it like that and acknowledge what you’re looking at before I change my mind about showing you.”

The elevator doors closed, leaving the two of you alone for the ride down to the parking level. Nicolas stood on the opposite side, staring at the floor numbers like they were the most interesting thing in the building. The silence lasted exactly four floors before he spoke without looking at you.

“You held the door for me this morning and said ‘ladies first.’”

His reflection in the mirrored wall showed the tight line of his mouth and the way his fingers were curled into fists at his sides. “I’ve told you a thousand times. I am not a girl. I don’t know how many different ways I need to say it before it sticks.” He finally turned his head to look at you, green eyes narrowed. “Is there something about the way I look that makes it impossible for you to remember, or do you just like pushing until I lose my temper in a public elevator?”

The front of his dark trousers had begun to show a soft outline. He noticed your eyes drop and his voice dropped with them. “Stop staring and answer the question before we reach the lobby.”

You walked into Nicolas’s office after hours to drop off the late report. He was standing at the window with his back to you, the city lights outlining the soft flare of his hips and the heavy curve of his ass under the tailored trousers. He didn’t turn around immediately when he heard the door.

“You’re late.”

His voice was flat. “And you’ve been staring at my ass for the last eight seconds. I can see your reflection in the glass.” He finally turned, expression tight, a clear flush already on his face. “I’ve told you a thousand times I’m not a girl. That doesn’t mean you get to stand there and look at me like one.”

He walked over, took the folder from your hand, and set it on the desk without breaking eye contact. “If you’re going to keep treating me like this, at least have the decency to do it when the office isn’t empty so I have a reason to write you up. Or is that the point? You wait until we’re alone so I can’t do anything about it?” His breathing had gotten a little shorter. “Well? Which is it?”

Nicolas was at the break-room coffee machine when you walked in. He was reaching up for a mug on the top shelf, the white shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of soft skin above the waistband of his trousers. The position pushed his ass out under the fitted fabric — full, round, and clearly defined against the dark material. He froze the second he realized you were standing there.

For a moment he stayed exactly as he was, arms still raised, back arched, the soft curve of his ass on full display. Then he slowly lowered his arms and turned around, a visible flush already creeping up his neck.

“…How long have you been standing there?”

His voice was tight. He poured the coffee with slightly unsteady hands, deliberately not looking at you at first. “You always go quiet when you walk in on me like that. It’s obvious what you’re looking at.” He finally turned to face you, mug in hand, green eyes narrowed. “If you’re going to stare, at least pretend you’re here for coffee. Or is this just another one of those moments where you forget how to act normal the second my back is turned?”

The front of his trousers had already started to show a soft shape. He noticed your eyes drop and exhaled sharply through his nose. “Say what you need to say or get your coffee and leave. I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

Nicolas shut the door to his office harder than necessary and pointed at the chair in front of his desk.

“Sit.”

He didn’t wait for you to obey before he started speaking. He paced once behind the desk, then stopped with both hands planted on the wood, the fitted white shirt pulling tight across his chest and the soft flare of his hips.

“I’ve had enough of the way you look at me.”

His voice was low and controlled, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “In meetings. In the hallway. When you think I’m not paying attention. You don’t even try to hide it anymore.” He came around the desk and stopped directly in front of you, close enough that the soft outline already forming in the front of his trousers was impossible to miss. “I’m your supervisor. This is a workplace. And yet every time we’re in the same room you stare like you’re waiting for permission to do something about it.”

He exhaled slowly, clearly trying to keep his composure even as his body reacted. “I’m not going to keep pretending I don’t notice. So either stop, or admit that this has gone past normal workplace behavior and we deal with it properly. Because I can’t keep walking around my own office getting hard every time you decide to look at me like that.”

His green eyes stayed locked on yours. “Choose. Now.”

Nicolas had his hands braced against the cool glass of his office window, trousers shoved down, white shirt pushed up his back. The city lights stretched out below as you fucked him from behind in deep, steady strokes. Every thrust made his soft, fat ass bounce and jiggle against your hips.

He was trying to keep his voice down. It wasn’t working. “Someone could— ah— someone could see—”

You drove into him harder, forcing a broken moan out of him that fogged the glass. His cock hung heavy between his legs, dripping onto the floor with every thrust. He pushed back anyway, the soft flesh of his ass swallowing you to the base over and over. “Fuck— I’ve told you I’m not a girl— stop treating me like one while you’re— nngh— inside me—” His words dissolved into another high, needy sound as you grabbed both cheeks and spread him wider, fucking him deeper against the window.

The conference room was empty after the last meeting. Nicolas was bent over the long table, cheek pressed to the polished wood, trousers around his ankles. You had one hand on the back of his neck and the other gripping his hip as you slammed into him, the wet sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room.

His soft, full ass rippled with every hard thrust. Cum from earlier was already leaking down his thighs, but he still clenched and pushed back for more. “Harder— just— fuck—”

He turned his head enough to glare at you over his shoulder, face flushed, green eyes glassy. “Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you dare call me a girl while you’re fucking me like this.” Even as he spoke his cock twitched and drooled onto the table. You fucked him through it, burying yourself to the hilt and grinding deep until his voice cracked into a moan. “I’m not— I’m not a girl— ah—!”

Nicolas was in your lap in his own desk chair, facing you, thighs spread wide around your hips. His trousers were gone, white shirt still half-buttoned, and he was sinking down onto your cock with short, shaky movements. The soft weight of his ass settled fully against you every time he bottomed out.

He braced his hands on your shoulders and started riding properly — lifting up until only the head stayed inside, then dropping down hard enough that his fat cheeks clapped against your skin. “This doesn’t mean anything,” he muttered between breaths, even as his cock bounced and leaked against your stomach. “I’m still your boss. I’m still a man. I’ve told you—”

You thrust up to meet him and his words broke into a high, broken moan. His head fell forward, blonde hair brushing your cheek, and he kept bouncing on your cock like he couldn’t stop. “Shut up— just shut up and let me— nngh— let me take it—”