Work Text:
Having risen to the role of creative director and senior partner at Sina Rose & Reiss at the age of 38, Erwin Smith had found himself growing numb to the luxuries that had greeted him at each level with his rise to the top. As the title on his business cards grew longer, the fabric in his suits became more expensive, the liquor he drank was richer, and the throngs of women that he encountered simply grew in number and beauty. Erwin Smith could very much be described as the man who had it all.
And yet day by day, he found himself wanting to have nothing to do with any of it.
A suit was a suit, whiskey will always burn it’s way down your throat, and every woman who approached him simply melded to his whims in the hopes of him granting them the honor of being Mrs. Smith. His business partners never understood what he meant by this, scoffing at the idea of how Erwin Smith could be discontent with his position in life. Nile always chides him saying that this was simply the consequence of being a bachelor for far too long, and if he had to deal with a pregnant wife, two kids and the idleness of the picket fences, he’d be cursing himself for ever getting disillusioned with the freedom of the city.
Perhaps he was right, but one thing the firm could not overlook was that Erwin’s marital status made it much easier for them to entertain the gifts the clientele would offer in order to gain better deals. Marie would have Nile’s neck if they had a repeat of the Reeves incident, and Miche was far too smitten with his fiancé to tempt fate, which is why Erwin finds himself wrapping up the dealings of a consultation alone with you.
He was sure tonight would be the usual song and dance, a fancy dinner on the client’s dime with a few dolled up faces to join them, and sure enough, he found you waiting for him at the table Marley Pharmaceuticals had reserved at Chez Paradis. He tried to suppress his smirk at the fact that the pretty secretary that junior copywriter Kirstein was fawning over was his date for the night, thinking perhaps for the poor boy’s sake he wouldn’t take things too far.
However, the twisted jovialness died quickly when you informed him that you were not waiting on Mr. Jaeger to return from the restroom, and that he had entrusted you to handle the details of the ad layout by yourself. Erwin should have known that the slimy blonde he was dealing with earlier in the week would have pulled a stunt like this, but he swallows his irritation down to indulge in the French cuisine in your company. You two make pleasant conversation over classic novels and the works of the beatniks over Pinot Grigio and terrine, Erwin finding himself surprised at how much you know about Hemmingway and Salinger. Most girls like you were more enthralled by cheap romance novels, yet here you were, countering his disdain for Kerouac’s prose with valid points. Very little progress on the true purpose of the dinner had been made by the time desert had rolled around, so it was agreed that the business portion of the night would be moved to a nightcap in his office.
You’re lighting a cigarette, gazing at the skyline out of the floor to ceiling windows as Erwin pours scotch for the both of you. The city continues to rumble beneath you, the twinkling lights of showboards, the rumble of the cars on the street. Even from a 104 stories up, you feel like you can hear the laughter of everyone who was enchanted by the New Maria City nightlife.
“That’s a nasty habit, you know,” Erwin remarks as he hands you a glass.
“Some would say so,” you muse, “But your firm’s done a pretty good job of convincing the public that it’s not.”
He chuckles as he takes the cigarette from your offering hand, the tobacco roll appearing comically small between his large fingers as he takes a drag. “Surgeon General Hange is still on my neck for that one, but it’s not my job to sell the truth, it’s to sell happiness.”
“Then let us toast to happiness,” you say, “May Erwin Smith, the man who makes death look delectable, weave a story of the same caliber for Marley Pharm.”
The deft clink of the crystal fills the room, Erwin giving you a wry smile before saying, “I’m afraid this story might be tougher than we thought. This product of yours, it’s bold.”
You purse painted lips over the rim of the glass. “It’s why we came to the best. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little challenge now.”
“A contraceptive pill is sure to rock the boat, but that’s not even my main concern. Who would we market it to? With soldiers returning home from the war, undoubtedly there will be a second baby boom. And while we may know that it’s reversible, a pill sounds like a permanent solution.”
“But that’s why we are paying you, isn’t it? To tell the public what it really is?”
“And why would you assume that housewives and their husbands would approve even after we’ve told them? The cigarette fantasy was successful because it soothes them from facing the truths of their routine, what you’re asking for is an upheaval of the notions and ways of your target demographic.”
You mull over what he says, letting it digest as you tap your cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “Mr. Smith, do you know what goes into making our pills?”
“I believe the reports had said something about a combination of hormones.”
“Estrogen and progesterone, to be precise. However, slapping that across the label is neither flashy or print cost effective, which is how we came up with the consumer name — Liberio — to represent the freedom that comes with the protection. Housewives and husbands can have their opinions, but I think you’re missing the untapped market here.”
“And who would that be?” He asks incredulously.
“Women, Mr. Smith, and solely them. Times are changing. You can still hold on to the past as much as you like, but women want more these days. Even housewives do, but they are too afraid to say it. Why else are we going to college more, marrying later, having children later? Liberio is meant to empower those women, so they have freedom in their choices. There’s the story, Mr. Smith, so tell me, how should we say it best?”
For the first time in his life, Erwin feels bested at his own game. He’s dealt with plenty of people who have gone against his advice numerous times before and the failure that brought to their sales — but to have been presented with a better strategy than anything the copywriters had struggled with for weeks by a client, by a woman, was surely a first. He should feel irate, enraged even, but seeing the small smirk dance upon your lips at the fact that you’ve won simply makes the growing tension between you thicker.
“Well, we’d need to start off with focus group testing. Find out if your theory holds true. ‘Women’ is a pretty general category, so we would need to narrow it down, so how do you suggest we do that?”
“Perhaps start testing with younger women,” you say, stepping forward to bridge the gap between you till you were a breath’s distance away from each other.
“Single women,” you continue, and you rise up on your toes so you can whisper the final criteria in his ear.
“Women like me.”
Whatever restraint Erwin had left in him snaps as your tongue ghosts the shell of his ear, and he’s grabbing your jaw to slant his lips against yours. You moan into his mouth as strong hands give your ass a tight squeeze before they move up to unzip your dress. The deep red fabric pools on the floor, the chill of the room leaving goosebumps on newly exposed skin.
He takes a moment to drink it all in, the way sheer black stockings were stretching over the plush of your thighs, the way the straps connecting to the mesh garter were just guiding him to the dip of your waist, the way your nipples were pebbling against the black lace of your bra.
His hands quickly find purchase on your body once more, grasping the underside of your thighs to prompt you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. Your mouths connect in a searing kiss once again, his tongue sliding past your parted lips as he walks you to the window, your back hitting the glass with a dull thud.
A low groan leaves him as he pulls away seeing your flushed skin and heaving breasts. And you aren’t any less entranced by the sight of him, he looks even better when he’s undone; blonde locks messily pulled out of the neat combing and icy blue eyes taken over by lusty pupils. He cups your chin gently, his thumb running over your lips to get you to open up so he could slide his thick fingers into the cavern, and you take the cue from his raised brows as a sign to dutifully swirl your tongue around them. Erwin’s throbbing in his slacks at how your lips stretch across his digits as he pumps them in and out of your mouth, a glistening string of saliva breaking as he finally pulls them out.
“You’re already so wet for me, darling,” he notes, earning a mewl from you as he slips his wettend fingers through your panties to run through your folds.
“Mr. Smith,” you gasp, “Please —”
“I think we are well past formalities, don’t you agree, love?” He takes this as an opportunity to slip a finger inside you, the pace not unlike how he was abusing your mouth earlier — purposeful, powerful, leaving you yearning for more.
You nod fervently in response, a breathless “yes, Erwin” sliding past your lips, and the act of obedience earns you another finger. Erwin’s scissoring them lazily now, stretching and pressing against your walls, and you realize he’s been trying to get you to beg for him to get to what you really want.
“Erwin,” you plead, voice broken, “I want m-more, please just, just fuck me already.” You shift your hips in a pathetic attempt to buck on his hand, but he quickly catches on, his other hand tightening the steel grip he has on your thighs to hold you still.
“You aren’t ready for me yet, darling,” he hums, curling his fingers to strike that spongy spot. “No, not nearly enough. Want to feel you come undone like this for me first.” Your legs are starting to shake as he increases his speed, jaw trembling as you whine when he finally begins to rub his thumb over your aching clit and with two precise circles, you’re seeing stars, quivering in his hold as your release runs down his forearm.
Your hands fall from the vice grip you’ve had on his hair to claw at his belt, shifting your feet up to desperately push his slacks down. He chuckles at your neediness before wiping your slick on his boxer briefs, pulling them down to release his aching cock from his confines.
The sight of it causes you to gulp, long and so thick with a flushed red head leaking with precum; you’re not even sure you would be able to wrap your hand fully around his girth. Erwin senses your nerves as he starts to reposition you, hooking his arms underneath your knees as he lines himself up with your needy hole, murmuring reassurances into your sweat slickened skin about how he’ll take it slow.
He pushes into you with a guttural groan, using every ounce of restraint to not just sheath himself fully; you’re just so warm, so inviting. He isn’t even half way in yet and your mind is starting to go hazy at how full you are. Your breaths are labored by the time your hips are flush with the dark blonde curls at the base of his cock, Erwin giving your walls a moment to adjust before picking you up and moving you like a doll across his length.
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he’s reduced you to a mess, you can’t even form a coherent thought as he slams into you again and again with powerful thrusts, so you claw into the back of his dress shirt to try to ground yourself in reality. Erwin’s praises at how tight you were were punctuated with the wet slaps of skin, he wasn’t going to last for much longer if you kept clamping down on him like that, and so his hand snakes to the junction where your bodies meet again to rub at your clit, sending you hurtling into your second orgasm of the night with a broken cry that fills the office.
He follows shortly after you, hot ropes of cum filling your insides as you milk him dry. He pulls out of you with a hiss, the thick white fluid dripping out of your abused hole. His hand is back by your puffy lips again, slowly pumping with the seed flowing out of you back into your cunt.
“What?” He chuckles, responding to the questioning look in your blissed out eyes. “You did say you were protected, didn’t you?” He moves closer to press a kiss to your cheek, his aquiline nose brushing against soft skin as he leans in to whisper in your ear.
“Consider this product testing, darling.”