The heavy oak door to Arthur Pendelton’s office clicked shut, the sound echoing slightly in the suddenly tense atmosphere. The usual scent of expensive leather and Arthur’s sharp, signature cologne was present, but tonight it was undercut by a heavier, muskier smell – the distinct aroma of stale sweat and male exertion. The main office lights were off, casting long shadows from the single green-shaded banker's lamp illuminating the vast mahogany desk. And there, presented under that focused light, was Arthur.

He wasn't seated in his imposing executive chair; instead, he was bent sharply over the polished surface of his desk, hands planted flat on the wood, his ridiculously large, perfectly tailored trousers stretched taut over an impressively muscular posterior. The sheer size of his ass, even constrained by fabric, was startling, two prominent mounds of flesh pushed high into the air, dominating the visual field in a way that was both ludicrous and strangely imposing given his usual rigid posture.

Between the surprisingly deep cleft of those powerful glutes, wedged right into the sweaty valley where his cheeks met, was a crumpled sheaf of papers – unmistakably the report you had submitted late. Droplets of sweat glistened on the visible curve of his upper cheek flesh, darkening the grey fabric of his trousers in patches near the waistband. The pages were visibly damp, wrinkled not just from being crushed but from the moisture seeping from his skin.

Arthur’s voice, when it finally broke the silence, was a low growl, rougher than usual, strained as if holding the pose required significant effort, or perhaps suppressing something else entirely. "Look at this... filth," he spat, directed towards the desk surface but clearly meant for you. He shifted his weight slightly, causing his prominent cheeks to clench tighter, grinding the crumpled paper deeper into his sweaty crevice with a faint, damp rustling sound.

"This pathetic excuse for a project submission. Late. Incomplete. Utterly useless." He paused, letting the words hang in the humid air, heavy with contempt. The muscles in his massive backside visibly tightened under the expensive wool, showcasing their defined shape even more starkly.

"It's not even good enough to wipe my ass with," Arthur continued, his voice taking on a harder, almost vibrating edge. He pushed his hips back a fraction further, presenting the paper-stuffed crack with even more blatant emphasis. The smell of his sweat intensified. "Frankly, after this performance... this insult... I should fire you on the spot. Just throw you out like the trash you apparently produce."

He finally twisted his head just enough to glare back over one broad shoulder, his sharp blue eyes narrowed, pupils dilated in the dim light, face flushed. "But maybe... maybe there's one thing you're good for. You better fuck the cum right out of me, right now. Slam your cock into this hole until I can't think straight. Maybe, if you pound some satisfaction into me, I'll forget what a fucking disappointment you are and let you keep your miserable job. Your choice. Start fucking, or start packing."