#pantalone reader insert

You hadn't intended to access it. At least that's what you told yourself when you'd found it. You had simply hacked into Northland's mainframe and were taking a look around. It was your hope that you could mine out some useful information that you could sell on the black market. Bank records weren't anything of real value, they were a dime a dozen on the open market. You could care less about those. It was general knowledge, at least amongst your circle of comrades, that Northland was little more than a cover for the Fauti's less than scrupulous practices. Meaning if you could find any information on the organization's plans or movements, you would hit the proverbial gold mine. 

When you had discovered the server all the way at the bottom of a nested list, you already had enough information to get you through the next few months. You should have left it alone. But your curiosity got the better of you. The higher security protocols triggered your interest in a way that the standard Northland servers hadn't. This singular server was a puzzle to you and you being you, viewed the stricter restrictions as a challenge. This server's security wasn't a standard system that could be easily overridden. You quickly discovered that the protections around the server were custom made. Meaning its owner had intended for it to be fool proof when it came to keeping any unwanted individuals out. That thought only intrigued you more. What could be so precious that this level of security was required? Was it weapons codes or plans for world domination? Surely whatever was there would be profitable enough that you would never have to work again, right?

After days of trying, to the point that you were nearly exhausted, you finally got in. It had taken a monumental amount of research on your part to figure out a way around the complex coding. What you discovered was well worth your efforts. On a server for one was a treasure trove of videos. All of them private, all of them explicit. You could hardly believe it.  

You should have just left well enough alone after that. The knowledge that you could watch the Regrator get off in some of weirdest ways possible should have been enough. Even in your greed, you should have grabbed some of the more disgusting videos and sold them for a large profit. The funds would be more than enough for you to evade the harbinger’s wrath and start a new life elsewhere. Most importantly, after you had accessed the server, you should have checked for additional security measures; namely tracking. If you had, you would have realized that the access records were being monitored. You would have known your IP address and location had been captured. You would have realized that your fate, at least where the Regrator was concerned, was already sealed. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t what happened. Instead, in your own depravity, you had set an alert to be notified of any updates to the server so you could see what perversion he indulged in next. 

Pantalone knew the second the server was breached. He was in the middle of a meeting when he received the notification. It was only by the grace of the heavens that he managed to keep himself contained. Security breaches weren’t an uncommon thing. Northland was a common target for hackers and resistance fighters alike. It was why he laced lies and false plans throughout the servers. Pantalone had more than enough data on what they were looking for. All he needed to do was place it in specific areas so they wouldn’t have cause to go deeper. Not many people were inclined to keep digging after they’d already found the treasure. You were obviously the exception. That told him you were either abnormally greedy or you didn’t know what was good for you. It didn’t matter to him. You had made yourself a target. The question was how best to deal with you? Finding you would be simple. His tracking software would see to that. Pantalone only needed to assess the damage to determine whether he needed to act now or if the matter would keep until his afternoon tea.

After the meeting’s sudden adjournment, in the privacy of the now empty space, the analytics gave him surprisingly good news. Nothing had been taken. You had breached the security, but you hadn’t stolen anything. In fact, all you had done was browsed his videos like it was your going through your own personal library. He supposed for now it wasn’t that bad.Clearly you’d been snooping and that was all. The matter could be fixed with additional security to stop you from coming back. If word of the videos got out, it was something he could easily deny. From his end of things, you had no proof. Even if you’d taken screen captures, you still risked exposing yourself and your less than legal activities. You would have to publicly admit you had committed a crime. If you did, then it was nothing to him to silence you for good. After all, any number of nasty accidents could be arranged and none of them would be traceable to him. All he could do now was wait and see.

It took you a few days to go back and try again. After your first encounter with videos, you’d set the notification and promptly walked away. You’d told yourself the notification was enough. You didn’t need to go back unless he posted something new. The image of him looking so vulnerable though. Of him gasping and moaning and whimpering as he ran his hands over himself was a tough one to forget. Despite everything that made him terrifying, beneath it all, the weakness he willingly put on display was utterly alluring. You knew the videos were for his eyes only. That the exposed nature of them was for him to enjoy. But you couldn’t help but allow your mind to wander back to them. God he had looked so pathetic. Pantalone always projected an image of strength to the public. To see him so weak and needy was addictive. Your own desire to see him make an absolute mess of himself demanded it. Which was why, despite your better judgement, you found your way back into Northland’s systems. 

The additional security should have been a red flag. You hadn’t sold what you’d taken a few days earlier, meaning that there was only one reason for the additional firewalls; your visit to the private server had been discovered. Your own need to peer back into Pantalone’s private world dismissed the additional security as little more than red tape. The bank had instituted a new security policy or something like that. Breaches were common, so it’s likely they were attempting to dissuade smaller hackers with new measures. For you though, they weren’t anything. Not after you had figured out how his security worked. You bypassed them easily enough, quickly tunneling down into the treasure trove that rested at the end. 

This went on for weeks. You tried not to make it a daily thing as that felt excessive, but every time he posted a new video, which was becoming more frequent, you found yourself going there right away. The temptation to see his latest perversion was simply too great, especially since watching him had helped bring you to some of the best orgasms of your life. At this stage, at least in the back of your mind, you felt he had to know. Different aspects of his videos had changed. It was nothing dramatic, but you had noticed slightly improved lighting, better camera angles, and above all, the mumbled utterances of are you enjoying this as he got himself off. It was hard to believe he enjoyed being watched when he was like this. His image was always so controlled. As you sat in a post orgasmic bliss after his latest video, you wondered if he was doing just that? Was he tailoring this image of himself specifically for you, based on what you enjoyed? You scoffed at the possibility. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, right? 

As you thought about it over the next day or so, you swore to yourself that you’d been careful. You hadn’t given him a way to know you had been there or at the very least you appeased yourself with the idea that he couldn’t find you. You had cracked his security protocol enough that the normal alarms wouldn’t trigger. On his side, you should have looked like a regular user and nothing more. Even if he had figured out specific videos were being watched without his consent, he wouldn’t go so far as to bait you, would he? 

Your answer came in the form of another video, one where he explicitly used your name. 

The second it passed his lips your entire body went cold. All you could do was blankly stare at the screen as he sat there in all his magnificence, looking utterly proud of himself. For a moment you thought you’d misheard it. He hadn’t said your name, he didn’t know it. Again, you swore to yourself that you had been careful. He couldn’t know anything about you. Then, as if on que, he said it again. This time, with a smirk so sinister you leapt up from your chair just to get away from it. God he knew. Oh fuck, he knew. You immediately went to close the screen, your arousal long forgotten due to the reality that was now seeping in. The Regrator knew what you had been up to. He likely had known for weeks now. It explained the changes and tweaks made to the content. It explained his utterances and questions as he stroked himself. He was imagining you watching him. That fact sent a chill down your spin. He shouldn’t know you exist. Yet he did and worse than that, he was getting off on the fact that you watched him. 

Your hand was on the button. You were seconds away from closing the window when his melodic voice washed over you again. “Before you close this darling. Just know, this one tells me how far you got.” As your eyes drifted over to the screen, you saw a shudder ripple its way through his body. On top of everything, the bastard had the nerve to be close. “End the fun too soon and there may be-” He gasped as he ran his fingers over the tip of his cock. “Consequences.” You swallowed, not daring to imagine what those might be. He had your name, which meant he knew how to find you. Even if you tried to run, you wouldn’t get far. Your funds might get you to somewhere like Nod Krai, but you wouldn’t have enough to pay the guilds for their silence. It wasn’t like you were well equipped to survive out in the wild either. To stand a chance of making it there or really anywhere, you would have to take a job in the city. That meant a proper address tied to your name. All it would take was for Pantalone to get a hold of your paperwork. After that, you were a sitting duck.

From the screen, he smiled at you again, moaning your name as his movements grew more erratic. He was going to cum. As you stood there and shook in fear, he was going to have the nerve to cum. “Fair’s fair-” He groaned out another darling. “You obviously enjoy watching me.” He paused long enough to get the rest of the sentence out. “It’s only right I should get to see you.” Your stomach collapsed to the point that you felt like you were going to be ill. He wasn’t serious. “You’ve…” He groaned in satisfaction as he teased the tip of his cock with his fingers. “Definitely caught my attention dearest.” Pantalone tightened his grip slightly, his hips jerking and stuttering as his movements grew messier. He was getting close now. You could see it in the way he furrowed his brow. The regrator was desperate to hold on, but you knew him well enough to know that wouldn’t be the case. The second he drew his bottom lip into his mouth, it was over. In what you would consider a truly glorious display, Pantalone came moaning your name. 

“You-” His voice was heady with lust as he came down from his orgasm; pleasure and satisfaction dripping from every single word. It was as annoying as it was alluring. You had just watched the regrator get off to you or at least the idea of what he was going to do to you. Despite everything you were feeling in the moment, you couldn’t help but be a little flattered. “Have 24 hours to respond. I won’t bother with access rights. If you’re clever enough to get through my security, then I’m sure you're clever enough to figure out how to get a video of your own onto this server.” You gapped at that your temporary sense of pride long forgotten. Not only did the bastard want payback, but he was going to set you up for failure to get it? It had taken you days to understand how the server worked. Even then you’d only barely gotten into it with read-only access. Now he expected you to update your permissions, on your own? In less than 24 hours? He had to be insane. “I do hope you’ll give me a good show. After all, I’ve made quite the effort for you. The least you can do is return the favor.” The pause after that overtook everything. Your spinning mind automatically went into overdrive. What were you supposed to do? What could you do? You had hacked your way into the private server of one of the most powerful men in Sneznaya and stolen from his public servers. That alone was enough to earn you a ticket to jail. Then, with his full knowledge, but not his consent, you had been pleasuring yourself to him for weeks. Now, he was demanding compensation in the most humiliating way possible. He couldn’t actually expect you to film yourself, could he? At least not in the same method he did for himself. Surely he was joking. He had to be. “If I don’t see anything from you as of the time you started this little video then I’ll take that as an invitation to see you in person so that we might experience this little delight together. It has been ages since I’ve had anyone fun here.” Your legs automatically gave out. You fumbled your way back into your chair, tears forming in your eyes as reality finished setting in. He was going to make you do it. Come hell or high water, the Regrator would get his way with you. The question was, could you get the video on the server in time or would it be easier to sort this out in person? Despite your lack of funds, could you try to get to another border or at least out on the open sea? Could you swing that before your time ran out? “Before you think I can’t find you, or you believe you can get away, just know I have spies close by watching your every move. If they catch you trying to run, then we’ll meet each other much sooner than expected.” Of course he already had people on you. He’d probably sent them as soon as he’d begun this sick little game with you. “I’m eager to see how you’ll respond dearest.” Your eyes came back up to the screen before you realized they’d fallen away. The sinister smile he’d held the whole time mocked you from the other side of the screen. “Don’t keep me waiting for too long. It ruins the fun.” With one last laugh, the video ended. Leaving you in complete darkness. 

What now? Was it worth your time to meet his challenge? Did you really believe you could get the necessary access rights in time or would your time be better served trying something else? You thought about trying to find his spies. There couldn’t be that many, could there? Maybe you could take what you had and buy them off. Maybe you could try to use force as a means of escape. Even if you managed it, there was still the matter of trying to get away. The cities were warmed to make them habitable. But in the frozen tundras of Snezhnaya, you doubted you would make it a mile before you froze. Were those your choices? Comply or die? Was that all he had left you with? You let out a broken sob at the thought. 

With tear filled eyes, you looked back at the dark screens. He’d insisted you shouldn’t disappoint him. You knew that applied to your actions as much as your video. If you forced him to wait for nothing, you knew the consequences would become more severe. Right now he had given you a choice. He’d only asked for one video. If you didn’t acquiesce to his request then one could turn into an infinite number with a snap of his fingers. Worse still, he could find you and he could demand that you give him what he wanted in person. If those were your only options, then you preferred to keep him as far away as humanly possible. 

With shaking hands, you reached for the keyboard and mouse, closing his video. You had to try, didn’t you? Even if you hated it, even if you failed, you still had to make an effort. Because even the smallest effort might be what stayed his hand. At least, you hoped it did. In all honesty, nothing actually would. Even if by some miracle you managed to meet his deadline, that only opened the door to additional demands. More videos, tougher challenges, and tighter timelines. Because that was the real payoff for him, wasn’t it? The show he wanted wasn’t the video, it was the challenge in getting the video to him. Pantalone wanted to be impressed to the point that he had demanded it. The price of his individual attention was that you show him how capable you really were. He wanted to see if your meddling was a fluke or if you were as competent as you had shown yourself to be. If that was the case, then you decided you would rise to the occasion. As the terror of the situation settled into anxiety, you decided he didn’t matter. You would do what he wanted, but you wouldn’t do it for him, you would do it for yourself. You would prove that you could beat him at his own game, even if you had to humiliate yourself to win. 

There’s an all too well-known cycle of debt in Snezhnaya. It’s far easier than one might imagine to reach out for help from the Fatui, and in many circumstances, it becomes an offer far too enticing to ignore. But a bitter truth remains under all the posturing, under all the seemingly happy smiles that hide thinly veiled sins beneath the surface. And that bitter truth is that no debt, no matter how small, will ever go unpaid if you’ve gotten yourself wrapped up with the organization that runs this nation both from the shadows and in broad daylight.

Thus, here you are; working under the ninth of the eleven Harbingers, a man with undeniable charm, effortless charisma, and strict rules for those he oversees. Admittedly, it’s unusual for the Regrator to allow a lowly debt-payer to take up work in his vicinity, —but something about you seemed to pique his interest. Maybe it was that three million Mora debt your gambling addict of a father somehow managed to wrack up on a consistent losing bender, or maybe it was just that you seemed so painfully out of place standing before him.

As you’d come to learn very quickly, Pantalone is no stranger to delegating tasks to those that owe outstanding debts. However, it’s highly unusual that he would ever take someone in under his own supervision so carelessly. Although, you’re certain that he likely knows everything there is to know about you by now. . . Born in Snezhnaya to a working class family, one that was virtually torn apart by the loss of your mother. After her passing, your father went “off the deep end” as many would say; —started drinking, began disregarding the very-much-so alive members of his family, and blew everything on pointless bets and games that were all but specifically designed for him to fail.

And so here you are again, the eldest child of the house. . . The daughter that has to clean up the mess he’s made of everything.

It could be worse, you suppose. Pantalone is strict, but offers a fair amount of praise when the moment calls for such a thing. He’s easy on the eyes as well, which certainly doesn’t hurt. As long as you keep yourself in line, he’s relatively gentle and seems to value positive employer/employee relationships. Those make it easier for everything to work like “a well oiled machine” as he once put it.

Still, standing before him, your nerves are shot. You’re no fool, and you know much better than to trust the front he’s put on for you thus far. Above all else, this man is a Harbinger, and he likely has no qualms about forcing people to bend to his will by whatever means necessary. Though, it’s not as if you have much to offer him. You spared what little Mora you had in hopes of making a small dent in your father’s debts, and since then, every morsel you’ve made has gone directly to lining the pockets of the Fatui. The only other thing he could possibly take is the clothes off your back, —and even then, this is the uniform he gave to you at the start of the month, so it’s hardly yours to begin with.

“You seem nervous,” he notes, a barely-there smirk playing on his lips as he closes the door to his office.

The little clink that resounds throughout the room has you taking in a sharp, quick breath in hopes of steadying your mind. It doesn’t work.

He leans in a little closer, —close enough to feel the ghost of his breath against the shell of your ear, whispering: “Do I scare you?”

You’re uncertain of how to reply. If he were anyone else, you’d just be honest and admit that he does. But, then again, if he were anyone else you likely wouldn’t be scared to begin with. Pantalone is not anyone else, though. He’s the kind of man you’d hate to make your enemy.

“No sir,” you say softly in reply, voice close to quivering which easily gives you away.

He knows you’re lying like the priceless rug his glossy, cuihua wood desk sits on, —and maybe if you were anyone else he wouldn’t take kindly to that sort of deception, But you too are not anyone else, and if anything, he finds your feeble attempt at hiding your nerves to be endearing. The small puff of air he releases from his nose with a quiet, low snicker leaves your shoulders visibly stiff.

“No?” Pantalone inquires further, hands traveling up your arms to smoothe over the plane of your tense shoulders.

If you didn’t know better than to let your guard down, he might well have disarmed you then and there. He can be deceptively gentle when the need arises, and that much has been clear from the start. It’s just that now you yourself are at the receiving end of his underhanded tactics.

“Then you’re in desperate need of a massage,” he comments flippantly.

You know he has no intention of giving you one; least of all one with only concern for your well being at the forefront of his mind. He’s playing at something, —though you can’t say what.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” you answer.

“Sir,” he muses, and though you can’t see his face from this angle, you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he kneads the pads of his fingers against you ever so softly, “that has a lovely ring when you say it.”

He’s close enough now for you to catch the scent of his cologne. It smells expensive and sweet, —made of warm tones and likely concocted for Pantalone’s use alone. Designed to be pacifying. 

“Say it again.”

The request —demand?— leaves your breath hitching in your throat. He can feel the way your shoulders tense harder, shaking slightly under the pressure of it all. When you fail to do as he’s asked of you, he moves to stand in front of you.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks.

His thumb glides along your bottom lip, the side of his index finger coming to rest just below your chin. You hate to admit it, but when he’s so close it’s all too easy to wonder what his lips would feel like slotted against yours in an ardent kiss. He stirs something within you, and he seems to know that despite you having never said it aloud. You can’t help it when your gaze flickers between his curious eyes and his mouth.

“You’re free to take a taste," he says, so quickly that it's startling, —as if he'd been waiting for your line of sight to drift there forever.

You hesitate, —but you can’t deny that you’re willing to take him up on the offer. You can’t deny that you’re curious. 

Pantalone waits patiently, as if to tell you that denial is an option if you’d like to take it.

Unfortunately, you don’t.

His lips are soft and warm, perfectly unchapped despite the harsh, everlasting Snezhnayan winter. His hand moves to the left, forming sweetly to the side of your face as his lips move in tandem with yours immediately. It’s clear in that moment that he never had a doubt you’d take him up on his offer. He knew your decision before you'd even made it. Or, rather, he'd been arrogant enough to assume it and had just gotten the luck of the draw.

"I admit," he says between hungry, breathless kisses, "I don't typically indulge myself with those who work for me."

That doesn't come as a shock to you. For whatever it's worth, he's not a bad boss. . . And even after this, you doubt you'll feel any differently about that. He’s been fair to you, if a bit strict, and he doesn’t seem to be the type to take advantage of anyone in a manner such as this. Although you don’t know him well enough to be certain of it, your gut tells you you’ve hit the nail on the head. Not to mention the fact that a man like him likely has many things to hide, and allowing the wrong person to get in too close would be something akin to career suicide.

A part of you wants to ask “why me?” —wants to ask what could possibly make you so special in his eyes. After all, you’re by no means a unique case. You’re sure he’s seen innumerous women just like you swing in and out on account of a loved one’s irresponsibility.

His next comment answers your unasked question.

“But you always look at me with such a sweet, innocent stare,” he says, voice low. “It’s been driving me wild.”

It dawns on you then just how human Pantalone truly is. He may well be a Harbinger, —but he’s also a man. A man with wants, yearnings, and needs. A man of desires in the same way that you are a woman of them.

He kisses you with tongue this time, loving the way your shoulders stiffen once again in surprise as you let him have his way. Admittedly, he’s a bit of a control freak. He likes to call the shots anywhere he can, and the way you’ve passively taken to his ebb and flow has him half-hard already from the rush of it all. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you have a feeling it won’t be like that forever. In the same manner he is both a man with needs and a Fatui Harbinger, you can only assume he is also a man of soft touches and strict adherence to dominance.

Without missing a beat, he tugs you along. His lips hungrily crave for yours as he positions himself against his desk, leaning back on it. He steadies himself with the glossed edge, jutting a single knee out and slinking it between your quavering legs, hiking up your skirt quite a bit. The coarse fabric of his dress pants is rough against the thin, silken material of your underwear. A tiny moan escapes your lips as the friction sends a little pulse of electricity to your veins.

"How cute," Pantalone quips, nipping lightly at your bottom lip. "You're already making noise and I haven't even properly touched you.”

This man is far from inexperienced, and that much has been clear from the start. He knows how to draw you in with little more than his eyes alone, commanding you around with the sharpness of his gaze. It’s intoxicating; the way he pulls you in and twists your desires, making himself completely and utterly irresistible to you.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat, loving the way it feels when you swallow, muscles contracting just behind your skin. A hand of slender fingers threads through your hair, barely ghosting the tips against your scalp before he’s yanking on the strands, exposing more of your neck for him to feast on. Though the primal side of him wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you, bite, bruise, and mark you up so you’ll be unable to forget about this encounter too easily, the business-savvy side of Pantalone knows better.

People in the workplace love to talk, —love to gossip. And if word of this, if only in the form of speculative rumors, were to get around. . . Well, that wouldn’t be very pleasant, to say the least.

When his teeth graze your earlobe, an ecstatic shiver creeps up your spine.

“Let's put that pretty little mouth to some good use, hm?”

Before you can really wrap your reeling mind around your position, he has you on your knees at his feet. He loves the way you look up at him with innocent doe-eyes, gaze like an animal caught in the spotlight. You’re so sweet, maybe even somewhat bitter, and he’s not sure he’s ever wanted anyone more.

Those coarse dress pants bunch around his knees, and the cock that rests between his thighs is semi-hard by the time you take him in your hand, guiding the warm tip to your lips. His taste is surprisingly neutral, but your jaw has a harder time adjusting to his girth than your tongue does to his flavor.

Pantalone is startlingly gentle when it comes to this. He doesn’t snake his long fingers through your hair and push you down, down, down until your nose brushes against the skin of his lower stomach. He simply watches with curious, cat-like eyes as you test your limits on him, slicking him up, attempting to find a rhythm that doesn’t feel so awkward.

No discouraging comments come from above. Instead, Pantalone presses a large, warm hand to the crown of your head and smooths it down your hair as if to say that you’re doing fine, —that you’re making him feel good just by giving it your best.

The first time you gag, he hums. Although you pull away at first, scared of the sudden reflex, you slowly adjust to him, and Pantalone offers you time to do so. He likes the way you're so persistent, yet inexperienced all the same. The idea that he's the first man to ever have you like this is. . . Exciting, even if he’s just making an assumption. It fills him with a sense of pride that he hasn't felt in a long time. It’s different.

But his gentleness doesn’t last.

It began to fade the minute he fisted a handful of your hair, eliciting a surprised moan from you. Pantalone likes the way it vibrates against the cock stuffed in your pretty little mouth, lips puffy from the rough kisses forming around him. Your gaze seems to shake.

He can’t hold himself back anymore. He can’t play it nice when you look up at him like that, just begging for your throat to be fucked raw.

As both his hands wrap around the back of your head, holding you steady and in place, you’re by no means naive enough to misunderstand what’s about to happen. He catches your gaze just before he rolls his hips, member slipping down your throat. He busies himself with every nook and cranny, feeling the way you contract around him, pulling him in, pushing him out, again and again. He uses your mouth like a toy to be played with, one that he’s taking his sweet time in savoring every micro-movement of.

You’re gagging and sputtering, spit pooling in your mouth and spilling out the corners as he has his way with you. It’s so sloppy and hot, sweeping you away until you can’t feel anything at all besides the yearning for him to fuck you on his desk like an animal and his fat cock closing off your airways, sneaking in breaths between the harsh movements of his lean hips.

“Play with yourself,” he grits through his teeth, and you do as he says, slipping a hand between your thighs to nudge at the sopping heat there.

Your panties are completely and utterly ruined, soaked with arousal, and it’s all his fault. You can’t seem to recall a time when you’ve ever been this turned on, —pussy drooling and so sensitive to every little touch as you run your fingertips along yourself in feather-light touches.

Pantalone pauses with his cock buried in your throat, then slowly removes himself completely. He’s rock hard, covered in your saliva, and oozing pre-cum from the tip. He’s fucking throbbing, so close to bursting and yet saving that for later, and apparently, nothing seems to get him off more than watching you dance those nimble little fingertips across your clothed pussy, spit dripping from your chin to all over the floor of his office.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, and your hand stops moving between your legs.

“Look at the mess you made on the floor of my office,” he demands. “Clean it up.”

The moment you move to do so with your hand, he hisses.

“No, not like that,” he nearly growls. “Use your fucking tongue.”

You’re torn between that being sexy and completely disgusting, but in the end, you do as he says with no questions. Inhibitions are lowered when you’re as horny as this, after all, and the way Pantalone strokes himself to the scene is enough to push you to do it.

“Don’t you dare swallow,” he notes, watching as you lap at the mixture of semen and spit on the floor, only to hold it in your cheek.

You lap at the wet splotches on the ground a few times, collecting the spillage on the flat of your tongue before he tugs you roughly to your feet. He tears your blouse open, popping all the buttons off as if it were an easy feat. Your bra comes off simply as he unclasps it with grace, only to discard it and suckle on your nipples. He bites at your breasts, marking himself there instead of on your neck. When his mouth is on one, his hand is on the other, making sure the both of them receive the rightful attention they deserve. He loves the way your flesh shifts under pressure, —loves the way you’re trying to squeeze your legs together for some relief.

“Such a little whore for me,” he mumbles, obviously so proud of himself for having made you like this.

In any other circumstance, his arrogance likely would have been infuriating, but as he looms just above you, mouth suctioned to your tit, hand roughly massaging at every lob of flesh he can get his hands on, it serves only to leave you moaning in pleasure. Your toes curl the moment he pushes your skirt up around your midsection, tearing your panties down and situating you on his desk.

Pantalone steals the heels off your feet, then does away with your underwear too. You’re practically glistening in the sunlight that spills in from his open office window. The only article of clothing left on your body is the skirt that he rendered useless the moment he bunched it up and hiked it up around your middle. He further positions you, —one foot on opposite sides of the desk, spreading you open for his entertainment.

“Just fucking look at that,” he says, slapping the flat of two fingers against your slit, making you jolt a little. “You’re soaked for me.”

Your breathing becomes ragged the moment he smacks those digits against you again, then once more, and then so many more times that you completely lost the ability to count. He admires the way your arousal sticks to the pads of his fingers, watching as it stretches for a few moments then snaps away. This pretty pussy, sopping wet and begging to be pleasured, is all his. And he knows that.

With how turned on you are, he has no trouble sinking two fingers inside, prodding at your insides. You gasp when he’s up to the knuckles, mewling over every little touch and every little move Pantalone makes. It’s hard to keep all the contents you lapped up in your mouth when he’s got you going crazy like this. The pad of his thumb comes down against your clit, drawing rough circles on it as your back arches and your thighs shake. You’re so vulnerable here, exposed for his eyes only as your cunt convulses around his fingers, attempting to suck him in deeper. 

“Spit,” he commands, placing a free hand right below your mouth.

You do, depositing his seed, your saliva, and whatever the fuck else you likely picked up off the floor with your tongue into the palm of his hand. There’s something so erotic about the way it drools out, stringing along your lips. He slicks himself up with the mixture, leaning in close to press a kiss to your mouth. 

A surge of new warmth surrounding the digits he has buried in your snatch lets him know that you’re still dripping with need, hungry little pussy ready for whatever he has to give you. He’s not one for teasing in this regard. He prefers to get straight to the point; or maybe he’s just so achingly hard that he needs to be inside you right this instant and couldn’t be fucked to finger you on this desk for any longer when he knows what you really want is his cock buried inside you.

The moment he presses inside with reckless abandon, you realize that his previous gentleness had simply been a clever deception to ease you into things. He isn’t someone with that much self control. At the end of all things, he is but a beast at heart; the man between your legs pounding into you so deeply that your body is shaking under the weight of his lust. He’s touching places inside you that you hadn’t ever realized could feel this good; —fucking you so nice and so deep that your mind has already started checking out.

Stars were practically hanging behind your eyelids the very moment he slid inside, hammering in and out with every ounce of energy he has to offer. His stamina for this is jarring, but it feels so good that you don’t have the time nor the will to dwell on it. All that matters in the moment is his thick cock pounding you out, his skin slapping against you, —setting fireworks off inside your gut.

It’s all too easy to get swept away when he touches you like this, both inside and out. You let out a shattered cry and he uses it as fuel, gripping at your hips and forcing you closer. You’re the prettiest mess he’s ever seen, —the prettiest mess he’s ever made. He wants to keep you locked away from the world, save you for his own, though he knows that’s an unreasonable request. Not that he’s ever claimed to be a particularly reasonable man anyway.

He’s so smug about this though, so goddamn proud of himself that it’s almost sickening. He loves the choked noises you make, the way you try to swallow moans and find yourself whining instead. He’s dangling your high by a thread, and he knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going.

And push he does, every single one of them, ghosting past every sweet spot buried within. For as much as this is all for him, a means to an end, he’s taking care of you, too. . . It’s romantic, if you squint and tilt your head a little.

You reach up with a trembling hand, and Pantalone only reacts with a sharp breath in as you tangle your fingers in his hair. You hold him tight, pull him closer, —push him more. Your strong grip comes in great contrast to the sloppy execution of his movements as he draws closer to his peak, orgasm shivering just below his skin. Really, he’s surprised he’s managed to edge himself along for all this time. It crackles just beneath the surface, ready to explode.

To think someone of his stature would be fucking you senseless, getting you drunk off his dick in the middle of the day right on top of his desk. The desk he signs important papers at, reviews work samples and contemplates futures at. . . All of that and more, and yet here he is, length sliding smoothly in and out of you, looking so handsome that it’s almost unreal. The glisten of your juices on his member is far too enticing to ignore, so he fixes his gaze there, watching as you swallow him up, taking all of him in like the good girl he’s always known you to be.

The squelch of your pussy has him gritting his teeth, jaw aching in the aftermath. Your walls grip at him, massaging him down, clouding his mind and fogging up his inhibitions. Whatever it takes to have you convulsing on him, crying out as you’re speared on him, cumming all over him as he chases his own release inside you, is what Pantalone will do. He’s vying for it no matter what it takes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, then continues with a demand, “—let me hear you beg.”

If you’d been any further along, his command likely would have fallen on deaf ears.

“Please,” you vocalize reflexively, “please, please, please don’t stop.”

Not that he had any intention of doing so, but the sound of your voice, so broken and desperate, hanging on the edge, really presses him that much further into your divine. He might be the one largely in control, the dominating figure in this instance, but he’s still drowning in your ocean. Pantalone isn’t sure he’s ever felt desire this sincere, this all-encompassing. He’s practically losing parts of himself inside you.

“How’s it feel?” He asks, though he’s positive he already knows the answer by the way your toes are curling around the jutting edge of his desk.

“Good,” you gasp, “so good, sir.”

That’s all it takes.

As your walls tighten around him, overstimulation driving you completely and utterly into the abyss, Pantalone lets you wring him dry for every last drop he’s worth. There’s a stutter to his breath and a relief in the way he sighs, panting and attempting to collect himself. His chest heaves and your eyes are having a hard time focusing again, having rolled so far in your head that you were seeing starlight.

The cum he spilled inside is thick and warm, leaking out the minute he pulls his cock out. It drips down the front of his desk, so erotic and defiling. . .

“Don’t waste it,” he complains, stuffing two digits inside you to stuff the cum back in.

You half expected him to scoop the rest of it up with his fingers and demand that you clean it off with your tongue.

He doesn’t, but your walls react, clenching around him, and suddenly, he’s not so keen on letting you get back to work anymore. . .

There was no question he was watching for it. Pantalone had ensured your focus stayed entirely on his set task since he’d given it to you. You’d barely eaten and hadn’t slept since yesterday. Little messages via uploads to the server had come throughout the last 24 hours. Some were quick reminders of how long you had. Others taunted and teased you as he waited. All of them spoke to how eager he really was to see how you’d respond. It spoke well of his patience and how well it was holding despite how long it was taking you to meet his impossible challenge. Part of that excitement had to come from the fact that he was enjoying making you squirm. You knew from some of the other videos that the Regrator’s sado-masochist tendencies ran deep and while he wasn’t personally with you, some of his messages showed he was getting off on your suffering virtually. 

Your video was regrettably not where all your efforts had gone. You’d barely stomached editing it, but you couldn’t give him something raw. Not when you’d cursed his name through half of it. While he might enjoy the suffering, you were sure letting him hear your ire towards him would only make things worse for you. Finding inspiration to even bring yourself anywhere close to an orgasm had been nearly impossible. All you could keep thinking about was his threat. Your mind going into overdrive every five minutes at the idea of the Regrator kicking down your door at any second because his patience had run out. As a result, your attempt was admittedly underwhelming at best. To achieve the tiniest and most unsatisfying orgasm of your life, you had resorted to a few drinks and some recreational relaxants that cost you more time than they should have. That’s why you didn’t feel relieved as the video finished uploading. 

You knew the video wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t remotely alluring or enchanting. It was barely pornographic. The only thing that qualified it as such was that you had managed to be nude in it. You’d gambled on the fact that the sight of your body would be enough to satiate him. Otherwise, he was probably going to have to enhance it, just to see what you were doing. You’d made the lighting intentionally bad so that he would get to see you without seeing all of you. Even though you were sure he knew what you looked like, you couldn’t stomach the idea of accidentally doxxing yourself for his entertainment. For your own sanity, and possibly your safety, you’d hidden any parts of yourself that you felt could give you away. Namely your face. That way, if he tried to use the video to prove your identity, you had some plausible deniability. It had still come from you and he certainly had the access records to prove it; but there was some doubt as to whether it was actually you in the video or if it was perhaps someone that you’d paid to do the video for you. 

Letting your head fall to your desk in exhaustion, you groaned at that idea. God, why hadn’t you paid someone to make it for you? Prostitutes were a mora a dozen in your part of the city. All you needed was someone with a similar body type and a willingness to be on camera and you would have been set. You could have kept working on the server while they gave the Regrator the show he craved. Then you remembered his watchers. While they wouldn’t know why you wanted the other person, it would get back to the Regrator that you had recruited someone to help you. It would establish an expectation that wouldn’t be in the final result. The absence of that second person could easily call you and the video into question, prompting any number of consequences as a result. Even if you tried to spin an excuse that you’d paid the other person to manage the camera, the odds were that at minimum the Regrator may make you do the video again, just to be sure. That’s if he didn’t have you brought to him to perform for him in person. You supposed in this instance authenticity was best, even if you felt like you were ready heave on the spot. You hoped once was enough. As you closed your eyes and let your exhaustion take you into a dreamless sleep, you prayed that this was over. 

It was a quaint offering. For all of the video’s faults, Pantalone had managed to find some delight in your complete discomfort with the entire situation. You were clearly nervous. If he had to guess, this was likely your first time exposing yourself like this or if you had done it prior, you hadn’t done it enough times to have any real comfort with it. He found it suitably adorable. It was easy for him to tell that the entire ordeal had been a struggle. Pantalone had meant for it to be a challenge after all. What better way to test your true capabilities and extract a little revenge than coercing you into posting an explicit video of yourself? It was a win-win in his mind.

Though, if he was being honest, he would have almost bet against you. Based on what he knew about you and hackers in general, you didn’t strike him as the type to rise to the occasion. Most hackers weren’t, at least not when they knew they were caught. Most would scamper away with their tail between their legs, only to find the local constabulary waiting for them a small ways away. Others would fight. There had been one as Pantalone recalled who had tried to drag the entire Fatui down with him. He hadn’t of course. Sandrone and Dottore’s systems had performed their jobs well. He had been shut down before his warbling cry of defiance had ceased. Within a few hours, he had been taken away, never to be heard from again. Then, there was you. Dear, adorable you who had neither failed him or run. You had met him head on, ultimately proving that your presence in his world wasn’t a fluke.  

Pantalone admired the way you’d stood your ground. As if his challenge had given you something to prove. He found it an admirable quality. Even if the video was truly awful, you’d gotten it to him, hadn’t you? That was certainly worth noting. If he didn’t want to play with you to the point that he ruined you, he would consider hiring you to his personal data security team as an advisor. Heavens knew you certainly had a far superior skill set to the twits that currently worked for him. After all, they had assured him that the system he currently had in place was fool proof. He'd been told that in the same way a mousetrap doesn’t wait for the mouse to be careless, the system he'd built wouldn't wait for attackers to be stupid. It would be more than enough to keep all the rats away from what he treasured most. How funny that despite every reassurance a little mouse had still managed to find their way in. It was only by the grace of the additional tracking he’d insisted on that he’d been able to catch you. Now, he had you, to do with you as he pleased. If he so chose, Pantalone was sure you would be capable of building a far better trap than your predecessors could.  

If he did that though, things would inevitably get messy. Pantalone wasn’t opposed to the idea. He had always enjoyed those kinds of shenanigans in the past, but at present he didn’t have the energy or the time. Things within the Fauti were ramping up, and with his comrades dropping like flies, there weren’t enough hours in the day to seize all the opportunities that were headed his way. There was also the annoying matter of keeping his nose clean for appearances sake. There were already enough public scandals both outside the Fauti and within it. Pantalone wasn’t about to give the Rooster or the papers any additional firepower where he was concerned. Not when there were far less people to hide himself behind then there had been just a year ago. It was sad really. For now at least, anything he did to you would have to be contained to the privacy of the server you now shared. 

His eyes drifted back over to your pathetic little video. Even in an inebriated state you had wrestled with the necessary inspiration to take yourself to the heights you had felt he wanted. Tragically, your body shook more from the cold of your room than it did the sensations you were giving yourself. He found that a shame. How utterly delicious it would be to get even a taste of what the real thing looked like. To see that body of yours vibrating with need as you whimpered and begged for more. Pantalone could only smirk at the very thought of it. The concept was something he didn’t necessarily want to waste on a poorly done video. For that particular delight, he imagined it would be far more entertaining to watch it happen in person, especially if he could cause those sensations himself. Regrettably for him, he would have to wait. It was a pity. Teasing you to the point that you pleaded with him for a far better orgasm than you had given yourself would be so terribly fun, wouldn’t it? He sighed, absently toying with the rings on his fingers as he thought it all over. 

He should leave well enough alone, shouldn’t he. The data on your capabilities, as well as the sad little video you’d made for him should have been enough to satiate him. It wasn’t like you posed a threat to him. He doubted you would go to the authorities over that matter. You would have to admit that you’d committed a crime by hacking into Northland’s servers and stealing information. Seeing as you’d answered his challenge, he was almost certain you didn’t want to end up in prison due to your folly. The same held true if you tried to go to the papers or sell his videos. If even a whisper of what transpired reached his ears, he could silence you before the papers could post the story online. It was apparent you understood that.

An audible laugh slipped past his lips. Both of those factors played so well in his favor, didn’t they? 

Things had been so incredibly mundane as of late. Pantalone had been craving a small distraction from the mountains of paperwork he had to deal with. You would fill that role so nicely wouldn’t you; especially since he had a tight little leash he could keep you on. The threat of exposure and prison would be enough to keep you compliant for at least a little while. During that time, he could extract what he wanted from you. All it would take was a little guidance on his part.