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shesjustanothergeek · 8 months

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The Most Tragic of Mistakes

|Charlie Barber x Fem!Reader Short Story|

Chapter One

Masterlist of Series

Summary: You're a fresh-faced makeup artist trying to make it in the Big Apple. Finally, you get a job as a makeup artist for Exit Ghost's new production of Caligula and meet the infamously intense director, Charlie Barber.

Author's Note: Hey y'all! I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this short story. I uploaded this quite some time ago on AO3 and Wattpad, but not on here. Why? I'm unsure. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Smut, age gap, slight innocence kink, adultery, unprotected sex, dom Charlie, the other woman-type trope, power imbalances, workplace relationships, choking, hair pulling.

You set down the glass of red wine on your coffee table, absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram with your feet propped up, and release a long sigh. An anxious feeling permeated your stomach for the day you have ahead.

The sun has long since set and covered the outdoors with its shadow, the only light shining in the corner of your living room with a soft yellow hue.

Your first big makeup gig starts in only a few hours. It would help if you slept, but you can't. The anxiety is too much to relax your heart.

When you applied for the makeup artist position in the art department for a new play production, you didn't think you would get it. There was still the microscopic hope you would when you clicked 'apply' on the website, but this was New York. There was no way in Hell that an unknown "just-graduated artist" could book a gig like this. So young, so fresh out of cosmetology school that you hadn't even been able to work at a spa or salon, no real-world training. Nevertheless, the risk-taking director, Charlie Barber, decided you were the perfect fit.

When you got the call back from the hiring manager, you were stunned. No words could leave your mouth when she told you when the start date was. You could barely even reply a yes when she asked if you were still interested, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You suppose you were one. A small fish yanked from the comfort of its calm water, Charlie Barber, the person who reeled you up, taking a chance on some nobody girl.

You reach your hand over, feeling the cold stem of the wine glass and twirling it between your index finger and thumb.

You had known who Charlie was before applying to this job, being familiar with the theatrical troupe of Exit Ghost but needing more interest to look at any of their past performances. You regret that now. What if any actors or coworkers tried asking you about your knowledge of their past plays? Quizzing your dedication to Charlie Barbers' work, asking for your thoughts and opinions on his directing. You couldn't brush those questions off; your ignorance and naivety would shine even more than your artistry.

You quickly tap the magnifying glass on your phone screen, searching for Exit Ghost. Surely, they would have social media. Everyone and every company had one to keep up with the growing advancement of technology and popularity to ensure they stayed in the loop.

It looks good if you follow your employer.

Finding their page, scroll down, making sure to follow them. You continue looking through their page, taking notes of all the plays they've mentioned. Opening nights here and there, celebratory dinners after successful shows, and some intimate pictures of the acting process occasionally. Then, you reach a post with the caption, "A look at the director: Charlie Barber mean mugging, no mess ups accepted!"

A small smile grows as you examine the picture. His intense brown eyes bore ahead at what you assume is the stage, his raven hair whispered back, framing fluffily around his freckled face, his nose prominently showing in the stage light. Sleeves from a blue button-up shirt rolled past his forearms, exposing the broad muscle, black hair lightly covering it. Charlie's giant fist covers his mouth as a sliver watch adorns his wide wrist, resting an elbow on a crossed thigh.

He's beautiful and regal, even if he's the inspiration for every Roman statue in history—a longing forms in your chest. You wish you could reach through the phone and touch him. Trace your thumb across his nose and cheekbones, feeling the chiseled structure. Run your fingers through his hair and feel the tickling between them as you kiss his lips, exploring every hidden inch of Charlie Barber's mouth.

Your thumb twitches at the thought, a white heart popping up on the screen.

You freak, a panicked cry releasing as you realize you liked a picture from three years ago. Three fucking years ago! You quickly unlike it, but the damage is done; they'll still be notified when they open the app. They'll see that the only picture your profile liked was the one of Charlie.

"This is so fucking embarrassing." You groan, cheeks on fire.

Hopefully, enough people will like their page, and your notification will be buried among them, but that isn't certain. The average amount of traffic they get in a single post is around a hundred or so, and more is needed to disguise your own digits' betrayal.

You put your phone face down, unable to stomach the antagonizing look of the pixels, and down the rest of your wine. That's enough electronics for today as you decide to go to bed.

Your phone buzzes you awake, the vibrations sending a small shock through your bones. Turning over in bed, you stretch, your muscles and joints groaning at the sudden movement. You sit up, slouching inwards as you stare lazily at the blank wall in front of you, trying to keep yourself alert after only being asleep for a few hours. The chill air hits your skin, causing goosebumps from the lack of blankets as you smack your lips together, mouth dry. You grab your phone, checking the time.

4:05 am

Why would anyone make rehearsal start so early?

You woke up extra early, unsure of the commute from the station to Exit Ghost's theater. Not to mention the time it would take to set up your station.

Finally, you crawl out of bed, eyes still hazy with sleep as you ready yourself for the long day ahead.

You arrive at the theater building, rolling a makeup case in tow. It was sketchy lugging that thing around the sidewalks and subway. You kept it near, wrapping your legs around it and studying anyone who dared to look your way.

If someone even attempted to touch your most prized position, you would lay your life down for all those cosmetics, not batting an eyelash. But thankfully, no one dared to try.

Pushing down the retractable handle, you grab the one on the side of the black case, hoisting it up and leaning as you ascend the concrete stairs. Your biceps curl and flex underneath the weight of it. The end of it tips backward. The force is too strong to be gravity. Your grip falters, nearly dropping your most prized possession on the dirty cement. You turn your body, swinging the luggage in the opposite direction as you curl your fist, ready to sock the person who dared to touch your makeup bag.

Charlie Barber stands there, his arms up in surrender, a leather bag strapped across his body as he chokes on a laugh.

"Woah, hey there now, put that sucker away." His eyes match his light-hearted tone with a hint of humor.

You quickly lower your fist, almost hiding it behind your back as if you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar, your face scorching with embarrassment.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Mr. Barber. I didn't mean to do that." You release an awkward laugh. "I didn't know it was you."

He chuckles, finding this situation a whole lot more entertaining than you

"It's all good, Miss..." He pauses, unsure of your name.

A pang of sadness hits you, completely involuntary. It's not like you should expect him to know it. After all, you've never met him, only having talked to the hiring manager, but it still hurts. Surely he should know his new hires? You push it down, filling in the gap with your first and last name.

"Ah, yes," he says, acting as if he knew it in the first place, repeating it back to you. "That seems like a mean left hook there! I'm glad I didn't have to taste it. I feel bad for the next guy, though."

You smile back, lips tight as you nod, refusing to speak, unsure what to respond with. Your mind is not nearly as witty as his. A small silence enters the air, soon interrupted by Charlie clearing his throat.

"Uh... Would you like help with that?" He asks politely as you shake your head. You're still uncomfortable giving your respective baby to a stranger, even if he was technically your boss.

"No, thank you. I got it. It's honestly not that heavy," you lie.

Charlie nods, humming slightly with approval as he steps aside, walking the few places to the door. You close your eyes as he passes, releasing a sigh of almost pleasure at the noise, knees going weak.

He unlocks the door, letting you enter first with the swoop of his hand, and you nod thanks.

A marble stairwell is all you're greeted with, silver and black plaques designating which floor you can go to. You stand there, wondering where the dressing room will be. No one ever told you the layout. If it weren't for Charlie, you wouldn't have entered the building.

The door closes automatically behind him as he shrugs his bag, adjusting it on his shoulder. You look at him, a deer caught in headlights, unsure of where to go, pleading for help.

"Which way to the dressing rooms, sir?" Your voice sounds small, barely bouncing off the hard stone. Charlie steps closer, nearly ending the small gap of space you have in the tiny area. His plush lips smile down at you, almost caring, wanting to guide and take care of you. He licks them.

"Let me show you," he says plainly. His rumbling voice sends shivers down your spine as you turn around, ready for him to lead. You're sure even if he led you to a different place, you would still follow, clinging to each step in the movement. "The dressing rooms are on the first floor with the stage."

Charlie rests a small hand on your lower back. It stays there as you descend, both of your shoes lightly tapping the hard floor. You stiffen at the touch but don't move, letting him guide you.

He shows you the dressing rooms, a mirror with light bulbs surrounding it that spans the entire room length, and wooden chairs with fabric backs resting in front of a long table. It's so secluded from everything, the cream walls trapping every sound.

You glance at the mirror, Charlie stares at your reflection, and you meet him, both expressionless. What is this? Why does your gut stir when you see him? Why does your mind lose control of your body when he talks?

He's just so handsome.

You would do anything for him. You would run your fingers through his hair for hours as he pulled you close. Brush your noses against each other as you kiss him, his plush lips overlapping yours. You would rip off your clothes and display your most intimate parts just for him. If only he would ask.

He removes his hand from behind you, lifting itself towards your neck. Your legs clench with anticipation, feeling your core damp and getting through your pants. And that's when you see it. A glint of gold sparkled in the mirror lights- a wedding band.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He's married! Of course, Charlie is fucking married!

You shuffle away from him, turning your head to look at the ring.

"You're married?" You question with shock, your composure leaving you momentarily at the revaluation. "How long?" You force a polite smile on your face, trying to cover up the hurt from your past words.

He quickly drops his hand, his other fingers twisting the band nervously like he was checking if it was still there.

"I'm not sure exactly. Ten years or so? It's been so long." Charlie's words sound wistful, cold even, at the mention of his marriage. You brush off the feeling of his voice, trying to hide the hurt brewing inside.

"That's so sweet." You add a smile to your face. "Finding a partner you could get lost over the years with. So many people would kill for that."

Oh my God. You want to fuck a married man. You're officially a homewrecker.

"Yeah. I guess you could see it that way."

Anger pools behind his eyes. You want to reach out and touch Charlie, comfort him, trace the freckles and moles on his face, and ask what's making him hurt so much, but you don't. You can't. He's not yours, and he never will be.

He clears his throat, cutting through the thickness that has built.

"Let me show you the stage." Charlie glances at the silver watch on his wrist, the same arm his wedding ring rests on. "The others should be filing in soon."

He shows you the rest of what you need to know. The quickest way to get from the dressing room to the stage is by introducing yourself to the people who come in.

Eventually, you excuse yourself, saying how you needed to set up and get comfortable with your station. Which you needed to do; it wasn't entirely an excuse to get away from Charlie.

Others have already settled in the dressing room. White fabric costumes that resemble togas hang on silver racks, making the ample space incredibly small. When someone taps you on your shoulder, you set your case down, unzip it, and pull out all the makeup you packed within.

"Hi," a middle-aged woman with brown hair greets. Her skin hangs slightly with her years, crow's feet showing as she smiles. "I'm Mary Ann. I'm the Stage Manager here at Exit Ghost." She extends her hand, and you grip it lightly, startled by the sudden and loudness of her words.

You say your name politely, exchanging formalities, telling her your title.

"Oh, so you're the newbie!" She looks you up and down, examining your body, hair, clothes, and everything about you. Sizing you up almost. "You're a bit young, don't you think?"

You gawk at the audacity, too stunned to speak. She's not wrong, but there's no need to point it out. Your mouth opens and closes, trying to make any sound as Charlie enters, ducking through the doorway.

"Now, Mary Ann, you be nice to her. It's her first day." The man from before, cold and aloof at the idea of his marriage, is gone, replaced with a stern yet kind man, a director.

She backs away from you, finding a place by his side, her arm sneaking a slight touch on his side. You examine how her body gravitates to him, her eyes lighting up with an emotion only lovers share. You see it. No one seems to notice or care about it, but you do.

You tilt your head and squint at her slim fingers, trying to find a diamond, but you don't. Your pupils travel across their bodies as they converse, lost in the conversation of what the lighting should look like in this scene, how this one actor was off, and such.

Charlie glances at you, stuttering as he sees the realization dawn on you. He knows that you know. Out of everyone here, the newbie spots it and sees his affair.

He pushes Mary Ann away harsher than he should, not believing that he let himself slip in front of all these people. In front of you. The newbie he had to hold back from caressing their neck just moments ago, from griping her jaw and fucking her right there while they were alone.

You stare at him, unrelenting, as Mary Ann tries acting like he didn't just tell her with his body to leave.

Maybe Charlie made a mistake saying yes to the young cosmetology graduate, letting her into his production and thus his life. How could she, out of everyone here and out of everyone who interacted with him and spoke with him every day, see it? It was she who saw Charlie for what he was. An unfaithful man, a husband who broke his vows to the woman he swore death would be the only thing to separate them.

You break the stand-off, continuing to unload your supplies. Charlie excuses himself from Mary Ann-- from this whole situation. The sudden urge to light a cigarette and leave the theater for the rest of the day, to run away from them all, is strong, but he snuffs it out. Putting on the hard face of the director, everyone knew. The one that everyone needed for this production to go well.

Actors periodically returned to the dressing room, testing different makeup styles and techniques in the lighting, getting fit, and seeing what worked well and needed to be changed.

Charlie never returned. Mary Anne relayed all messages to him.

Finally, the black and white clock ticks to three, signaling your freedom from the almost den of a dressing room. You pack up, clicking every palette closed and sheathing every brush in its protector.

"Hey," the art director, Heather, says, a white toga with a golden belt in her hands. "Do you think you could hang this up for me since you're still in? It goes on hanger seven."

She throws you the garment, not waiting for an answer. You catch it before it falls on the dusty floor.

"Thanks," she calls back. And with a wave of her hand, she's gone. Everyone's gone, you realize, every chair empty, leaving only you... alone.

You look at the gown again, straightening it with a flick of your wrists. You turn your head, seeing something dark on the fabric that shouldn't be there. Eyeshadow. All color from your face drains, and you feel like you'll puke.

"Shit," you whisper. "Shit, shit, shit."

Slamming the costume on the table, you search desperately for a makeup wipe, rubbing the black shadow. It only makes it worse, smearing the pigment upwards.

"Oh God, what am I going to do?" Your breath quickens, panic setting in as you continue to scrub viciously.

You don't even notice when Charlie calls your name, too concentrated on the end of your career muttering expletives. His significant digits wrap around your tricep, and you jump, trying to cover the mess.

"What are you still doing here," he questions with a raised brow, looking you up and down. A smile cracks on your face as you hide the costume from his view.

"Oh, you know, just," you lift your hands, gesturing, "cleaning up... and... stuff." Your eyes snap to the side with each pause.

"Uh huh," Charlie responds in an unbelieving tone and puts a palm on his hip, his hair shining in the artificial light.

Why does he have to be so hot?

You blush, crossing your ankle over the other, subconsciously creating friction.

"What's that there behind you?"

You chuckle nervously.

"Oh, uh, this?" Gesturing to the ruined toga behind you. "Nothing. Just a costume that needs put away."

"Okay..." He draws the word out on his pink tongue, still a hint of curiosity behind his iris.

"Is that all you needed, Mr. Barber?" Hopefully, this will urge him to be on his way, and you'll find a way to fix this.

"Yeah..." Charlie says, once again drawing the word out.

Suddenly, his fingers snatch the robe, whipping it back too fast for you to grab it. He examines the dark, damp spot on the fabric. You flip your body around, signaling you're done with the conversation, and he can finally leave.

"Did you do this?" He questions, tone flat, devoid of any hints of his emotions.

"I'm- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Heather just threw it at me, and-and I had makeup on my hands..." You ramble, tears nearly springing from your eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barber." You look away, shame forcing you.

"Don't call me that." Your eyes snap up, ready to apologize again as he throws the toga on the floor and steps closer. "Do you see what it does to me?"

Tilting your head, you study him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion when nothing seems different. Charlie moves again, and you slide back, spine hitting the table. He gestures to his waist, a prominent bulge protruding from his khaki pants. You cough awkwardly, too stunned to speak.

"Look at me," he commands, "look at what you do to me. Do you know how difficult it is for me not to fuck you right here?"

A bolt travels through you, straight to your core, as you squeeze your thighs together. He puts his hands on the table, caging you in. You cower away from the intensity, his hot breath rolling down your cheek.

"You're so beautiful, and you don't even know it. You stand there, looking all innocent with those doe eyes begging me to fuck you." You shudder, Charlie's words so erotic and explicit in your ears. "I bet that's what you want right now, isn't it? For me to rip off all your clothes and pump your cunt full of my cum?"

There's nothing more in this world you would want. You felt that life would be complete if he just claimed you. A moan escapes from your chest, unable to longer contain your desire for Charlie.

His knuckle brushes down your face, fingers wrapping around your throat, threatening you into submission.

"Say it." He commands, pausing and waiting for your answer. He tightens his grip when you don't respond, your knees weakening from the growing desire. "Say it," Charlie repeats, the words gritting his teeth.

"Yes," you exhale in a soft breath.

Charlie leaves no room for second guesses as he slams his mouth into you, the soft flesh squeezing between the gaps of your teeth. Your fingers slither into his hair. It feels exactly as you imagined, silky and clean, with hints of product to smooth it back as you groan, opening your lips further.

If someone came in and shot you, you would die with a smile, your life finally complete with this one moment. It's as if everything in the past has led you to this moment. Forged you and carved you out for this very thing.

A giggle vibrates through your connected mouths, your chest bouncing as Charlie pulls back with a questioning look. You shake your head almost in disbelief.

"I was made for you, Charlie Barber." He smirks as he goes to cup your breast, testing it in his hand, seeing if your statement is true. Your back arches into his touch, asking without words for him to use it however he sees fit.

Finally, he removes your shirt, diving into trailing kisses down your neck, sucking too harshly as you whine. He bucks his hips into your still-covered cunt, grinding, seeking friction to ease the ache in his cock.

That's all he can think of as if it has a brain, neurons firing into his muscles and controlling his movements.

Charlie's digits unclasp each hook of your bra, exposing your tits to the chill air, your nipples perking into peaks. He latches onto one, licking and teasing you until you writhe under him, desperate mewls whispering.

Your legs buckle as teeth latch onto the sensitive skin, but Charlie stops you from falling, palms resting behind your thighs as he lifts you on the table. He pulls back from your tits, examining your state.

Cheeks flushed with blood, skin prickled with goosebumps, sweat dampening your sternum as your heart hammers in your chest. If Charlie didn't know better, he would think he's already fucked you, but seeing as your pants are still on, he digresses.

"Look at you. Already coming undone for me, and I haven't even touched you yet." You whimper, pouting with embarrassment at your lack of self-awareness. "Awe, sweet thing." He says, grasping your chin with his thumb and index pads, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Don't worry. I'll fix that for you."

He unbuttons your pants, sliding them down your legs as he kneels between them, nose pressing against the clothed mound. You move your hips slightly, trying to seek pressure covertly, but he notices and smirks, nuzzling closer. Charlie mouths at your wet panties, and you gasp, the foreign sensation building.

He continues to teethe lazily, not giving you nearly enough of him. You gently grab his obsidian hair, forcing him to meet your gaze, but not enough to completely pull away. Your eyes wide and pleading, begging for him to give you what you desire, ready to bargain anything for it. He gets the message, hooking his middle finger on the hemline and pulling it to the side, your wet and waiting pussy appearing.

He trails a digit down the middle of your slit; you gasp, happy with finally getting some semblance of what you want. Charlie purses his lips, a glob of fat spit splattering on your entrance. He pushes it in, finger-twisting and curling to ensure it stays there. Your hips buck and thighs clench as he hits that sweet spot inside you.

"Please, Charlie, I need more."

If your pussy could talk, it would be weeping, crying at the lack of attention it's getting, as Charlie teases.

"What a greedy little thing," he comments. "Who knew you were such a slut?"

You moan at his words, swelling from them as he gives in. He slides another finger, stretching your hole too broad for an average man as he moves it back and forth with a slow "come here" motion.

"You sure you can take me, sweetheart? You feel so tight."

"Yes! Your fingers are just huge," you grit out.

Charlie chuckles as he picks up his pace, pulling the tidal wave of your pleasure out to sea. He leans back into you, his lips circling your clit as he sucks, tongue licking.

You stroke his scalp, smoothing the waves back. He hums into your cunt, the vibrations sending you shivers. A sudden pang enters his chest, nearly stopping him for a beat before continuing.

The feeling is longing within his ribcage, old emotions Charlie thought he would never feel again with a woman, though unbeknownst to him, he sought-- a woman to fulfill his carnal desires that his wife no longer wanted. He thought he could find it with Mary Ann, but with her, it was just empty nothing.

But with you... With you, it was different.

The feeling of you softly gliding your nails along with his head as he devoured your cunt wasn't one of a woman who was just lost in ecstasy, greedy for her climax, but one who seemed to care. One who seemed to enjoy the thought of him wanting to take the time to put her first, to ensure she enjoyed herself without any expectation of reciprocation.

It hurt him almost to realize that what he was looking for, begging for, was someone happy with just the thought of him, grateful for his kindness and thoughts.

Perhaps it was selfish of him to want anyone else other than Nicole to give him that, but at the same time, was it too much to ask? Did he not deserve to be happy again? Not to be bogged down by a person who only saw the faults in him and nothing else. He was sure you would be his death in so many ways.

Charlie wraps his arms around your legs, smashing his nose into your pubic bone as you begin the crescendo of your orgasm.

Yes, he did deserve it, deserved the serotonin it gave to be with someone who saw him for what he was in his entirety-- deserved you. Your screams and cries of heaven are lost on Charlie's ears. The only thing he could hear was his thoughts.

I do deserve her. She's mine. Mine.

And he had to have you. Again and again and again. You couldn't walk until his milky white seed dripped down your pussy and thighs.

Charlie grips your hips, fingers digging in painfully as you cry out, spinning your body around and flipping you on your stomach. He rips your panties down your legs, the dry cotton burning your skin. He grabs his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it out of the loops, his shirt untucking as he unbuttons his pants. They slide down, getting stuck on his knees as you see his tight grey underwear, his impossibly hard cock straining underneath the fabric, a small dark dot on the top from pre-cum. You look into the mirror, seeing the reflection of Charlie behind you, his cheeks tinted pink and hair wild even after smoothing it. He's so crazy, completely unhinged behind you, your pussy tightening around nothing as you wait.

Charlie's thumbs hook onto the lips of your hole, prying you open for him, his fingers splayed over your ass.

"You sure you're ready for me," he teases.

You nod frantically, trying desperately to get what you want as he smirks, removing his hands to take off his underwear. His cock springs free, veins protruding on his long shaft, the pink head glistening with seed. Your mouth falls open. Charlie is enormous, more significant than anything you've ever seen. He's equally as wide as he is long. Unsureness washes across your face.

Maybe you can't take it? You could barely take his fingers; how could you even handle his manhood? Charlie notices your hesitancy as he steps closer, bending as he peppers comforting kisses down your spine.

"You can do it, sweetness." He affirms, his hot breath dancing on your skin. "I know you can."

If it were possible to turn into a liquid, you would do so now. Charlie's words were so sincere and kind that you could melt into the cracks of the tile floor. You nod, agreeing with him as he spares you one last lick of his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The head of his cock pokes at your entrance, daring to go farther, just testing the waters. You gasp, feeling Charlie's skin on yours enough to send you into a frenzy as you buck your hips back. He pulls away, sliding his shaft along your wetness, readying himself for you, tiny shocks of pleasure traveling through your nerves as he rubs your clit. You whine, clenching around nothing, finally having enough.

"Charlie," you mewl, "please, I can't wait anymore."

His heart swells at your voice, happiness overcoming his entire being at the thought of someone needing him. After all, he is a caring man. He can't deny you any longer, not when you need him.

Charlie pushes the tip into you as you gasp, gritting your teeth, a slight sting emerging from your core. He shushes you with his lips, his palms rubbing soothing circles on your ass cheeks as he goes in a little further.

"Look at that," he comments. His cock disappears into you.

Your head lowers as your eyes roll back, a guttural moan escaping you as he bottoms out, stretching you so tightly around him.

"You take me so well."

Your body twitches at that, cinching around him momentarily, causing him to groan. The sound is heavenly, putting a smile on your face. You could listen to that noise forever, putting it on a loop and never getting tired of it. You do it again, trying to coax it out of him. Charlie grunts with a small ah, his hand smacking your skin in punishment as he slides out, leaving only a sliver of him, your lips encompassing his cock.

Charlie begins thrusting, his hips coming into contact with your thighs as you feel the tiny tickles of his hair. He doesn't go slow this time, his carnal desires taking over as he slams back into you, his head brushing against your cervix. You cry out, the pain of him stretching you mixing with the pleasure of his cock rubbing your sensitive spot.

You flatten yourself on the table as he pistons into you, his pace unrelenting as you continue to pant. Your hands scratch the plastic-coated wood, trying to find something to ground you at this moment as his strength pushes you against the mirror. Your cheek squishes as the oils smudge it. Your eyes look feral. Your pupils dilate with lust as you search for his. Charlie's lips are pursed, gaze downcast as he concentrates on your cunt, your pussy swallowing his cock.

You could stay like this for hours, looking like a mindless little fuck toy for him, doing anything and everything he could ask for and thanking him in the end.

He catches you staring in the mirror, looking entranced. He grabs your hair, his digits tangling in the locks as he pulls your head back, fucking impossibly deeper than before. Your chest rises and falls in a quick breath as he keeps drilling, a pressure in your gut growing.

"You are doing so well," he smirks. You return a small, lazy smile, happy to be pleasing him.

"Thank you, Mr. Barber," you say breathlessly, your voice hiccuping. "You feel so good."

Charlie sighs, your words putting him in a daze as his mind wanders.

It's been so long since he felt this way... truly appreciated even this most simplistic of actions. It has been years since Nicole had sex with him, months since she had let him kiss her, even hug her. Their bond was severed and destroyed long ago, their spark lost. He tried to find it in Mary Ann. Charlie was so desperate for a connection, for anything, when he confided in her about his marital troubles that he had no idea she took it as him wanting her.

He did not stop the affair from advancing; it was a good distraction for the most part. He could channel the affections and longing he wanted from Nicole through her, and it worked... kind of.

But then you came.

Walking up the stairs of his theater building, he was severely overdressed with an air of innocence he wanted to possess again. So new and fresh-faced to the world, Charlie realized he had to have you, be with you, guide you, and teach you about what this life has to offer.

And here he was, balls deep inside you as you panted his name, praising him for making you feel so good. It was almost naive of you to do, so childish that you thought it was a luxury to feel this good when Charlie could do it all the time. He wanted to teach you about life, and wasn't this a part of it?

Your velvet walls tightening around Charlie rips him from his thoughts. He could tell you were close, inching your way over to ecstasy.

He snakes his hand around you, the pads of his fingers coming into contact with your clit, your body twitching.

"Oh, God, Charlie, I'm so close." You pant, eyes shutting as another intense wave of pleasure washes over you.

"Look at me," he demands. You don't obey, too lost in the building pressure. He slaps your clit in admonishment as your leg hikes up at the intense sensation. "Let me see those eyes."

They almost flutter shut again at his command. It sounds like pure sex on your ears.

"Good girl," he praises, "I wanna see your face when you cum."

Those words nearly push you over the edge, but you hold back, not wanting this moment with Charlie to end.

"I bet I'm the first man ever to make you feel this good. The first one to have you cum from my cock alone."

The squelching of your wet folds as he thrusts is almost embarrassing, your face heating up even more.

"Listen to yourself. You're sopping wet, and it's all for me, only for me." Charlie's hand tightens your scalp. "You're going to fucking cum on my cock, and then, I'm going to stuff you full of my seed. Until it's dripping down your thighs and on the floor."

You shudder, his words almost pulling you out of your body as the pressure in your stomach bursts. You orgasm deep inside, racking through every bone in your body as he pulls you through it. Fucking you until you're a blubbering mess under him, twitching and clamping.

He lets go of your hair, and you collapse back down on the table, air shuddering out of your lungs. Charlie keeps fucking you a little slower now. You're like a rag doll under him, stilling and moaning softly when you realize he hasn't come yet. He put your pleasure before his own; tears nearly spring at the thought. You need to make him cum. He deserves it more than anything else in the world.

You extend your back, pushing your ass into him as he grunts. He must be so close. You don't want him to hold back any longer. You want him to fuck you and use your body for his own.

"Charlie." His gaze snaps up to yours in the mirror, his lips swollen and eyes glossy. "Please, cum. I need to feel you cum inside of me." You plead. "Please, Mr. Barber," you hiccup as his hips snap harshly into you. "You deserve it."

His mouth twitches, his jaw clenching as he slams into you a few more times, chasing his high. His warm seed fills inside your walls as his pelvis stalls and groans, tucking his chin to his chest. He pauses, catching his breath as he finally pulls out. You squeak as his tip glides over your sensitive spot, sending a bolt of overstimulated pleasure. You hear Charlie chuckle as he shuffles around and gathers your clothes and belt. You stay there, not trusting your knees enough to get up; you're too happy to move.

Charlie gently grabs your ankles, telling you to pull them up so he can slide your pants back on. They reach the crease of your ass before he stops, his thumb gliding over your swollen and abused mound, collecting the cum dripping and pushing it back in. You gasp, still sensitive. He runs soft fabric over the area, cleaning you up to the best of his ability as he pulls your pants up the rest of the way. Your turn around still bent over the table.

"Charlie, where is my underwear?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, already having somewhat of an idea of where they could be.

He grins, showing you the cum stained panties as he stuffs them into his breast pocket. You roll your eyes as you extend your arm for the rest of your clothes, regaining enough strength to move. Finally, fully covered, you glance at the costume you ruined draped over his arm as you frown.

"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Barber. I can take it to a dry cleaner to see if they can fix it. I'll pay for everything." You still can't believe you ruined a costume on your first day. You won't believe you did many things on your first day. He waves away from your offer with a shake of his head.

"No, it's fine," he says your name tenderly. "I'll take care of it." You nod, agreeing with your lips pursed, still feeling guilty as you gather your things to leave, walking to the exit as Mr. Barber shouts for you. "Also, please don't call me that, Mr. Barber." You nod again wordlessly. "Everyone just calls me Charlie around here."

"Okay, Charlie." It feels foreign when you're saying it without his cock inside you. "I'll see you tomorrow," you say with sleep lacing your voice. "You and Mary Ann have a great rest of your day."

Your words would sound innocent to the middle ear, just a coworker wishing her bosses a good day, but you know better, and so does Charlie. He also knows that he and Mary Ann will, in fact, not have a great day with what he plans on doing now. You've changed everything for him, unbeknownst to you, as the wheels of your makeup bag click on the floor. Whether or not it is for the best remains to be seen.