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    Summary

    And then, Jean would get his tits squeezed, he’d bite his lip to keep from moaning like a bitch in heat as they sucked him ruthlessly– and they would get back to work, like nothing ever happened. Jean would chew Harry out. He would tell Kim to worry about his own damn decomptage. It was good, this system of doing it and not talking about it. Made the awful, sweet humiliation Jean felt more manageable. Like he wasn’t ex-Satellite-Officer, now Lieutenant Jean-Heron Vicquemare in those minutes– he was Jean who had tits like a girl, Jean who had the weirdest fucking side effect from his antidepressants, Jean who got off on his coworkers sucking on his nipples.

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    Sequel to No Use Crying Over Spilled Milk.

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