Your heart is thumping, the adrenalin and anticipation beginning to be usurped by arousal. This whole scenario has an element of the surreal, and yet you stay fixed to this spot. He stirs behind you, moving close enough for his cologne to caress your senses, even if his hands are yet to.
You look down and regard your hands, the pale skin a sharp contrast to the dark mahogany of his desk. This makes no rational sense. He steps beside you, and you feel his breath on your neck. The skin there tingles slightly, and your breath catches.
You could turn to him right now and tell him this is harassment. You could slap his face; you’re not some weak, vapid, spineless conquest waiting for some strong man to sweep you away. So walk away. Do it. Just turn and sweep past him and out of the office without looking back…
But you stay perfectly still, your mouth becoming dry and your breathing short. He remains as close to your body as possible without actually touching you.
“Time to see if you are able to play by the rules Miss.” Each word slides as sound and warm air over the nape of your neck and your earlobe. This time you’re unable to suppress a low moan.
His fingertips connect with your skin just above the back of your knee, but just below the lace at the top of your stocking. You have never worn stay-up stockings to a place of employment in your life. Though nor have you chosen to be standing in an employer’s office, your legs apart and your body screaming to be touched.
“I would be ever so disappointed if you aren’t willing to play…” The finger tips creep with torturous deliberateness upwards. They disappear beneath the hem of your skirt. The skin where he touches you feels hot, glowing. Your body is tense, and you feel like a bow pulled taught. The fingers wend higher, reaching the top third of your thigh, and the tension reaches a zenith. His fingers meet the wetness that has escaped from your swollen pussy, and his breath hisses out. Your head drops forward as he slides his fingers over the scented nectar that you are unable to stop from seeping down your inner thighs. Your cheeks flush with the knowledge that the effect he has on your body is now undeniable.
The original request had been as absurd as it was intoxicating.
“You can, of course, choose not to be a part of this game,” he’d said. You were standing before this very desk. The mild attraction to your new boss had steadily grown to idle fantasy and finally blossomed into somewhat of an obsession. Some element of mystery and hidden danger that have fuelled elaborate and delicious mental scenarios involving elements of eroticism hereto unfamiliar to you.
Then came the first touch. It was completely unnecessary; a firm hand on the small of your back. You stiffened at the touch, the invasion of personal space quickly overridden by the realisation that HE was touching you.
“If you want to leave now, I’ll understand. But if you stay, you’ll be agreeing to my first rule.” You regarded him with both interest and contempt. Rules? This is a place of business, not some private playground, some sick pervert personal boudoir. Even if he is the boss. Even if you can feel the flush of excitement creeping over your chest and neck.
“What rule would that be…Sir?”
“You will not wear underwear in the office. I reserve the right to check at any time, in any situation, and will punish accordingly if the rule is broken.”
Stunned. Your mouth had hung open in disbelief, even as the concept crystallised in your head. It began to slot in with some of the unbidden and intoxicating fantasies that had been pushing you to so many back-arching orgasms.
Slowly, your mouth closed, and, breathing quickly, you gave him a short sharp nod. Barely believing what you’d just agreed to, you had turned to head back to your desk.
His cough was barely audible.
You turned to regard him.
“Sir?”
He said not a word, just regarded you with a slightly infuriating, patient stare. After a moment his eyes dipped to your waist, and you realised his meaning. You felt outrage rising in you, even as heat flooded your pussy. You moved back to the middle of the office, standing in front of his desk. This was a moment of truth. You knew this was outrageous and that you should walk away. But you could feel the moisture beginning to creep between your lips.
I’ll just get this done, you thought, and process all this later. Reaching up under your skirt, you grabbed the edge of your lacy shorts. Once again, there was a clearing of his throat.
“Slowly, Miss. I want to enjoy this. In fact, turn around.”
Mortified, you realised he’d be able to see just how aroused you already were if you bend over in front of him. But, you’d come too far to turn back now. You turned your back to the desk. Very slowly, you began to hitch the skirt up, revealing the red silk and lace boy shorts you’d selected that day. Parting your legs slightly, you grabbed the underwear and slid them down your legs. You felt the material come away from the slickness at the apex of your thighs, and the air of his office slipped over your shiny lips. Dropping the underwear to your ankles, you stepped out of them. It feels indescribably sexy.
“Leave them on my desk Miss, and return to your desk. We’ll talk more in the near future.”
You dropped the red material in front of him, the streak of darkness clearly visible. To compound your discomfort, he reached across the desk and picked up the underwear. Moving it to his face, you once again stared unbelieving as he inhales your scent. But your cheeks flushed further when you heard an appreciative sound deep in his throat and he smiled at you.
Rushing back to your desk you’d stumbled past a co-worker, mumbling an apology before landing in your seat. For the rest of the day you had stared blankly at the computer screen, head filled with images so naughty they had shocked you, and an ache in your pussy.
Your head returns to the present. Sir has summoned you to his office personally, arriving at your desk without warning.
“Miss, would you join me in my office for a moment?” he says before stepping aside to let you walk in front of him. Now you’re about to pass the first test of Sir’s first rule. As his fingertips brush the outer lips of your dripping pussy, the tension is released. Your knees buckle, but before you fall, a firm hand reaches around your waist, holding you up. The action also causes you to lean forward over his desk. Your palms remain where they are, but your cheek now rests on the cool, dark wood. Sir’s other hand remains on the skin of your inner thigh. The hand that held you up now rests between your shoulder blades. It doesn’t hold you there, but the intention is clear. Your head swims with how turned on you are.
His fingers return to your outer lips, spreading the wetness over them very gently and deliberately. The cry that escapes your lips is an uncontrolled exclamation.
“Shhhhhh, Miss. We don’t want co-workers knowing what a naughty girl you are.”
The dirtiness of his words only serves to heighten your arousal. To push the point, he lightly traps your clit between two fingers and you whimper, knees buckling again.
“But you are, aren’t you Miss?”
He begins to slowly and carefully manipulate your clit in small circles, applying just enough pressure to amp your arousal, but with nothing like the urgency you would be using were your own fingers tracing the same path.
The hand moves from between your shoulder blades. His fingers snake through your hair, and gathering it expertly into a bunch, he pulls. You gasp as your head is pulled back, until your ear is alongside his lips.
“Aren’t you, Miss?” he whispers. You whimper at the clashing of pleasure and dominance. This earns a shaper pull of your hair with a simultaneous change of tempo across your clit.
“Yes Sir,” he whispers.
“Yes Sir,” The words are almost a cry. The desire to comply in the hope of the release you crave has overridden any objection to this shocking turn of events. He seems to know just how to creep your pleasure enough to make your hips grind back towards his fingers.
His hand holds your hair firmly, effectively holding you in place exactly where he wants you. Between your legs, his finger continues to flick back and forth across your clit, but the other fingers have begun to trace small circles over the opening of your pussy, teasing you deliciously. Each time the fingers sweep over the slippery labia, you will him to slide a finger into you. Finally, he pauses over your entrance and you let out a lustful cry. Immediately you receive a sharp pull on your hair.
“Shhhhhh, Miss. I will not tell you again to be quiet.” You let out a whimper and try to move your hips to manoeuvre his finger inside your aching pussy. He applies just a small amount of pressure, which refers to your throbbing clitoris, but refuses to penetrate you.
Again, you cry out.
The smack is not loud, but sharp and unexpected. A glancing blow, you can feel the blood rushing to the cheek of your behind. His hand immediately covers the smacked area, serving to dissipate and spread the sudden rush of pain.
“You will need to be disciplined I see. Good… I like that.”
A part of your brain once again registers defiance and outrage at his words, but before the protest forms at your lips, the tip of his finger parts you and slides inside you. The defiant part of your mind is overruled by carnal desire. You stifle the cry this time, but the growl resonates in your throat and chest.
“I’m going to finger fuck you for a little while. I’m going to finger this sweet, wet pussy of yours, then I’m going to stop and you’ll go back to your desk and continue working.”
Talking dirty. In your fantasy it happens often, but the reality is far hotter than you ever realised. No one has ever described what they intend to do to you, much less in such blunt and obscene language. It only compounds the excitement that is collecting in your belly.
The first finger is joined by a second, and he rotates them so they slide deliciously over your G-spot. Once again your knees buckle. He doesn’t rush his movement, rather takes up a luxurious, steading fucking motion. His other hand leaves your hair, and replaces his other fingers on your erect clit. Your fingers claw at the smooth wood of the desk as tendrils of pleasure snake forth from your core and wrap around every nerve ending. Your breathing is ragged and desperate, all thought of objection and outrage now gone. There is nothing but this exquisite pleasure.
He stops.
Your wrath is offset by being prone across the desk with your lubrication sliding down your thighs. But he is already returning to his seat on the other side of the desk. Panting, you stare unbelieving at him.
He lifts his fingers to his nose and inhales your scent.
“You should know that yours is a truly beautiful scent. Please return to your desk, and enjoy the rest of your day.”
You are incensed as much as is possible in your current position. He is reading and flicking through reports in front of him as though you are not even there. But you are. Your skirt is pushed up over your hips, and your arse cheek is red and glowing from the smack. Your shirt is rumpled, your breathing ragged and your arousal raging. On unsteady legs you straighten, and attempt to compose yourself. You have never been so acutely aware of your body. The air moving over the cooling slickness on your thighs, the throbbing of your clitoris. Even your nipples feel painfully erect. You can clearly smell the scent of your pussy, and feel certain that others in the office will as well.
Turning from him you walk back towards the door. As you reach for the handle, you hear his voice, mellifluous and seductive.
“Rule number two Miss. I will be the only one to bring you to your next climax. That means, no touching. I intend to edge you for some time before you come.”
This time you do not turn, only nod once before leaving the room.
Returning to your computer, you stare blankly at the screen of your computer for a few moments. Your heart is still racing and you feel the flush of your cheeks. Between your legs, your pussy feels swollen and hot, and each pump of your heart throbs in your clit. Your hand begins to move under the desk; from this secluded area of the office you’re mostly sure you could get away with slipping a hand under your skirt. Just for a moment, just to…
His words return. No touching. You pout for a moment, and then catch yourself. You chuckle as you imagine your bottom lip sticking out like a little girl who’s been told off. Then your mind drifts to the feeling of his hands on you, the way he was able to so expertly push your arousal so far. There could be far worse things to be upset about than someone who wants to prolong and heighten your arousal.
“Challenge accepted,” you think.
Through the afternoon, you are able to order your thoughts and get on with the work that was able to pile up whilst you were distracted this morning. As the day wears on, the experience of earlier fades a little. Then you see an email pop up from him.
Miss, I do hope you are enjoying your day. Would you please discreetly slide your hand under your skirt and begin to masturbate for me? I will require that you make yourself wet and aroused, but please remember you are not to climax. Once you are adequately aroused, please return to my office, where I will continue your edging. Kindest regards,
Sir
He can’t be serious?! Instantly you feel the heat rising in you, and you once again marvel at his influence on you. The tingle and itch that had subsided in your core have awakened again.
You glance around the office, which seems unusually empty for this time of day, before you remember the off-site that many colleagues were required to attend today. You smile at the timing; naughty yet achievable.
From this angle no one can see below your torso. You hear your breathing as it quickens with anticipation. You slide the skirt up, revealing the top of your stockings, then further, until you can see the smooth, engorged skin of your wet pussy. You gently press the tip of your finger against the parting of your lips, then gasp as it sinks between to the wetness inside. You are so incredibly wet. The shock at the reaction to just how turned on you are gives you pause.
Getting over the awe at your own body’s response, you draw some of the slipperiness from between your lips and coat your pulsing clit. Beginning with small circles, you begin to imagine it is his fingers on your body again. Your eye lids flutter closed as you trap your vulva between two fingers, just as he had done. Sliding back and forth down either side of your clitoris, you know that orgasm is already very near. As you begin to increase your pace, the release that you’ve been craving all day begins to build.
The phone pings an internal message tone. Snapping back to the here and now, you pick up the receiver; it’s his PA.
“Hi,” she chirps brightly. “He’s asked you to head straight on in!”
You realise you’ve nearly broken the second rule, without even trying. What would that mean? Would he stop this game? That thought suddenly seems most disappointing. On the other hand, what manner of discipline might he exact? A part of your brain thrills at the possible consequences.
You retrieve a folder of documents from your desk and stride confidently towards his office. Smiling at his PA, you push through the door and into his office. Behind his desk he sits, regarding you with his fingers steepled in front of his face.
“Delighted to see you again Miss,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you come?”
“No,” you reply. The change to his expression is almost invisible. But you see him register displeasure. Confused for a moment, an idea dawns.
“No…Sir.”
A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
“Do you want to come Miss?”
“Desperately Sir,” you reply, a little too quickly.
“Have you been touching yourself as you were told?”
For a moment the gravity of all this of the situation overwhelms your desire to play, and your eyes drop.
“Miss.” You look up.
“This is a game that you may leave at any time, without reprisal or repercussion.” The sudden tenderness in his words strikes you, and momentarily cause your balance to sway. It is a moment of clarity in which you realise that this is gigantic leap for both of you, and that this is only as real as you allow it to be. You manage to stay upright, but remain silent.
“Do you wish to leave?”
“No Sir,” you reply without a second thought.
“Good.”
His tone reverts to the assertive one that he has used in all these interactions. The barest hint of a smile crosses your lips as your realisation is proved correct.
“Seeing as you have delayed in answering, I’ll require an inspection.”
The break in the charade is replaced by the thrill of arousal and anticipation and surrender. Your mouth goes dry as you think of what a second inspection might entail. He pushes his chair back from the desk and reclines.
“I want you to climb up on the desk, and show me how wet you are.”
Heart once again thrumming in your chest, you step towards the dark wood of his desk. Slipping out of your shoes, you begin to mount the desk. Surprised at how elegantly you are able to achieve this feat, you turn to face him, hugging your knees. Your skirt has already ridden up to your hips. He utters a single word.
“Spread.”
Slowly, you sit forward, and part your thighs. The scent of your pussy reaches you both at the same time, and his eyes are locked on the glistening flesh of your waxed vagina. As you watch, his cool veneer slips ever so slightly, and there is a hunger that flashes in his eyes. It is the first time the air of absolute control has faltered.
You let out a low moan as you use two fingers to gently part your lips. You hear the sharp intake of his breathing. You run the tips of two fingers in a circle over the tip of your clit, and gasp. Once again you realise that climax is very close at hand. Your fingers increase their pressure and pace, and as before you pause to trap the clitoris and surrounding flesh, squeezing gently.
“I want to see you penetrated Miss,” he growls.
You look up at him, but he has not moved, so you realise the show is to continue. Abandoning your sitting position you lie back on his desk, freeing up your other hand. Immediately you begin to massage the outer lips with your free hand, revelling in the delicious ache this awakens inside you. Gently, your middle finger slides the length of your wet slit, then dips inside you.
“Good girl,” he whispers. You cry out, unable to comprehend why two simple words fill you with such lust.
You curl your finger and work it back over the spot that is already begging to be touched. As soon as your finger makes contact and begins to rub back and forth, you feel the rumbling inevitability of orgasm begin to gather pace in your belly.
“Stop.” Your whole body reacts to this disappointment. You look at him with disbelief, and your fingers continue to tease your aching clit.
“I said, stop,” his tone is assertive.
“I’m so close,” you plead, “so close…” Your fingers continue to tickle and tease.
In a flash he is out of his chair, his hands on your body. With one movement he turns your body so that your bare behind is exposed. The smack is hard and sharp, but as before he immediately covers the area with his hand to relieve the smarting.
The sensation of pain while in this state of heightened arousal is so unexpectedly hot. This is a totally new paradigm for you, but you realise now is not the time for careful reflection.
“Please Sir…,”
“What? What do you want Miss?”
You hesitate only a moment before the words spill out.
“Again Sir,” you pant, even as your rational brain registers how surreal it sounds.
The second smack is on the other cheek, as hard as the first. You writhe under his hand, moaning.
“Oh fuck, Sir, please fuck me, I need to come Sir, please, please fuck me…” The words tumble from your mouth, hot and dirty and shocking. His voice is close to your ear as he whispers to you.’
“Would you like to be fucked, Miss? Would you like to be my dirty little toy?”
“Oh yes Sir, please, oh I would love to be your dirty girl, please let me come Sir!” You’ve never been this aroused in your life. The depth of it is hard to wrap your mind around, but at the moment there is nothing but the aching need to get off.
“Not yet,” he whispers, “stop touching.”
Your frustration is complete. Your hands find their way back to your pussy, but he grabs your wrists and holds them firmly on the desk. You can see the dark stain of your wetness on his desk, one stocking around your ankle and your hair fallen in your face. Your hips rise and fall from the desk, as though searching for release.
Sir’s head lowers between your thighs, even while his hands still hold you fast. You hold your breath, then struggle not to let it out as a scream as his tongue glides over your swollen clitoris. His warm, silky tongue twirls around your clit and over the lips of your pussy. There is strange calm that washes over you as the pleasure of it removes the frustration. Your eyes close as you sink down to lie on the desk once again. His lips and tongue weave and caress and slide all over you. One hand leaves your wrist and you feel strong, confident fingers massaging your outer lips.
As the orgasm reaches its zenith you become aware of someone’s voice. As the pleasure begins to subside, you realise it’s your own wordless cry that you are hearing. His finger pushing inward and downward had been what pushed you over the edge. One moment you were riding a wave of ecstasy, the next the wave was breaking and plunging you through the whitewash of one of the most intense climaxes in your memory.
His fingers have stopped moving, but they remain inside you. There is a pleasant calm that is washing over you, and the sensation of his warm hand on the small of your back feels wonderful. There is a pause, a moment quiet.
“That was very sexy Miss,” he purrs.
You smile with satisfaction; that he finds your arousal sexy seems to somehow enhance how hot the whole thing has been. You revel in the delicious after-glow a moment more before you realise Sir’s fingers are moving inside you. Only very gently, but his movements are unmistakable; he is caressing your G-spot. You turn your head to try to see what he might be up to, but as you do the hand in the small of your back increases its pressure just slightly. The message is clear. Sir is not done with you yet.
Your pussy is still drenched, and his finger slips smoothly over the slightly textured area just inside you. Every fourth or fifth stroke, he rubs just a little harder. Almost immediately your arousal begins to awaken again. Normally you are far too sensitive after an orgasm to consider trying again, but he is careful not to touch your clitoris. His sole focus is your G-spot, and the awareness of your body’s response makes your head swim. Your body sags against his desk once more and you attempt to part your legs a little further for him.
He begins to apply that pressure to your pulsing G-spot more frequently, sending bolts of pleasure up and down your spine. You moan as you feel him slip a second finger inside you, adding to the intensity. He starts to thrust his fingers, fucking you as he promised earlier. You can hear the wet sounds of your arousal and this just adds to the eroticism. His fingers hook around at more of an angle, clamping down on your G-spot. You’ve never felt so swollen and open, so dominated, so…free.
Your body shakes against his desk as your pussy bears down on his thrusting fingers. A mini tornado whips through your nervous system, and something akin to an orgasm shudders through you. But Sir’s hand continues to thrust, and even as the sensation dies, a larger version builds behind it. Again his fingers drive into you and again your body clenches around him. The second climax thunders through you, but still Sir’s fingers keep slipping in and out. The pleasure has become a blissful blur, and you are unwilling and unable to stifle the lustful cries that tumble from you.
As a final surge builds, his fingers find their way between your legs to your clit. He works it back and forth in time with his thrusts. Your body pulls tight, your back arched for a single, wonderful suspended moment of pleasure before your final orgasm explodes. You have lost count of how many times you’ve climaxed, and your exhausted body slumps forward.
A sense of motion makes your eyelids flutter open. He has gently swept you up in his arms, and his carrying you. Some tiny part of you is amused by the romance novel image this must present, but a bigger part is grateful to have moved from his desk as there were muscles starting to protest.
He places you carefully on the large leather couch in the corner, and wraps something warm around your semi-naked body. He sits close to you, his presence warm and reassuring. He lightly strokes your hair while your breathing returns to something close to normal.
His lips are close to your ear again.
“I want you to be my submissive, Miss,” he whispers.
In a sensual haze, you wonder what that could possibly mean…