One of my favorite things in the world is making men hard. I love a hard, swollen, red cock. I love when I sit on a guy's lap and his cock presses against his pants, and into my soft ass. When he presses against me, makes me breathe harder as his cock runs pushes into the small of my back. It gets me wet, makes my clit swell. It makes me want to fuck immediately.
The other day when I was flying back from California there was a guy sitting across the aisle from me. He was slight with glasses, and a face which just blared out "submissive" to anyone who would read it.
I love tease and denial. I love the power of making someone want something so singularly that they can't focus, and then refusing to allow them to return to their lives. Making them strain without release, to want without receiving.
We had hours on the plane just feet apart, but he noticed me before I even got on the plane. When I see someone struggling so hard not to notice me, I make sure to entertain them. I make sure that I'm the only thing they will see.
I was wearing a short green dress, soft material which fell well with buttons up the front. She hem line, long neck line. And, of course, boots. When I saw him sitting there, nervous and excited as I approached, I was practically gleeful. I knew exactly how I was going to pass the time.
Getting to my seat I bent and twisted to stow my bag. I bent over, my ass just barely grazing his arm. I apologized for bumping him, and he nodded in warm reception.
When seated, I undid the top button of my dress, letting the pink and white of my bra skim over the top of my dress. I leaned over, fore arm pressing the soft flesh of my tits up, to get a better view out of his side of the plane.
I watched as he shifted in his seat, and imagined his cock starting to swell. I imagined it pushing against the zipper in his khakis - pants which are never so kind as to hide a cock. I imagined his shifting to hide it from me, feeling his humiliation swell right along with the head.
I sat back to give him a break, and when I put my head back against the seat, out of the corner of my eye I saw the tell-tale sign of his excitement. He reached down and grabbed the crotch of his pants, moving it back and forth into a comfortable position.
I smiled.
I nodded off for a time, letting him be, letting his cock relax and soften once again. It isn't much fun to just turn someone on and be done. It takes patience, and we had the next five hours to play, whether he liked it or not.
When I awoke I noticed my dress had slipped down a bit further, a full inch or so of the bright cotton pink cup exposed, and then shoulder having slipped down just enough to reveal a strap.
I shifted as I woke, clearing my throat, and rustling enough for him to know I was up. He immediately perked to attention, and openly turned his head to look.
I caught his eye just as I was shifting my clothes back into place, giving him another flash of cleavage and bra along with a long, full smile.
He notices, and immediately turns a soft shade of warm pink. I adjust my dress, and watch him shift again, sensing his frustration with his own body.
As he shifts in his seat, so do I, in slow serpentine rolls and subtle stretches. When someone asks to get by me and use the bathroom, I stand impossibly close to him, my ass right at eye level. When she leaves, I adjust the bag which is under the seat in front of me and bend over, letting him stare at my ass, letting him imagine grabbing it in his hands and fucking me right there on the plane. Pulling my dress up, panties down, and shoving his swollen cock into my pussy and ass.
But instead, I sit back down, unfucked.
I watch him shift his cock again, and place a tell-tale magazine over the bulge. He keeps shifting in his seat, and I take the opportunity to move more, to lean towards him to reach for something, to squirm in my seat, to smile at him more. He is blushing every now and then - I imagine when it twitches. He shifts more often, when it strains.
I finally make the move which I hope will move to him to action. I pull my foot up to my ass, leaning it against the arm rest and opening my legs. It's incredibly comfortable, and lets my dress slide back further and further so he can see my tanned thighs all the way to my ass. The inside of my thighs is, despite years of slaps and paddles, tender and vulnerable.
He's watching. I can feel his eyes caress my skin. I can sense his gaze as it moves over my inner thighs, and opens them further. His sight pulls back my dress and explores the inner folds of my panties, my cunt.
I watch it all happen in slow motion, as does he. He does not hide his erection any longer and shifts, lacking in both subtlety and dignity. I finally smile at him, a knowing smile which says "Thanks, you made my day."
He blushes red to purple, and adjusts one more time. He stares straight ahead, and I lose myself in a book, counting the long minutes before I get exactly what I want.
It takes three and a half minutes of internal debating and turning to see the bathroom line before he can't wait any longer.
He stands abruptly, taking advantage of the lack of line, and the long since absence of a drink cart to move to the bathroom, and I know exactly what happens once inside.
I imagine him pulling out his cock, and stroking it once, hard, just to relieve some of the built up pain and tension. From then it is a slower experience. He can take his time once his balls no longer squeeze themselves in want. He strokes his shaft slowly, teasingly, knowing that it can't go on for very long.
His other hand lowers to tighten around his balls, and he grunts he slightly in the back of his throat. He tugs them, rolling them just slightly in a flexing palm as his other hand squeezes the head of his swollen cock. Precum oozes out over his fingers as he squeezes. He pulls the shaft slowly, finishing with a final squeeze on the head. He can feel his own cock pulse in time with the heartbeat which rings on in his ears.
He continues to pump, remembering my thighs opening, blossoming like a flower shrouded in green cotton. He remembers girls he fucked in college, in high school, girls he wanted to fuck in middle school as he draws out his orgasm. It is a long flight, he has time to kill. He leans back against the sink and starts to stroke faster.
The seat belt sign pings on, and the captain gives mumbled announcements about possible turbulence ahead. I smile, knowing he is in there. I look back, making sure he is not returning, but he has time.
He thinks about pulling that green dress up farther, imagines the black lace panties I have underneath coming down, down to reveal a moist slit and wanton hole. He imagines plunging into that hole, and strokes faster, his precum spilling out to lacquer his hard cock, shiny and swollen in his hand.
He pumps harder as the plane trembles. As his feet become unsteady, he struggles to pump harder. He fights his own patience and jerks harder. He imagines fucking faster, slipping his cock into a dripping cunt. He fist grips and cum begins to swell higher in his balls.
He pumps faster as the plane jerks and he jerks forward with it, pulsing into his hand. He groans louder, pumping it faster. His cock gets harder in his hard, straining upward as he strokes faster. He strokes with the veracity he hasn't remembered having since his teen years. There is the urgency he hasn't needed since there were time limits to jerking off alone.
The seat belt sign rings again, and the turbulence gets more aggressive. He pumps harder, feeling himself swelling, growing warmer, harder, needing to cum all over this little fucking bathroom.
He groans again, louder, biting his lip as to not make anymore noise and arouse the suspicions of the flight attendants. He jerks forward again.
He steadiest himself one more time, biting his lip and drags his hand long and hard over his shaft, once, twice, three more time before he finally explodes, shooting him cum in jerks and waves over the wall of the tiny bathroom. It spills over his hand. It runs down, dripping slow and fast.
He zips up, breathing heavy, adjusting his glasses one more time before exiting the bathroom. He rejoins me in the seat across the aisle. I smile at him as he returns and the plane shakes once more, violently.
"Just in time."
He grunts in response.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
The New Girls Fucks Up
I sit in his car, coat on and ready. I wait in the passenger seat as the time ticks by, and the cars slowly pull away. A few people have noticed me, alone in a car in the parking garage, in the passenger seat, staring forward.
I arrived at 5:12, long enough to put on my coat at 5 sharp, walk to the elevator, wait, stand, and then remember where he parked this morning. I wait.
I wait as the car beside me pulls away and the woman tries to smile, recognizing me from my time in the office but not knowing enough to know that I will not turn and smile back.
I wait as I begin to get tired, minutes ticking on in a slow haul. I wait as it becomes 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour, two hours, and then two hours and thirty-four minutes that I have been waiting.
I begin to get bored. I play with the lighter, running my finger over the ridges that make up the circle. I run those fingers over my lips, dry from a day of lipstick and careless biting and nibbling.
Everything I touch in the car makes me think of his hands, stroking and touching them as he needs to. I run my hand over the steering wheel, thinking of how he carelessly and casually maneuvers around curves. I squeeze the top of the gearshift, imagining him revving an engine. While my fingers lay over the leather, his hand is large and consumes it.
I think of his hand cupping my pussy, how his long fingers curl all the way down and his palm presses against me. Even over my jeans it makes me feel possessed by him. I can feel myself getting wet just by the thought of it. And when his fingers enter me, I could be mindless I am so taken.
I begin to squirm in my seat after two hours and thirty-four minutes of being such a good girl. I press my legs together to ease some of the pressure.
I sit in the car and look around, trying my best to not look conspicuous. I want to find anything that will take my mind off of what is slowing becoming a throb between my legs. I am so, so wet, and my clit is achingly swollen.
I am not proud but I simply wait, sit for him in the car, silent and attentive.
And then it happens. I look around. there is no one in the garage, save a few cars. I look again at the time and only a few minutes have ticked by. It will be hours before I find any relief, and even then I will never be sated. I am an aching cunt - desperate and constantly in need of fingers, a tongue, a vibrator, a hairbrush handle, a fist, a swollen, stunning, thick cock.
I have already crossed a divide between good and absolutely fucking useless. I have already come too far. I have checked around to see if there was anyone and when I saw that I was blissfully alone, I let my hand find itself underneath my skirt in the front seat of the car.
But of course this cannot end here. This simply cannot be the end of my relief, and I rub myself. My underwear still sit in his office, so it is immediately skin on skin. Immediately, I feel my fingers rubbing my clit to the point of pain - matching ache for ache the need I have to touch myself, to cum, to find relief.
I am so wet, I have already begun to pool between my legs and drip onto the back of my skirt. Before my hand even came close to my hem, I was already a foregone conclusion.
As soon as they are there, I have been lost entirely. I begin to rub my clit, hard and then soft to lengthen my enjoyment. I rub in circles, dainty circles which roll my clit back and forth. I slide them up and down, one finger on either side of my clit, feeling how much it begs to be touched and loved and kissed.
And then they are inside me. I slide my hand down and push them inside my cunt. My entire hand is slicked with my juices, and as soon as two fingers are all the way inside me, I pull them out and lick my hand clean. Once every drop has been tasted, I slide my hand back down and push those two fingers back inside, shoving them deep into my cunt. I curl them inside me and push my hips forward, watching more. I am greedy.
I spread my legs, feeling more and more reckless. I pull my skirt back and open my legs wide, leaning back a little. My other hand fingers my clit and proceeds to rub slowly, and then furiously, as I meet my own hips thrust for thrust. Each time I bury them deeper I begin to whimper. There seems nothing I won't do to let myself explode right now.
My fingers scrape back and forth over my clit - finger pad to one side and nail as it moves back. I have no problem scraping myself raw right now. I continue to rub as I fuck myself faster. I angle downward and plant one heeled foot onto the dashboard, spreading myself wider for another finger.
My eyes slide shut as I push harder against my cunt. I can want nothing but more and more and more. As I squeeze my eyes shut I scream, cumming against my own hand. I feel buckets of cum pour out of me, onto my hands, fingers, and the seat below me. I am spent. I am exhausted.
I struggle to clean myself up - to calm down, pull my skirt back down, and furtively look around against to see what I most fear. He is walking towards the car. I breathe faster, hating myself for my own debauchery. I pull everything back into place, and try and calm my heart slowly.
He opens the car door and I startle just slightly. He sits down, pulling his briefcase in the back seat. He pauses, and I know he knows. He looks at me very slowly, his blue eyes steeled.
"Were you a good girl for me?"
My bottom lip trembles and I open my mouth to answer.
It is only those brief seconds of the heaviest pause before I begin to cry, and shake my head.
"Give me your hand, baby."
I do and he slowly, patiently licks my fingers. His tongue rolls over the pads, the nail, the knuckle and I stir again, and am all the more angry at myself for it.
"Did you think I would be mean and not let you cum again?"
"No, Sir, I just couldn't help myself."
He sighs, his disappointment is potent. I am nothing short of terrified. I am terrified that he will inflict irreparable damage on my flesh and ego. I fear more that he will simply tell me to get out of the car, and never look back as he finds a more suitable candidate for his tutelage.
He silently steps from the car and my breath catches, holding painfully in my tightened chest. I feel as if I am falling. He walks around the car and opens my door, extending a hand which I take. I step from the car as well and he removes my jacket, placing it on the passenger seat before closing the door.
He guides me to the back of the car and leans me over the trunk. I tremble. I notice droplets of water falling in soft springs onto the trunk and it is only then that I realize that I am crying.
He pulls my skirt up, leaning on the small of my back, his arm pulling my hips against his chest. And then I feel his hand. He is showing ruthless pleasure in his lack of mercy. His hand, fist, full arm crash down over and over and over on my ass. He strikes me ten times solidly, and I am thankful for the car to hold me up.
He pauses and I weep, arms folded underneath my wet face. He steps back and I know it will only get worse before it gets better. I hear fabric barely breaking behind my own gasps and whimpers.
I feel it, breaking over my ass, and curling around my hip in a tight line which burns my flesh. He has taken off his belt. I stiffen after the first one, trying to lock my knees. It hit so firmly, cracked over my flesh so loudly, that it now echoes through the parking garage. Only a few cars remain, and there is no one to come with concern.
"Take off your skirt and blouse."
I nod, removing them slowly, precisely. I stand in only heels and bend, once again, over the back of the car. He comes down again, hard, his belt licking my lower back and making my cry out. He comes down again, right on the crest of my ass, and again even lower.
Every time he strikes me, it feels as if I've been cut, sliced apart. My legs become shakier and my cries before more and more drowned in my tears. I shift my head to the side and see that he is working himself out of breath he is beating me so hard. I have forgotten bruises, and simply wish to be able to stand again.
And yet, every time he strikes me, I feel myself growing more and more into his good girl. I will not forget such a beating.
My legs begin to move from trembling to shaking. Every slap sends me squirming. I have lost count at how many have come down and am only in my own fog.
"Sir..." I choke out quietly. He does not stop. "Please, Sir..." He continues, leaving my skin raised in red welts and cracking in places where it can no longer hold together. "Please, Daddy, no more." I finally say loud enough for him to hear and he stops. He does not freeze, but calmly regains his posture and walks over to his broken, remorseful girl.
He leans over my crippled body, and it is the only thing preventing me from crumpling on the ground. "You're not going to fuck yourself when you know I don't allow it anymore, are you?"
I shake my head and sniffle.
"You're my good girl, aren't you?"
I nod and begin to collapse a bit, my legs finally giving out. He catches me.
He opens the back door and I lay inside, caked in blood and sweat, wet with tears. He covers me with his suit jacket, softly stroking the skin of my ankle with his long fingers. "You're a good girl. You made me proud today."
I touch the lashes as we drive, feeling where I am bleeding, learning where I will bruise, and each spike of pain sends a shiver down my spine.
I arrived at 5:12, long enough to put on my coat at 5 sharp, walk to the elevator, wait, stand, and then remember where he parked this morning. I wait.
I wait as the car beside me pulls away and the woman tries to smile, recognizing me from my time in the office but not knowing enough to know that I will not turn and smile back.
I wait as I begin to get tired, minutes ticking on in a slow haul. I wait as it becomes 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour, two hours, and then two hours and thirty-four minutes that I have been waiting.
I begin to get bored. I play with the lighter, running my finger over the ridges that make up the circle. I run those fingers over my lips, dry from a day of lipstick and careless biting and nibbling.
Everything I touch in the car makes me think of his hands, stroking and touching them as he needs to. I run my hand over the steering wheel, thinking of how he carelessly and casually maneuvers around curves. I squeeze the top of the gearshift, imagining him revving an engine. While my fingers lay over the leather, his hand is large and consumes it.
I think of his hand cupping my pussy, how his long fingers curl all the way down and his palm presses against me. Even over my jeans it makes me feel possessed by him. I can feel myself getting wet just by the thought of it. And when his fingers enter me, I could be mindless I am so taken.
I begin to squirm in my seat after two hours and thirty-four minutes of being such a good girl. I press my legs together to ease some of the pressure.
I sit in the car and look around, trying my best to not look conspicuous. I want to find anything that will take my mind off of what is slowing becoming a throb between my legs. I am so, so wet, and my clit is achingly swollen.
I am not proud but I simply wait, sit for him in the car, silent and attentive.
And then it happens. I look around. there is no one in the garage, save a few cars. I look again at the time and only a few minutes have ticked by. It will be hours before I find any relief, and even then I will never be sated. I am an aching cunt - desperate and constantly in need of fingers, a tongue, a vibrator, a hairbrush handle, a fist, a swollen, stunning, thick cock.
I have already crossed a divide between good and absolutely fucking useless. I have already come too far. I have checked around to see if there was anyone and when I saw that I was blissfully alone, I let my hand find itself underneath my skirt in the front seat of the car.
But of course this cannot end here. This simply cannot be the end of my relief, and I rub myself. My underwear still sit in his office, so it is immediately skin on skin. Immediately, I feel my fingers rubbing my clit to the point of pain - matching ache for ache the need I have to touch myself, to cum, to find relief.
I am so wet, I have already begun to pool between my legs and drip onto the back of my skirt. Before my hand even came close to my hem, I was already a foregone conclusion.
As soon as they are there, I have been lost entirely. I begin to rub my clit, hard and then soft to lengthen my enjoyment. I rub in circles, dainty circles which roll my clit back and forth. I slide them up and down, one finger on either side of my clit, feeling how much it begs to be touched and loved and kissed.
And then they are inside me. I slide my hand down and push them inside my cunt. My entire hand is slicked with my juices, and as soon as two fingers are all the way inside me, I pull them out and lick my hand clean. Once every drop has been tasted, I slide my hand back down and push those two fingers back inside, shoving them deep into my cunt. I curl them inside me and push my hips forward, watching more. I am greedy.
I spread my legs, feeling more and more reckless. I pull my skirt back and open my legs wide, leaning back a little. My other hand fingers my clit and proceeds to rub slowly, and then furiously, as I meet my own hips thrust for thrust. Each time I bury them deeper I begin to whimper. There seems nothing I won't do to let myself explode right now.
My fingers scrape back and forth over my clit - finger pad to one side and nail as it moves back. I have no problem scraping myself raw right now. I continue to rub as I fuck myself faster. I angle downward and plant one heeled foot onto the dashboard, spreading myself wider for another finger.
My eyes slide shut as I push harder against my cunt. I can want nothing but more and more and more. As I squeeze my eyes shut I scream, cumming against my own hand. I feel buckets of cum pour out of me, onto my hands, fingers, and the seat below me. I am spent. I am exhausted.
I struggle to clean myself up - to calm down, pull my skirt back down, and furtively look around against to see what I most fear. He is walking towards the car. I breathe faster, hating myself for my own debauchery. I pull everything back into place, and try and calm my heart slowly.
He opens the car door and I startle just slightly. He sits down, pulling his briefcase in the back seat. He pauses, and I know he knows. He looks at me very slowly, his blue eyes steeled.
"Were you a good girl for me?"
My bottom lip trembles and I open my mouth to answer.
It is only those brief seconds of the heaviest pause before I begin to cry, and shake my head.
"Give me your hand, baby."
I do and he slowly, patiently licks my fingers. His tongue rolls over the pads, the nail, the knuckle and I stir again, and am all the more angry at myself for it.
"Did you think I would be mean and not let you cum again?"
"No, Sir, I just couldn't help myself."
He sighs, his disappointment is potent. I am nothing short of terrified. I am terrified that he will inflict irreparable damage on my flesh and ego. I fear more that he will simply tell me to get out of the car, and never look back as he finds a more suitable candidate for his tutelage.
He silently steps from the car and my breath catches, holding painfully in my tightened chest. I feel as if I am falling. He walks around the car and opens my door, extending a hand which I take. I step from the car as well and he removes my jacket, placing it on the passenger seat before closing the door.
He guides me to the back of the car and leans me over the trunk. I tremble. I notice droplets of water falling in soft springs onto the trunk and it is only then that I realize that I am crying.
He pulls my skirt up, leaning on the small of my back, his arm pulling my hips against his chest. And then I feel his hand. He is showing ruthless pleasure in his lack of mercy. His hand, fist, full arm crash down over and over and over on my ass. He strikes me ten times solidly, and I am thankful for the car to hold me up.
He pauses and I weep, arms folded underneath my wet face. He steps back and I know it will only get worse before it gets better. I hear fabric barely breaking behind my own gasps and whimpers.
I feel it, breaking over my ass, and curling around my hip in a tight line which burns my flesh. He has taken off his belt. I stiffen after the first one, trying to lock my knees. It hit so firmly, cracked over my flesh so loudly, that it now echoes through the parking garage. Only a few cars remain, and there is no one to come with concern.
"Take off your skirt and blouse."
I nod, removing them slowly, precisely. I stand in only heels and bend, once again, over the back of the car. He comes down again, hard, his belt licking my lower back and making my cry out. He comes down again, right on the crest of my ass, and again even lower.
Every time he strikes me, it feels as if I've been cut, sliced apart. My legs become shakier and my cries before more and more drowned in my tears. I shift my head to the side and see that he is working himself out of breath he is beating me so hard. I have forgotten bruises, and simply wish to be able to stand again.
And yet, every time he strikes me, I feel myself growing more and more into his good girl. I will not forget such a beating.
My legs begin to move from trembling to shaking. Every slap sends me squirming. I have lost count at how many have come down and am only in my own fog.
"Sir..." I choke out quietly. He does not stop. "Please, Sir..." He continues, leaving my skin raised in red welts and cracking in places where it can no longer hold together. "Please, Daddy, no more." I finally say loud enough for him to hear and he stops. He does not freeze, but calmly regains his posture and walks over to his broken, remorseful girl.
He leans over my crippled body, and it is the only thing preventing me from crumpling on the ground. "You're not going to fuck yourself when you know I don't allow it anymore, are you?"
I shake my head and sniffle.
"You're my good girl, aren't you?"
I nod and begin to collapse a bit, my legs finally giving out. He catches me.
He opens the back door and I lay inside, caked in blood and sweat, wet with tears. He covers me with his suit jacket, softly stroking the skin of my ankle with his long fingers. "You're a good girl. You made me proud today."
I touch the lashes as we drive, feeling where I am bleeding, learning where I will bruise, and each spike of pain sends a shiver down my spine.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The New Girl at Work
I wait all day for him to beckon me over. He instructed me not to move, for my feet to remain flat on the floor and my hands under the desk, but not on my cunt. I sit just outside his office, waiting. Papers are stacked neatly before me. The only movements I have made were to shift when my ass was becoming numb, and to lean forward only to realize I had no interest in the papers before me. At noon he ordered me a pasta salad and himself a sandwich. I offered to order lunch but he looked at me and smirked.
When the food came he sat beside me, lifting forkfuls into my mouth until I nodded that I was full. I thanked him for such kindness and went back to simply sitting and waiting.
My mind began to run tracks. It spiraled in circles to keep me busy. Thinking, guessing, getting distracted over nothing, counting angles, cracks, corners, and divots.
I wear a tight blouse. When I came in that morning, I stood in his office. He had me lift my skirt to my waist and take off my panties in the center of his office. I placed them on his desk. I was embarrassed that they were purple with little silver stars, but he only smiled, almost affectionately. I pulled my skirt back down and he had me remove my blouse. I took off my bra, placing it on top of my underwear on the corner of his desk.
For the first time since I entered, he stood, erection clearly outlined in his pants. He strokes it casually as he walks towards me and places the longest of kisses on my throat.
That kiss will burn for the rest of the day.
I put my blouse back on, nipples clearly erect through the thin purple cotton of the shirt. There is no hiding my arousal. I can smell my cunt simply standing there.
He gives me his rigid instructions and I simply sit just outside his office, listening to him make deals and take phone calls.
Every time he walks out I look up at him and smile. At first, my smiles betrayed me with their expectation. He would look down at me each time and smile back, sometimes even letting his fingers slide across my desk, but he never stopped. He would give his other employees instructions, orders, commands, but I only received those brief smiles.
The other women in the office glare at me with disdain. They watch as I remain motionless, save head turns and slight leans. They are displeased with my ease at his directions. Whereas his commands to them are cold and professional, our smiles are soft, and less than furtive. I swell at being his favorite girl and it is the only thought I need to cum at night or grow damp right there in the office.
I would watch him as he gave orders, the grey trousers tenting slightly, the gleam off of his cufflinks making me stir in my seat.
By 11, though, my smiles were simply to let him know that if this was his order, I was pleased to fulfill it. Itches remain ignored, coughs uncovered. I fight with a lock of hair which has fallen callously into my eyes.
From my desk, I could lean my head slightly and watch him, but he never took notice of me. At 11:54 he winked at me and I felt my whole body flush and my cunt grow wet. At 1:28 he saw me watching him. I licked my lips and he smiled before turning away.
And at 4:27 he came out of his office and stood next to me. He took my hand and lifted it front the desk, helping me to a stand.
He leads me into his office and closes the door, not letting go of my hand as he silently walks me around to his desk. I stand, hips just barely grazing the edge, and he returns to sit in his chair, hands resting on my hips. He lifts my skirt slowly, and I feel his breath on my ass. There are still bruises from where I displeased him yesterday.
"You've tried to be a good girl for me all day, haven't you?"
"Yes, Sir." My arms rest at my sides, but my fingers tremble with the electricity which has no other escape.
"You learned your lesson from yesterday, haven't you?"
I nod quickly, almost over zealously. Yesterday I came in after a long day dream about nothing, and was not wet to his satisfaction. My ass paid the price.
"Do you remember my instructions this morning?"
I nod, curling my fingers into my hands. "Yes, Sir."
"Tell me, baby."
"Keep my hands on the desk and my feet on the floor."
His hand comes down in a sharp pain on my ass. "And?"
I gasp, swallow, and tremble all the more. "And stay wet for you, Sir."
"Good girl." He slowly pushes me down until my chest meets the desk. He opens my legs slowly, and I step them out inch by inch.
I try and keep my breath steady as my heart starts to pound. I have tried to be such a good girl for him - I have tried to make him so proud of his girl.
When my legs are spread I hear him smile. He can see my cunt glisten. His fingers trail my thighs, delicately, softly, lovingly. I have made him proud, and it means the world to me.
He leans forward and begins to lick my wet clit. I immediately moan louder than I anticipated, pushing back against him. He lets me as he begins to lap at my soaked cunt, his tongue running up and down over my lips, sliding between them to my clit.
I push back hard against his face, begging over and over again for more and more. I ache against his tongue I am so wet. He begins to tease, the more I grind, pulling his tongue back and holding my thighs in place.
I struggle a little and he sits back.
"I thought you were my good little girl?"
"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to, it was a stupid reaction."
"I don't believe you're sorry, baby."
His hand lands on my ass so hard I slam against his desk. I know there will be bruises. I will wear them with competing pride and shame.
"Please, Sir. Please forgive me for being such a greedy little cunt." He hits me again. "I beg you, Sir, please forgive me for being such a wanton whore in front of your face, trying to get more of your tongue. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."
He spreads my thighs more with his hands and goes back to sucking on my clit. I cry out in a noise indistinguishable from when he hit me. I have, once again, learned my lesson and refuse to move. His hands pulls back and only graze my thighs in a test of my will and want. I want him more. I want to be a good girl.
He is drowning in my cum as it drips down his tongue. He licks only hard enough to make me desperate. And though I am aching for more of his tongue, he knows it will only make me long for his cock.
It takes everything inside me not to move backwards and he rewards me with more of his tongue. I know his chin, his lips are covered with my juices. I boldly know how much he loves to taste me by the way he devours me. He leans back and I gasp, but refuse to whimper. I don't want to disappoint him with my greed.
He slides two fingers into my cunt, juices dripping down my thighs. I moan again, trying not to buck against him as his thick, longer fingers begin to pound my cunt without mercy.
"You like being my good little girl, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You like how much attention I pay to you and your pretty pussy, right?"
I scream a little louder as I affirm, "Yes, Sir."
I want more - tears begin to well in my eyes as he stretches my eager slit. "You want to make me proud, right baby?"
"Yes, please, Sir, please." I beg, my face down on the desk, my knees buckling and my nails digging into the papers on his desk.
"Then come for me, baby. Be a good girl for me and cum."
I scream, not caring who can hear. I cum on his fingers, my pussy squeezing and pulsing around them, cum dripping down his forearm to his beautiful French cuffs and sparkling cufflinks.
His fingers stay inside me as my body twitches with tiny aftershocks. His other hand rubs the small of my back softly. My breathing is shallow and ineffective, and I continue to tremble.
"Good girl. You've been a good girl." I nod, laying my head down on the desk. His hand slides from my cunt. "Turn around, baby." I slowly stand and turn, my knees almost buckling underneath me. I lean back against the desk, skirt still up around my waist. He holds his fingers to my lips and I lick them clean for him.
"Baby, I want you to go sit at your desk until 5:00. Put on your coat and sit in my car until I get there."
He may be hours before he comes, but I will wait. I will be his good girl.
When the food came he sat beside me, lifting forkfuls into my mouth until I nodded that I was full. I thanked him for such kindness and went back to simply sitting and waiting.
My mind began to run tracks. It spiraled in circles to keep me busy. Thinking, guessing, getting distracted over nothing, counting angles, cracks, corners, and divots.
I wear a tight blouse. When I came in that morning, I stood in his office. He had me lift my skirt to my waist and take off my panties in the center of his office. I placed them on his desk. I was embarrassed that they were purple with little silver stars, but he only smiled, almost affectionately. I pulled my skirt back down and he had me remove my blouse. I took off my bra, placing it on top of my underwear on the corner of his desk.
For the first time since I entered, he stood, erection clearly outlined in his pants. He strokes it casually as he walks towards me and places the longest of kisses on my throat.
That kiss will burn for the rest of the day.
I put my blouse back on, nipples clearly erect through the thin purple cotton of the shirt. There is no hiding my arousal. I can smell my cunt simply standing there.
He gives me his rigid instructions and I simply sit just outside his office, listening to him make deals and take phone calls.
Every time he walks out I look up at him and smile. At first, my smiles betrayed me with their expectation. He would look down at me each time and smile back, sometimes even letting his fingers slide across my desk, but he never stopped. He would give his other employees instructions, orders, commands, but I only received those brief smiles.
The other women in the office glare at me with disdain. They watch as I remain motionless, save head turns and slight leans. They are displeased with my ease at his directions. Whereas his commands to them are cold and professional, our smiles are soft, and less than furtive. I swell at being his favorite girl and it is the only thought I need to cum at night or grow damp right there in the office.
I would watch him as he gave orders, the grey trousers tenting slightly, the gleam off of his cufflinks making me stir in my seat.
By 11, though, my smiles were simply to let him know that if this was his order, I was pleased to fulfill it. Itches remain ignored, coughs uncovered. I fight with a lock of hair which has fallen callously into my eyes.
From my desk, I could lean my head slightly and watch him, but he never took notice of me. At 11:54 he winked at me and I felt my whole body flush and my cunt grow wet. At 1:28 he saw me watching him. I licked my lips and he smiled before turning away.
And at 4:27 he came out of his office and stood next to me. He took my hand and lifted it front the desk, helping me to a stand.
He leads me into his office and closes the door, not letting go of my hand as he silently walks me around to his desk. I stand, hips just barely grazing the edge, and he returns to sit in his chair, hands resting on my hips. He lifts my skirt slowly, and I feel his breath on my ass. There are still bruises from where I displeased him yesterday.
"You've tried to be a good girl for me all day, haven't you?"
"Yes, Sir." My arms rest at my sides, but my fingers tremble with the electricity which has no other escape.
"You learned your lesson from yesterday, haven't you?"
I nod quickly, almost over zealously. Yesterday I came in after a long day dream about nothing, and was not wet to his satisfaction. My ass paid the price.
"Do you remember my instructions this morning?"
I nod, curling my fingers into my hands. "Yes, Sir."
"Tell me, baby."
"Keep my hands on the desk and my feet on the floor."
His hand comes down in a sharp pain on my ass. "And?"
I gasp, swallow, and tremble all the more. "And stay wet for you, Sir."
"Good girl." He slowly pushes me down until my chest meets the desk. He opens my legs slowly, and I step them out inch by inch.
I try and keep my breath steady as my heart starts to pound. I have tried to be such a good girl for him - I have tried to make him so proud of his girl.
When my legs are spread I hear him smile. He can see my cunt glisten. His fingers trail my thighs, delicately, softly, lovingly. I have made him proud, and it means the world to me.
He leans forward and begins to lick my wet clit. I immediately moan louder than I anticipated, pushing back against him. He lets me as he begins to lap at my soaked cunt, his tongue running up and down over my lips, sliding between them to my clit.
I push back hard against his face, begging over and over again for more and more. I ache against his tongue I am so wet. He begins to tease, the more I grind, pulling his tongue back and holding my thighs in place.
I struggle a little and he sits back.
"I thought you were my good little girl?"
"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to, it was a stupid reaction."
"I don't believe you're sorry, baby."
His hand lands on my ass so hard I slam against his desk. I know there will be bruises. I will wear them with competing pride and shame.
"Please, Sir. Please forgive me for being such a greedy little cunt." He hits me again. "I beg you, Sir, please forgive me for being such a wanton whore in front of your face, trying to get more of your tongue. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."
He spreads my thighs more with his hands and goes back to sucking on my clit. I cry out in a noise indistinguishable from when he hit me. I have, once again, learned my lesson and refuse to move. His hands pulls back and only graze my thighs in a test of my will and want. I want him more. I want to be a good girl.
He is drowning in my cum as it drips down his tongue. He licks only hard enough to make me desperate. And though I am aching for more of his tongue, he knows it will only make me long for his cock.
It takes everything inside me not to move backwards and he rewards me with more of his tongue. I know his chin, his lips are covered with my juices. I boldly know how much he loves to taste me by the way he devours me. He leans back and I gasp, but refuse to whimper. I don't want to disappoint him with my greed.
He slides two fingers into my cunt, juices dripping down my thighs. I moan again, trying not to buck against him as his thick, longer fingers begin to pound my cunt without mercy.
"You like being my good little girl, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You like how much attention I pay to you and your pretty pussy, right?"
I scream a little louder as I affirm, "Yes, Sir."
I want more - tears begin to well in my eyes as he stretches my eager slit. "You want to make me proud, right baby?"
"Yes, please, Sir, please." I beg, my face down on the desk, my knees buckling and my nails digging into the papers on his desk.
"Then come for me, baby. Be a good girl for me and cum."
I scream, not caring who can hear. I cum on his fingers, my pussy squeezing and pulsing around them, cum dripping down his forearm to his beautiful French cuffs and sparkling cufflinks.
His fingers stay inside me as my body twitches with tiny aftershocks. His other hand rubs the small of my back softly. My breathing is shallow and ineffective, and I continue to tremble.
"Good girl. You've been a good girl." I nod, laying my head down on the desk. His hand slides from my cunt. "Turn around, baby." I slowly stand and turn, my knees almost buckling underneath me. I lean back against the desk, skirt still up around my waist. He holds his fingers to my lips and I lick them clean for him.
"Baby, I want you to go sit at your desk until 5:00. Put on your coat and sit in my car until I get there."
He may be hours before he comes, but I will wait. I will be his good girl.
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