A Secret Unveiled in the Supply Room
# My Bitch C’s morning had been a series of sharp, clipped emails and the lingering scent of cheap office coffee. He was at the filing cabinet in the supply room, a narrow, windowless space that smelled of toner and dust, hunting for a mis
Chapter 1
C’s morning had been a series of sharp, clipped emails and the lingering scent of cheap office coffee. He was at the filing cabinet in the supply room, a narrow, windowless space that smelled of toner and dust, hunting for a misplaced contract. The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered it—until he felt the presence.
E stood there, leaning against the closed door. Her glasses glinted under the harsh fluorescent light, her wicked smile already in place. She’d been silent, watching him bend over the low drawer.
“Looking for something, C?” she asked, her voice a low, taunting melody.
He straightened, adjusting his shirt. “Just the Henderson file.”
“Is that so?” She took a step forward, her curvy frame cutting off his path to the door. Her gaze wasn’t on his face. It was lower, fixed on his waistline where his shirt had ridden up as he’d stretched. A sliver of black lace, delicate and unmistakably feminine, peeked over the waistband of his sensible trousers.
His blood ran cold. He instinctively tugged his shirt down, but it was too late.
Her smile widened. “What do we have here?”
“E, don’t—” he started, his voice tight.
She didn’t listen. In one swift, brutal motion, she closed the distance, her fingers hooking into the back of his trousers and his boxers. With a sharp yank, she pulled them both down to his mid-thighs.
The air in the room turned to ice against his exposed skin. There they were: the sheer black panties he’d put on that morning, a secret thrill against his skin, the lace hugging his ass. He was frozen, humiliated, staring at the shelves of paper reams as his face burned.
E let out a soft, dark chuckle. “Oh, C. You dirty, dirty boy.” She didn’t pull his clothes back up. She left him exposed, her eyes roaming over the lace with a predatory interest. “All this time, acting so superior. So above it all. And you’re walking around in slut’s underwear.”
He tried to bend, to cover himself, but she placed a firm hand on the small of his back, holding him in place. Her touch was electric and demeaning.
“I could send a picture to the entire department,” she mused, her voice dripping with false contemplation. “What would they say? The quiet, shy C, with a secret little kink.”
“Please,” he whispered, the word scraping his throat raw. It wasn’t consent. It was desperation.
“Please what?” she purred, leaning close. Her breath was hot against his ear. “You don’t get to ask for things. Not anymore.” Her fingers traced the edge of the lace, a feather-light touch that made him shudder. “From now on, you do what I say. When I say it. Or everyone knows what a pretty little bitch you really are.”
She finally allowed him to pull his clothes up, but the damage was cosmic. He fumbled with his belt, hands trembling.
E smoothed her own shirt, the picture of cool composure. “We’re going to have so much fun,” she said, her eyes gleaming behind her lenses. “My office. After hours. Don’t be late… my bitch.”
She opened the door and slipped out, leaving him alone in the silent, humming room. The contract was forgotten. All he could feel was the delicate lace against his skin, a now-itchy secret, and the terrifying, thrilling weight of her dominion settling over him like a shroud.
Chapter 2
The clock on his computer screen read 5:58 PM. The office was a tomb, empty except for the hum of servers and the frantic beat of his own heart. C hadn’t moved from his desk for twenty minutes, staring at the closed door of E’s office. The black lace still hugged his skin, a constant, maddening reminder.
At 6:02, his phone buzzed on the desk. A single text from an unknown number. *Now.*
He stood, his legs unsteady. The walk across the silent, carpeted floor felt like a march to the gallows. He knocked, the sound timid.
“It’s open,” her voice called, smooth as oil.
He entered. Her office was neat, dominated by a large, dark wood desk. She sat behind it, her glasses perched on her nose, reviewing a spreadsheet. She didn’t look up. “Close the door. Lock it.”
He did, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet.
“Come stand here,” she said, finally lifting her gaze. Her wicked smile was back. She pointed to a spot directly in front of her desk. “Hands at your sides.”
He obeyed, feeling absurdly like a schoolboy sent to the principal. The power dynamic was absolute.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes raking over him. “You’ve been thinking about me all day, haven’t you, my bitch? Thinking about what I saw.”
He said nothing, his jaw tight.
“Answer me,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Yes, what?”
He swallowed, the words ash in his mouth. “Yes… I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Good.” She stood slowly, circling him. Her fingers trailed over his shoulder, down his spine, making him shiver. “You know, I did a little shopping at lunch.” She walked to a small cabinet and pulled out a sleek black bag. From it, she withdrew a long, black velvet box. She placed it on the desk with a soft thud. “Open it.”
With trembling hands, C lifted the lid. Nestled inside was a butt plug, gleaming and obsidian, with a delicate jewel at its flared base.
His breath hitched.
“It’s a training set,” E said conversationally, as if discussing stationery. “This is the medium. We’ll work our way up.” She picked it up, holding it between them. “You’re going to put this in. Right now. And then you’re going to get on your knees and explain to me, in very explicit detail, why a grown man wears slut’s underwear to the office.”
She tossed a small bottle of lube onto the desk beside him. “Pants and boxers down. Bend over my desk. Don’t make me ask twice.”
The command left no room for protest. The blackmail was a guillotine blade hanging over him. He fumbled with his belt and zipper, his face burning, and pushed his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. The cool, polished wood of her desk met his forehead as he bent over, presenting himself, the lace of his panties stretched taut across his ass.
He heard the cap of the lube click open. “Such a pretty picture,” she mused. A cold, slick finger traced the lace covering his hole, pressing insistently. He jolted. “Shhh. Relax. You wanted this, didn’t you? Secretly. That’s why you wore them.”
He couldn’t answer. Her finger pushed the fabric aside and breached him, slow and cruel. A choked sound escaped his throat.
“There we go,” E cooed. The intrusion was methodical, stretching him. Then it was gone, replaced by the blunt, cool pressure of the plug’s tip. “Now take it. Like a good bitch.”
She pushed, and the silicone stretched him open with a relentless, burning fullness. He gasped, his knuckles white where they gripped the desk edge. It seated deep, the jeweled base resting snug against him.
“Stand up,” she ordered.
He did, wincing at the foreign, stretching presence inside him. He pulled his clothes up awkwardly, the plug a constant, humiliating reminder.
E had returned to her chair. She spread her legs slightly, her skirt hiking up. “On your knees. Now.”
C sank to the floor on the plush carpet, the movement making the plug shift. He was eye-level with her thighs.
“Look at me,” she said. He forced his gaze up to her triumphant face. “Now tell me. Why the panties? And I want the dirty truth.”
Chapter 3
The words were tar in his throat, thick and shameful. The plug inside him felt monstrous, a pulsing anchor of her control.
“I… I liked the secret,” C whispered, his eyes locked on her triumphant smirk. “Feeling the lace… under my work clothes. Knowing no one else knew.” His face burned with the confession.
“Knew what?” E pressed, leaning forward. “Spell it out for me, my bitch.”
He swallowed. “That I wasn’t… that I’m not the man they think I am.” The admission hung in the silent office air.
“And what kind of man are you?” she purred, her voice a velvet trap.
“The kind who… who wears these,” he forced out, the words scraping him raw. “The kind who wants to feel… owned.”
A sharp, delighted laugh escaped her. “Oh, you perfect little thing.” Her hand came down, not on his face, but to cup his jaw, her thumb stroking his beard. The tenderness of the gesture was somehow more degrading than a slap. “You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you? For someone to see your dirty mind and use it.”
He couldn’t deny it. A traitorous heat pooled in his gut, competing with the humiliation. He gave a slight, jerky nod.
“Good.” Her hand left his face and went to the hem of her skirt, hiking it up slowly. “Now, my bitch has a tongue, doesn’t he? Put it to work. And don’t you dare touch yourself.”
The explicit command, delivered with such casual cruelty, sent a jolt through him. The plug shifted as he shuffled forward on his knees, the stretch a constant, lewd reminder. The scent of her, clean and faintly floral, filled his senses as he nosed aside the fabric of her panties. He pressed his mouth to her, his tongue finding her folds.
E let out a soft, satisfied sigh, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, not pushing, just claiming. “That’s it. Just a desperate office bitch, serving his purpose.” Her other hand reached for something on her desk. He heard the familiar sound of her phone’s camera shutter.
He froze, his tongue stilling against her.
“Don’t stop,” she ordered, her voice hardening. The hand on his head flexed. “The picture is just for me. A little keepsake of my bitch in his natural state. Now, *lick*.”
A fresh wave of submission crashed over him, cold and hot all at once. He obeyed, his tongue moving with renewed, frantic dedication. He worshipped her with his mouth, the sounds obscene in the quiet room. He could feel her responding, growing wet against his lips and chin. Her quiet moans were commands in themselves, driving him deeper into his debasement. The plug in his ass felt like it was glowing, a second, throbbing center of need that had nothing to do with his own pleasure and everything to do with hers.
Chapter 4
The week that followed was a slow, delicious torture. The plug was his constant companion, a secret stretching him open beneath his work clothes as he filed reports and attended mind-numbing meetings. E would text him random, brutal commands throughout the day.
*Stroke yourself in the stall. Ten strokes. Don’t come.*
*Send me a picture of the lace you’re wearing today. I’m deciding if it’s slutty enough.*
He obeyed every one, the shame a live wire in his veins, sparking alongside a sickening thrill. Friday afternoon found him in his cubicle, trying to focus on a spreadsheet. His phone buzzed.
*My office. Bring the bag from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Now.*
His stomach dropped. He knew which drawer. He retrieved the sleek black bag, heavier now, and made the now-familiar walk.
E was waiting, standing by her desk. She’d changed out of her work blouse and into a sharp, black leather harness. The sight of it, the stark straps against her skin, stole the air from his lungs.
“Close the door,” she said, her voice cool. “Lock it. Put the bag on the desk.”
He did, his hands clumsy. She unzipped it and pulled out a long, realistic silicone dildo, thicker and longer than the plug. She began methodically attaching it to the harness.
“You’ve been such a good bitch this week,” she said, not looking at him. “Taking your little trainer so well. Following orders. I think you’re ready for a reward.”
C watched, mesmerized and terrified, as the harness was secured. The faux cock stood out from her hips, an impossible, intimidating claim.
“Strip,” she commanded. “Everything. I want to see my bitch.”
With trembling fingers, he removed his clothes, folding them neatly on a chair as some pathetic last vestige of dignity. He stood naked before her, the plug a dark jewel between his cheeks.
“On the desk. On your hands and knees.” She picked up a bottle of lube. “And take that trainer out. You won’t be needing it.”
He climbed onto the hard wood, his skin pebbling in the cool air. Reaching back, he found the jeweled base, whimpering as he pulled the plug free. The sudden, empty ache was profound.
He heard the slick sound of lube behind him. “Look at you,” E whispered, her voice close. A hand, cool and wet, smoothed over his ass, then pressed a finger inside the loosened hole. He gasped, pushing back instinctively. “So eager. So hungry for it. Tell me what you want, my bitch.”
He was beyond words, a keening noise stuck in his throat.
“Use your words, C,” she demanded, twisting her finger. “What does this pretty, used ass want?”
“I want…” he choked out, the humiliation scalding. “I want you to… to fuck me. Please.”
“Please, *who*?”
“Please… E.” It wasn’t enough. He knew it. She knew it. “Please… use me.”
The finger withdrew. The blunt, wide head of the dildo pressed against him, a promise of brutal fulfillment. “That’s my good, dirty boy,” she purred. “Now take your reward.”
She pushed forward, not with a slow tease, but with a single, relentless thrust that buried the entire length inside him in one smooth, burning glide. The air left his lungs in a sharp cry. The desk shook under his palms.
“Oh, fuck,” he sobbed, the stretch overwhelming, perfect. She didn’t move, letting him feel the full, incredible invasion.
“You feel that?” she hissed, one hand gripping his hip, the other tangling in his hair. “That’s what you are now. Mine. My office bitch. And I’m going to wreck this ass until you forget your own name.” She began to move, slow, deep pulls that dragged the entire toy out before slamming it back home. Each thrust punched a ragged moan from his chest, a symphony of submission. The world narrowed to the sound of skin on skin, her harsh breaths, and the exquisite, degrading fullness splitting him open on her command.
Chapter 5
“You feel that?” E hissed again, her voice raw and close to his ear as she drove into him. Each deep, claiming stroke pushed a ragged moan from his chest. “That’s what you are. Mine.”
Her grip on his hair tightened, forcing his head back. The desk creaked under their combined weight. The stretch was a brutal, perfect fire, and with every withdrawal, the cool air on his wet skin made him shudder, only to be filled again with the burning heat of the silicone.
“Look at you,” she taunted, her rhythm never faltering. “My shy little office bitch, taking a fake cock like he was made for it. You were, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” C gasped, the word torn from him. “Yes, E.”
“Yes, *what*?”
“Yes, I was made for it,” he cried out, the confession mingling with the slick, pounding sounds of her use.
Suddenly, her rhythm changed. The deep, punishing thrusts shortened to a shallow, rapid grind, keeping him full and trembling on the edge. One hand released his hip. He heard a drawer open, then the distinct, cold sound of a phone camera being unlocked.
The realization hit him like ice water. He tried to turn his head, but her hand fisted harder in his hair, holding him in place.
“No, no,” she purred, her voice dripping with malice. “Don’t move. Stay right there, my bitch. I want a keepsake.” The phone’s screen cast a pale glow on the dark wood beside his cheek.
The camera shutter clicked. The sound was obscenely loud in the room, louder than their breathing. Click. She shifted her angle slightly, the dildo grinding inside him, and he couldn’t suppress a broken whimper. Click. Another picture.
“Fuck, that’s good,” she moaned, not from pleasure, but from power. She held the phone in front of his face. On the screen, he saw himself: back arched, face contorted in a mask of shameful ecstasy, her leather-strapped hips flush against his ass. “Look at your face. You love this. You love being my dirty secret.”
He couldn’t look away. The image was devastating. “Please,” he whispered, not knowing what he was begging for.
“Please what? Delete them?” She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. She set the phone on the desk, screen still displaying the damning photo, and resumed her deep, piston-like thrusts with renewed vigor. “Never. These are my insurance. Now, tell me what you are.”
She was fucking him in earnest again, each slam punctuating her demand. The picture stared up at him.
“I’m your bitch,” he sobbed, the words ripped from the deepest, most surrendered part of him.
“Louder.”
“I’M YOUR BITCH!” he shouted, his voice cracking, as the relentless friction pushed him toward a precipice he wasn’t allowed to cross.
“Good boy,” she snarled, her own breathing becoming ragged. She leaned over his back, her mouth against his ear. “Now come for me. Come just from this. Show me what a worthless, cock-hungry slut you are.”
The command, the image, the brutal fullness—it coalesced into a white-hot detonation. With a choked, shattered cry, he came untouched, his release splattering against the underside of her desk in violent pulses, his body seizing around the intruding toy as he completely fell apart.
Chapter 6
His body was still shuddering with the aftershocks of his humiliating climax when E withdrew the dildo with a slick, wet pop. The sudden emptiness made him gasp. She didn’t let him move, keeping one hand pinned between his shoulder blades.
“Look at the mess you made, my bitch,” she said, her voice thick with disgust and delight. She nudged him with her knee. “Get down there. Clean it up.”
Trembling, C slid off the desk, his legs barely holding him. He knelt on the hard floor, his own cooling release stark against the dark wood. The scent of sex and shame filled his nostrils.
“Use your tongue,” E commanded, stepping back. She picked up her phone again. “Every drop.”
He bent forward, his face burning hotter than ever. The first lick was salty, bitter. He gagged but forced himself to continue, lapping at the pooled evidence of his submission.
The camera shutter clicked above him. *Click.* “Look up at me,” she ordered.
He lifted his gaze, his lips wet, to see her smiling down, phone aimed. *Click.* The flash was a tiny bolt of lightning, freezing his debasement forever.
“Good boy,” she purred. “Such a thorough little slut. Now, the plug.”
She tossed the small, black silicone toy onto the floor beside his knee. It was still slick from her earlier use. Without a word, he reached for it, his fingers shaking. He guided it to his well-used entrance, now loose and sensitive, and pressed. A low groan escaped him as it slid home, stretching him anew, a constant, humiliating reminder.
E watched, adjusting her strap-on harness. “Stand up.”
He obeyed, feeling the plug shift inside him with every movement.
“Get dressed,” she said, her tone now casual, dismissive. She scrolled through the photos on her phone, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “I think my favorites are the ones of you licking the desk. So… dedicated.”
He pulled on his clothes in silence, each article feeling like a pathetic costume. The lace panties were soaked with sweat, the plug a secret weight.
“Go home, C,” she said, not looking up from her screen. “Get some rest.” She finally met his eyes, her glasses reflecting the dim office light. “Tomorrow, we’re going to see how quiet you can be when the cleaning staff is vacuuming the hall. I have a new game in mind.”
Her dark laughter followed him out the door, echoing in the empty corridor as he walked, stuffed and owned, into the night.
Chapter 7
The silence in C’s apartment was oppressive, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the phantom sensation of the plug still seated inside him. He lay on his back in the dark, his hand resting on his stomach. The memory of E’s dark laughter, her promise of a new game with the cleaning staff, coiled in his gut like a live wire. Shame and a terrible, aching want twisted together.
The next day at the office was a study in exquisite tension. Every squeak of a desk chair, every distant murmur from the corridor, made his heart stutter. He caught glimpses of E—at the coffee machine, in a meeting—and each time, her wicked smile behind her glasses was a promise of torment. She said nothing to him directly, but her gaze would drop pointedly to his waistline, and he’d feel the lace of his panties grow damp with a sweat that had nothing to do with the thermostat.
The clock bled toward five. As people began to pack up, E appeared at his cubicle entrance. She leaned against the partition, her voice a low, casual purr meant only for him.
“Stay late. Finish those quarterly reports. I’ll be in my office. When you hear the vacuums start in the hall… you’ll come to me.” Her eyes glittered. “And you’ll come quietly, my bitch. Let’s see how well you can obey when there are ears all around.”
He nodded, a jerky movement, unable to speak. She walked away, the click of her heels a countdown.
The office emptied. The sun set. Then, the familiar, roaring whine of the industrial vacuum cleaner echoed from the hallway, growing louder as the cleaning staff worked their way down the corridor.
His pulse hammered in his throat. This was the signal. He stood on shaky legs and walked to her door. It was unlocked. He slipped inside.
E was seated behind her desk, the strap-on already harnessed over her skirt. The black silicone shaft glistened under the desk lamp. The vacuum’s roar was a constant, droning wall of sound just beyond the thin door.
“Lock it,” she commanded, her voice barely audible over the noise.
He fumbled with the lock.
“Strip. Now.”
His fingers trembled as he undid his belt, pushed his trousers and the lace panties down. The cool office air kissed his exposed skin. He stood before her, naked and vulnerable, the plug a humiliating prelude.
“On your knees. Crawl to me.”
He obeyed, the coarse carpet scratching his knees. He stopped before her, his face level with the intimidating faux cock. The vacuum outside reached a fever pitch right outside the door.
“You want this, don’t you?” she hissed, leaning forward. Her hand fisted in his hair. “You want me to fuck you while everyone is just feet away. Tell me.”
“Yes,” he breathed, the word torn from him.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… please. I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, the roar of the machine swallowing his confession.
“Beg for it. Loud enough for me to hear.”
He raised his voice a fraction, forcing it over the din. “Please, E. Use me. Fuck me. I need it.”
A sharp, pleased smile cut across her face. “Good boy.” She stood, the harness swaying. “Turn around. Bend over the desk. And remember… not a sound.”
He assumed the position, his cheek pressed to the cold wood, his ass presented to her. He heard the squirt of more lube, then the blunt, wet pressure of the tip against him, nudging the plug aside. With the vacuum’s roar masking everything, she pushed forward in one brutal, claiming stroke, burying the entire length inside him.
C’s mouth flew open in a silent scream, his back arching. The stretch was immense, the fullness absolute. She didn’t wait for him to adjust. She set a relentless, pounding rhythm, each deep drive punctuated by the muffled roar from the hall. His own choked gasps were lost in the noise. He was completely at her mercy, fucked raw in a room that felt terrifyingly public, the only privacy the thin door and the machine’s deafening scream. Her hands gripped his hips hard, her own grunts of effort the only other sound in their private, violent world. The terror of being heard fused with the overwhelming physical violation, winding his pleasure into a tight, screaming coil deep in his core.
Chapter 8
The vacuum’s roar faded down the hall, leaving a ringing silence that felt louder than the noise. E’s punishing rhythm didn’t falter. With the cover of sound gone, every wet, rhythmic slap of her hips against his ass echoed in the quiet office. C bit down on his own forearm, stifling a choked cry as she drove deep.
“None of that,” E hissed, her voice raw with exertion. One hand left his hip and fisted in his hair, yanking his head back. “You will be quiet. You will take it. Or do you want me to open that door and let the whole night staff see my bitch getting railed on his boss’s desk?”
He shook his head frantically, a desperate, silent plea. The visual she painted—being seen like this, bent over and impaled—sent a jolt of terror and filthy excitement straight to his already straining cock.
“Good,” she purred, her breath hot against his ear. She slowed her thrusts to a torturous, grinding pace, each inward push a claim on his most private space. “You feel that? Every inch. You’re so fucking open for me. My little panty-wearing office slut.”
Her crude words, at this new, more explicit register, burned him. He could only whimper, his body trembling with the effort of staying silent and upright.
“Tell me what you are,” she commanded, her voice a low, dominant thrum.
“Yours,” he gasped out, the word barely audible.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours,” he repeated, his voice breaking.
“And what does that make you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Your… your bitch.”
“Damn right.” She resumed a harder, faster pace, the harness straps creaking with the force. “And what does my bitch deserve?”
He was beyond coherent thought, hovering on a razor’s edge of sensation. The brutal fullness, the degrading position, the sheer risk of discovery—it was a vortex pulling him under. “This,” he panted. “He deserves this. Please… don’t stop.”
E let out a dark, satisfied laugh. “I don’t plan to.” She leaned over him, her chest pressed to his sweaty back, her mouth against his neck. “You’re going to ride this edge for me until I say otherwise. You’re not allowed to come. You’re just going to feel every single second of how owned you are.”
She punctuated her words with a series of deep, precise thrusts that brushed that devastating spot inside him with relentless accuracy. C saw stars, his knuckles white where they gripped the desk edge, his entire body a live wire of denied, mounting pleasure. The pressure built to a screaming peak, coiling tight in his groin, but her rule was an iron cage around it. He was hers to wind up, and hers alone to release.
Chapter 9
The pressure inside C was a white-hot knot, a screaming, straining thing she held on a leash of pure will. E’s grip on his hair tightened, her thrusts becoming shorter, harder, a brutal, pistoning rhythm that made the desk shudder. Her breath sawed in his ear, hot and ragged.
“You feel that, bitch? That’s where you live now,” she grunted, each word a slap. “You’re my fucking sleeve. Tell me you love it.”
“I love it,” he choked out, the confession ripped from him. His own cock, trapped and leaking against the polished wood, twitched violently. “Please, E… I can’t…”
“You can, and you will. Until I’m done with you.” She slowed, grinding deep, making him feel every ridge of the toy, claiming the space. “Look at you. My middle-aged office bitch, taking it like a champ. You want to come?”
He nodded frantically, a sob catching in his throat.
“Beg for it. Properly.”
“Please let me come,” he gasped, his voice shattered. “Please, I need to… I need to come for you. I’ll do anything.”
“You’re already doing everything.” She resumed fucking him, hard and fast, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office. “But since you asked so nicely… come for me, C. Come all over this desk like the slut you are.”
The permission was a detonation. The coiled tension shattered. A raw, guttural cry tore from his throat as his body convulsed, his cock pulsing against the cool wood, release splattering in hot, shameful stripes. The orgasm was a violent wave of submission, pulling him under.
E rode him through it, her own movements becoming jagged, frantic. “Yeah… take it… that’s it…” With a final, deep plunge, she went rigid against his back, a sharp, bitten-off curse escaping her lips as she found her own climax in the power of his.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their labored breathing. The air smelled of sex and sweat and humiliation.
Slowly, she pulled out. C slumped forward, boneless, trembling. He felt her hands on him again, not cruel now, but possessive. She traced the line of his spine.
“Look at this mess,” she murmured, her voice husky. Her finger swiped through the cooling proof of his obedience on the desk, then brought it to his lips. “Clean it up.”
Wordlessly, eyes glazed, he took her finger into his mouth, tasting his own salt and surrender.
Chapter 10
The fluorescent hum of the office was the only sound for a long minute. C stayed on the desk, trembling, his cheek pressed to the cool wood. E’s finger slipped from his mouth. He felt her shift behind him, then the soft, deliberate click of her phone’s camera.
“For the collection,” she said, her voice a low purr of satisfaction.
He closed his eyes, the humiliation a warm, heavy cloak. He heard her moving, the rustle of clothing. A moment later, a bundle of fabric landed beside his head. His own trousers and boxers.
“Get dressed,” she commanded, no trace of the earlier frenzy. “We’re not done.”
He pushed himself up, his limbs feeling like water. He dressed under her watchful gaze, avoiding her eyes. The lace panties, damp with sweat, felt like a brand against his skin.
“My place,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock sharp. Don’t eat first.”
The following evening found him on her doorstep, heart hammering against his ribs. She opened the door, already smirking. She wore a simple black robe, her glasses perched on her nose. “Right on time. Good bitch.”
Her apartment was neat, modern, and felt as dominantly hers as her office. She led him to the living room, pointing to the center of the rug. “Kneel.”
He obeyed. She circled him slowly, a glass of wine in her hand.
“You know,” she began, her tone conversational, almost musing. “It’s almost not fair, is it?”
He looked up, confused.
“Your ass,” she clarified, taking a sip. “It’s been getting *all* the attention. Every session. Every command. Poor, neglected cock must feel so left out.”
A flush crept up his neck. He said nothing.
“We should balance the scales. Don’t you think?” She set her glass down and untied her robe, letting it fall open. She wore nothing underneath. Her body was a lush, powerful curve in the soft light. She approached him, stopping just before his kneeling form. “But we’ll do it my way. Your mouth did such a good job confessing your secrets. Let’s see what else it’s good for.”
She placed a hand on his head, her fingers threading through his hair with possessive familiarity. “You don’t touch yourself. Not unless I say. You just use that mouth and worship what you’re given. Understand?”
“Yes, E,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on the triangle of dark curls before him.
“Then get to work, my bitch,” she said, applying gentle pressure. “Show me how grateful you are.”
Chapter 11
Her fingers tightened in his hair, a silent command. He leaned in, his tongue tracing a tentative path through her folds. The taste was musky, potent, layered with a sharp, clean saltiness.
E let out a soft, approving hum. She took a deliberate sip from the wine glass she still held in her other hand. “Mmm. That’s it. Just like that. You know, I came straight from the gym. I might be a little… sweaty.” Her voice was a lazy, taunting drawl. “But my bitch should have no problems with that, right?”
The question hung in the air, rhetorical and cruel. He answered by pressing his face deeper, his tongue working in slow, devoted circles. The faint tang of her exertion only made her more real, more powerfully *hers*. It was a flavor of her dominion.
“Good,” she sighed, drinking again. The wine glinted dark red in the low light. “Such a devoted tongue. Now, lower. I want you to worship what you’ve been begging for all week.”
Understanding dawned, sending a fresh wave of heat through him. He obeyed, shifting his focus lower, his hands remaining clenched at his sides. His mouth found the tight, forbidden pucker of her asshole.
“Yes,” she hissed, her hips pushing back slightly against his face. “Long and drawn out, remember? No rushing. You’re going to learn every inch.”
He did. He laved the tense ring with broad, wet strokes, then focused the very tip of his tongue to tease and press. It was an act of profound submission, more intimate than anything they’d done. He could feel the faint residue of dried sweat, the unique, earthy scent of her skin here, and he lost himself in it.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” she commanded, her voice thick with pleasure.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. “I’m… I’m worshiping your ass, E.”
“And?” she prompted, taking another slow sip.
“And I love the way you taste,” he admitted, the confession ripped from him. “Even sweaty. Especially sweaty. It’s all you.”
A dark chuckle escaped her. “Of course it is. You’re mine.” She ground herself back against his mouth, forcing his tongue inside her. “Now get back to work. Show me how much you love being my filthy, devoted bitch.”