You type away at the computer, your mind somewhere else. To be exact, your mind is on your boss, and the things he would do to you if he were here.
You can't help it; your hand slips slip your skirt, playing with the lace of the panties you bought yesterday.
Your boss walks by and your face flames, thinking about what it would be like if he walked in here right now and saw you with your fingers so close to your pussy, rubbing it through the black lace that you bought just for him, wishing he could ever see it.
He stops outside your door and knocks.
"Come in," you say, and he does. Your fingers don't stop what they're doing, instead they rub against your clit while he talks to you.
"You're here late," he says. His voice is low and raspy, and you're not sure if you imagine the darkening of his eyes.
"Yes," you say, your voice breathy.
"You're very... dedicated. I like that." He takes a step into the office, and his eyes go to your arm. His eyes flare for a second, before he smiles slightly. "Is there anything I can help you with?" He asks, and this time you know you're not imagining what's there. He wants you. He wants this.
"Actually, there is," you say.
"Oh?" He takes a step closer and you spread your legs wider. He can't see them, can't see how wet you are or your black lace panties that you bought just for him. But he can tell that you've spread your legs, and that you're touching yourself.
"I've got a problem, and I could really use some help," you say. Unbidden, a moan escapes from your lips.
"Well, you know that I would do anything to support my employees." He takes another step closer, and his eyes drop back down, watching what he can't yet see. "How can I... help?"
"Come here," you say, your voice breathy.
He obeys, and a moment later he's standing beside you, watching you pleasure yourself.
"I can see your problem," he says, his eyes blazing.
"Oh, yeah?"
"It's this," he says. He closes the distance between you and bends on one knee. Slowly, with his eyes glued on your black lace panties, he pulls them off of you. "So wet," he murmurs.
You can't help it-- you start to writhe, rocking back and forth on your chair. You've thought of this for so long, and now that the moment is here you can't wait to get started.
"Stop," he says. And because of the authority in his voice, you do. "Pleasuring you is my job now. Only I get to touch you. You only move when I tell you to. Do you understand?"
You nod, your pussy getting wetter and wetter with every word. He's even more dominant than you expected, and it's turning you on so much you almost disobey.
"Good girl," he says.
He leans forward and strokes your pussy with a single finger, his touch feather-light.
"Please," you whisper. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me. More. Taste me. Fu--"
"Not yet," he says. "I'm going to make you cum before I fuck you. But don't worry," he says, leaning forward so his words fall directly on your pussy and his breath tantalizes you. "I am going to fuck you. Nice and slow, up against the window, or hard and fast on your desk. But first..." he licks your pussy nice and slow, and you clench around the tip of his tongue. He hums his approval and licks again, harder this time. He sucks on your clit, pulling it into his mouth and for a moment you see stars. He's good at this, way too good. You're not going to last very long, the way his tongue is claiming your pussy, the way it strokes through you, the way he sucks you into his mouth.
"I'm going to cum," you cry. Instead of replying, he just sucks harder.
When you cum, hard and fast, you could swear you hear him moan. Is he getting off on getting you off?
