It's Friday, just after midday, and I am in the lift of my Dom's office building. I have a caesar salad in my bag for him which is ostensibly my motivation for dropping in. Later, we're going away for a long, filthy weekend. A weekend which should have already begun except he was called into work to approve an emergency file. He promised to be back by early afternoon but I'm overcome by giddy anticipation.
I decide that the easiest way to incorporate the black, seamed hold-ups I'm wearing into a coherent outfit is to masquerade as my business self. I pretend, to the public, that I went to work this morning as well. I've picked out a fitted, cream shirt-style blouse and camel, knee-length pencil skirt. I'm teetering on five-inch heels and my black bra is a dark smudge beneath the thin material. I've accessorised with an oversized tan leather bag and a string of anal beads.
Reaching his floor, I state my supposed reason for visiting to my Dom's PA. She's a petite blonde with a lovely, soft-featured face. Once, I joked about including her in our play to tease him and he spanked me for being a dirty, sapphic slut. We both laughed throughout. She smiles at me, warmly, and speaks into the intercom.
'Alex, your girlfriend is here. She's brought you lunch.'
He is briefly silent. When he speaks, the delight in his voice is barely concealed.
'Thanks Amy, send her in.'
By the time I have closed the door behind me, his tone has become impassive. Without looking up from the sheets of paper in his hand, he commands:
'Strip.'
My heart leaps and my cunt purrs with lust under his authoritative manner. I unzip the skirt and let it slither down my thighs and slip to the floor before shakily unbuttoning the shirt. He must have looked up surreptitiously because he orders me to keep my shoes and underwear on.
I start to walk towards him, leaving the puddle of clothing just to irk his fanatically tidy sensibilities, but I am halted.
'No. On the floor. In your mouth.'
His brusque instructions induce a sticky glistening between my thighs as I drop to my hands and knees and struggle to collect the blouse, skirt and bag between my teeth. He glances at me crawling, momentarily, before returning to the print on the pages.
'Present yourself.'
He almost sounds disinterested. I clamber onto his desk and face away from him, palms flat on the wood with my legs tucked underneath to push my ass high. The cheeks are striped from a delectable caning session last night. I am ignored.
The minutes creep by and my knees begin to ache, dully. The thrill of being exposed like this and of somebody potentially catching us wanes as time passes. I hear him leafing through the file and humming contentedly. I grow frustrated.
'Daddy...' I whine, sitting back on my heels and twisting my head to look at him.
'Back in position!' He barks, his eyes still fixated by the text in front of him. I squeak pathetically, injured by his sharp tone, and place my head back onto the desk. He slaps each bruised cheek once, eliciting little gasps, and continues humming. I am sure the twin cracks that resound around the room can be heard outside.
Eventually, the sound of his chair swivelling greets my ears and he is standing behind me. A cold metal nudges against my swollen labia as he snips away the lacy material of my knickers. The slight feeling of indignation at losing a favourite piece of lingerie is swallowed by my Dom's gratified exhalation. He fingers the ring protruding from my narrow entrance.
'This is an enchanting surprise.' He says with mock-formality, his voice now an animalistic whisper.
Hooking his thumb through the loop, he gently tugs and it is my turn to sigh deeply. The largest bead is pushing back against the puckered muscle. He slides two fingers into my flooding slit and slowly withdraws again, dragging the first orb through the tight hole. I arch my back to give him freer access. He pulls the beads downwards so that his index finger can caress my clit as each sphere is revealed. I am whimpering and panting feebly. With just one bead left inside me, he drives his fingers back into my cunt and curls them back towards him before forcing a third digit inside. His beckoning persists, swatting against my G-spot. Flutterings of pleasure dance through me. His other hand is pressing the balls back through my rosebud with agonising slowness. I feel myself beginning to peak.
'Daddy, may I come? Please?' I murmur, hoarsely.
'No.' I can detect the smile in his words.
He pushes the last bead back into me and extracts his fingers. He retracts the orb again as a final tease before forcing it punishingly hard back inside. I groan in aching ecstasy. Daddy presses his dripping digits into mouth and orders me to lick them clean. He sits back down in the leather chair.
'On my lap, little slut. Feed me my lunch.'
I wriggle off the table and snatch the box from my bag, thrilled he's not going to return to his paperwork and neglect me. Settling myself on his knee, my feet swinging between his open legs, I can feel the beads shifting and attempt to stifle a moan. One of his hands is exploring my cunt whilst the other liberates my breasts from the bra. I hand-feed him little mélanges of lettuce and chicken and he rubs the skin underneath the lace of my stocking and snaps the garter belt against my thighs. I'm enraptured; fulfilled by serving my Dom.
He finishes eating and lifts me back onto the edge of his desk and demands I masturbate for him. He looks so wolfish in a black suit and white shirt, no tie, and his glare is so intense I can feel my insides swimming. His predatory gaze appraises me in full and then locks onto the hand skimming my slit. I am naturally shy and it took his unrelenting coercion to persuade me to perform for him in the early days. Now, I derive a rush from playing for him.
His eyes are averted from me and are focussed on the folder again. I'm resentful at being discarded. I slip from the tabletop and aim for his Achilles' heel: blowjobs. I haven't even positioned myself between his knees before I am chastened.
'Get back on the table and continue fucking yourself for me.' He counters, eyes still glued to his work.
Petulantly, I slide back onto the cold, hard wood but my hands dangle by my sides.
Finally, he looks up - an eyebrow cocked.
'Are you disobeying an order?' His tone betrays a hint of amusement but I decide against pushing him: the consequences are unpredictable. I recommence stroking my clit.
'Good recovery, princess, but you definitely disobeyed an order.' His eyes are twinkling with sadistic glee. 'What happens to little sluts who disobey orders?'
