Pt 03 Punished In The Office

Mia is perched at the edge of a stretching table. Her skirt is around her belly, bra pushed up above her breasts. Her bare pussy is exposed to the air, her clit pulses helplessly—begging to be touched. She can't believe how far she let this go. She's shaking from how badly she needs—something. Anything.

Her hips buck—a twitch for contact, for relief.

But Ryan stands behind her, his hands hooked beneath her knees, pulling them up and apart. He has her locked in—held open. Not straining. Not forcing. Just offering her.

That's what's driving her so mad.

She's being given. Laid bare for someone who isn't allowed to see her.

She wonders if poor Kyle even knows it's her. Blindfolded. Hands bound behind his back. She pictures Ryan giving the order—cool, uncomplicated. As if Kyle didn't need to see her. Didn't need his hands. Just needed to kneel and do what he was told.

This isn't happening. It can't be. Not Kyle.

She decides he doesn't know. She can feel it in the way he holds still—like he's afraid to get it wrong.

And that makes it worse. Her pussy already aches, already slick—and he doesn't even know what he's being allowed to taste.

Of course Ryan picked him. Someone obedient. Inexperienced. Someone who wouldn't realize what he was doing until it was already over.

Maybe no one will ever tell him. Maybe that's why she's dripping.

He's not here for himself. He's here to follow instructions.

"Start from the bottom," Ryan says.

One damp lock of hair drifts across his forehead as he leans in, tentative. He stops when his lips brush her by accident, then pulls back. His tongue flicks out. One upward stroke—slow and soft.

Mia gasps from the sensation. Her hips jerk into Ryan's firm grip. One lick, and she's trembling.

Kyle is so close she can feel the breath off his mouth.

"Again. But stop when you find her clit."

He licks a second time—tongue flat, slow, like he's wiping a spill with his mouth. She chokes on her breath. Her hands reach behind her, searching for something to hold.

"Hold steady," Ryan says.

Kyle freezes—mouth hovering right there. Mia's whole body pulses. She's soaking. The tip of his tongue is so close.

No. Don't stop.

But she doesn't say it. She just whimpers, hips straining forward, begging without words.

"Now suck."

"Gently."

Kyle's lips close softly around her. No rhythm. No teasing. Just contact—but more than she can bear. Her legs tremble. Ryan tightens his hold—barely. Just enough to make her still.

"Don't let her come."

But she's already too close. Already offered. Already breaking.

And then—

Sheets. Twisted between her legs. Ceiling. Silence.

She wakes up. NO. NO. Not Yet. Her hand is between her legs. Her panties are soaked.

"Fuck."

Ryan's going to know. She broke the deal.

Mia crosses the mall parking lot toward

Pinnacle Fitness

, her sneakers landing soft against the asphalt like she's trying not to wake the morning. The air is bright, dry. The heat has finally broken, but the sun is the kind that searches you—finding its way past fabric, warming the skin beneath her loose black hoodie.

Beneath it, her cropped performance top clings snug across her chest. Her high-waisted nylon shorts—light charcoal—smooth over her hips and thighs, tight but modest. Clean. Controlled. Professional.

There will be no wardrobe malfunctions today. No reason for her to change into the crotchless bodysuit. No excuse for a designer to strip her, or to bind her limbs and toy with her every button. Not today.

As she rounds the corner—

Pinnacle

comes into view. The front windows catch the bright morning sun, revealing nothing inside.

She stops short, stomach flipping.

Only her reflection—small and sharp in the glass. Her jet-black ponytail tied high, stark against her pale complexion. Her gym clothes neat, restrained. The picture of control. She looks like herself. But she doesn't feel like herself.

Because it's not

Pinnacle

staring back. It's her. It's what this place is turning her into. A body full of hunger and need. The place where Kyle—her favorite client—watched in jealous silence while someone else made her tremble. The place where Jace had to cut a stretching session short, before it became a full-blown orgy. The place where Ryan—her steady, unreadable boss—spread her open, keeping her suspended on the edge of release.

And she let him.

Her throat tightens. She tries to tell herself it wasn't her fault. That she was just following direction. Helping Ryan. Saving the gym.

But that's not the truth.

The truth is—she wanted it. Still wants it. The memory lives under her skin—fingers tracing lace, stopping just shy of giving her what she needed.

How badly her body aches to be taken. How powerless she is to stop it.

Damn. I've already lost control. I'm not the kind of woman who gets off on this.

She turns on her heel.

I'm not doing this.

And that's when she sees it:

Two workers on a scissor lift across the street, stretching a fresh vinyl banner across

Verafit's

second-floor railing—

THE FIRST TASTE IS FREE.

The words knock something loose in her chest.

Oh god. The dream. Her legs open. Ryan holding her. Kyle's tongue slow, unsure. Her body on fire.

A pulse breaks loose inside her—hot, unwanted. Her skin flushes under the hoodie. She wants it so badly, she'd wear the sign around her neck. Let them read my hunger. Let them see who I am.

No. No, no, no.

She cannot walk into that gym like this again.

But she's already at the door.

As the doors close behind her, the gym swallows the sunlight.

The low thrum of treadmills, the soft clang of weights, the faint pulse of music overhead—it replaces the outside world all at once.

The door latches. Cool air brushes her legs. No turning back now.

Her eyes sweep the room. Front desk. Cardio zone. The hallway to Ryan's office.

Is he here?

A spike of dread cuts through her chest. She broke the deal. She didn't mean to—but she did. She touched herself. She said she wouldn't. She promised.

"You will be incentivized." His words echo in her head—calm. Certain. Like it wasn't a threat. Just a fact.

Her stomach twists. Is he going to punish her? Or reward her?

She shouldn't want either. She knows that. But her body—God, her body aches for both.

And that's what terrifies her. Because she knows the truth. Her mind might resist—but her body will answer. It will say yes.

Will he know? He can't. He won't. She'll act normal. Stay focused. Everything will go back to the way it was.

She breathes in—slow, steady—letting the gym reorient her.

Three clients, maybe four.

Jace is near the turf mats, walking a woman through a leg circuit. His voice low, focused. Body language precise. Measured. Efficient. Like always.

Mia's eyes stop on him—just for a second.

Oh god. Jace. She wasn't ready. Not after what he saw. What he didn't say. What he let happen.

He stood there, holding her legs apart—silent, steady, watching—while two football players slid their hands up her thighs, beneath her skirt and the thin lace of her thong. Teasing. Stroking. Bringing her to the edge like it was a game.

Shame twists in her chest. Or maybe it's something worse—hunger.

The woman Jace is training beams, cheeks flushed from exertion. But it's not Jace she's looking at. There's another man working with her—Black, younger, solidly built—crouched in front, hands steady at her hips as he adjusts her stance.

His back is to Mia. He shifts slightly, guiding the woman's knee with calm, confident hands. She looks delighted—flushed, radiant, hanging on his every word.

Mia stills.

"Mia." Jace's voice cuts through the haze.

Then—two fingers curl inward. A simple gesture. Come.

She's already moving before she knows it.

The young man turns at the sound. And smiles.

Something drops low in Mia's stomach. She knows that smile. That face. It's Tai.

She sees it again—his fingers grazing the lace before pulling it free, her pussy bare, throbbing and ready. He would have devoured her right there, in front of everyone.

But Jace stopped it.

Now Tai's back. Smiling like he never stopped wanting her.

Mia moves before she realizes it—drawn by something she doesn't control. Her body goes first. Her mind just follows.

She reaches the turf.

Tai stays crouched, his grip sure, adjusting the woman's form in her split squat. He doesn't move when Mia arrives. Just glances up—his voice low, easy.

"Mia, you remember Tai," Jace says.

Tai looks up and nods, calm and warm. A little too familiar.

"Good to see you again." His eyes linger—just a beat too long.

Jace continues, casual. "Tai's going to be apprenticing with us this semester."

"Lincoln Valley football," Tai adds, his hands not moving from the young woman's hips. Then, quieter—more sincere—"I don't know. It just felt right. Like I was needed here."

Mia's pulse flutters. He says it like it was a calling. Like her body—needy, exposed—had simply needed his help.

Tai starts to shift, releasing the young woman's waist—but she catches his hand and lifts it higher. Right to the soft taper above her waistband.

"Do you think I've overworked my abs?" She beams—sweet, strategic

Jace watches. "Tai's teammate Noah's coming in later. Coach asked if you'd help with his lesson."

Mia raises a brow. "Lesson?"

The woman Tai's been working with straightens slightly, grinning as she pipes in. "Apparently the team's been having too much sex before games." Her eyes flick to Mia—playful, sharp. Testing.

"Mia—this is Haley," Jace finally adds. "Tai brought her in to work on her split squats."

Haley doesn't let go of Tai's hand. "Tai kept saying this gym was the real deal. Thought I should see for myself."

Mia watches. A flicker of appraisal—sharp, quiet, curious.

Haley's younger—maybe twenty-four. Toned, with sprinter's legs and curves she clearly knows how to use. Her brown hair is cut short and wild, like she just got out of bed and thought, perfect. A silver stud glints in her nose. There's a faint, sloppy tan line from a bikini top. She's pretty in a loud, effortless way—and she owns the moment.

And Tai—Tai lets her.

Then: "Mia." Ryan's voice, calm and direct, cuts through the heat.

Mia's shoulders stiffen. But it's too late.

Haley's already shooting Tai a look. All innocence on top. But beneath it—something wicked. Like someone just got caught.

"Sit."

Ryan's voice is calm. Absolute.

Mia eyes the guest chair in Ryan's office—elegant walnut frame, low arms, a leather pad. Classy, but hard and uninviting. Slowly, she lowers herself into it, heart pounding.

Ryan stands across from her, one hand braced on his desk. Steady. Silent.

Oh god. He knows. He can't know.

Then— "We had an agreement."

The words land hard. Her stomach drops. This is what she feared. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Just the heat of being caught.

He doesn't move. Just waits.

"Tell me the truth."

Her throat tightens. Her fingers knot in her lap. She wants to look away, but she doesn't.

Quietly—barely above a whisper—

"I... touched myself."

Ryan's eyes don't waver.

"Say it properly." Still calm. But firmer now. Like this is part of it. Like the words matter.

Mia breathes in, shaky. She lifts her chin—barely. Her voice trembles.

"I masturbated."

There. It's out.

It burns under her skin—low, merciless. Curling through her like shame with a heartbeat.

She made the promise. Meant every word. But still.

When she woke from the dream she was already touching herself—Kyle's mouth, Ryan's hands—her hips moving, panties damp. She never stood a chance. What kind of woman comes apart from a dream?

She feels it again now. Right there. Like punishment already lives under her skin.

Ryan just watches—calm, unmoving. Not unkind. Not cold. Just... aware.

"Stand up."

Her knees don't want to work. But she does it. Wobbly. Hot-faced. Waiting.

"Lower your shorts."

Oh fuck. He can't mean— Of course he means.

Her fingers move before she can stop them. Trembling at the waistband, she pulls them to her knees. No further. The exposure burns.

Ryan steps forward. No warning. No words. Then—he crouches.

Mia goes still.

He's right in front of her now, down at her level. Focused. Calm. The exposure prickles over her skin—visible, undeniable. The black panties stretch across her, slick between her thighs. Wet. Shamefully, obviously wet.

He doesn't touch her. Just looks. Like he's studying her. Like the truth isn't something she has to say—her body already told it. He sees her—and doesn't flinch.

Her breath falters. Her thighs twitch, a useless instinct. She wants to turn away, to hide—but her feet stay planted.

Because her body wants this.

Wants him to peel them off—just like he did in the dream. Like he owns her body now, too.

He must smell her. Know exactly what she wants.

The quiet isn't empty, it's weighted — watching,

Then—

The door swings open. Mia flinches.

"Oops—oh shit, I thought this was the changing room."

A gym towel hits the floor.

Haley stands in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw dropped in delighted surprise.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Oh god. Not her. Not now.

Ryan doesn't turn around. Doesn't flinch.

"Not at all," he says evenly. "Mia's being punished."

Mia's throat locks.

Punished? In front of her?

Her legs are bare, her panties clinging. Soaked.

And Haley's smile is too bright. Too amused. Like this isn't a mistake. Like it's her birthday and this is her gift.

She wants to cover herself. Step away.

But she stays frozen. Waiting.

Because Ryan hasn't told her to.

Haley steps further in, letting the door shut behind her with a soft, deliberate click.

"Well, you have to let me help." Her voice gleeful. Eager. "I'll make it stick."

Mia's skin burns. Her heart stutters.

But her body is in lockdown. Like her nerves are trapped under glass.

Ryan stays crouched, his voice low and calm.

"Top drawer of my desk."

Haley moves without hesitation—straight to the desk, hair swinging. She flips the drawer open.

"Oh my god," she murmurs, delighted. "Are you kidding me?"

She pulls out a small box—soft pink, wrapped in cellophane. A glint sharpens behind her eyes.

Ryan hums approvingly, his attention still focused on Mia's panties. His finger moves slowly, tracing the seam of her panties. Tracking the heat, the slick, like he's reading her body through the fabric.

Mia whimpers. Her thighs twitch, but her body won't dare move. Not while he's touching her like this.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. Her body's already answered for her. She's soaked. And he knows it.

From the desk: the crinkle of cellophane.

Mia tries not to look. But she knows what Haley's holding.

And worse—she wants it.

Then:

Haley taps. A chime. Then a hum.

Mia turns, her body startling at the sound.

Haley coos, delighted.

Haley's perched in Ryan's chair now—casual, glowing. The vibe rests between her fingers, soft pink, C-shaped, perfectly curved. Pulsing in sync as Haley swipes and scrolls—like she's programming pleasure, one tap at a time.

"Whoever designed this? Knew exactly what they were doing."

The light glows gently. Mia can't look away.

It's small. Precise.

Haley marvels, "And they say tech is ruining intimacy."

Engineered to fit inside her—exactly.

And right now, it's in Haley's hands.

Ryan stands, his voice steady. "You can sit back down."

Mia lowers herself slowly into the chair, trembling, her shorts still caught around her knees, damp black panties exposed. The contact with the cushion feels like a reprieve—small, fleeting. Her chest rises, falls. Maybe that's it. Maybe she'll be allowed to recover.

But then:

"Not like that," Haley says, voice gently wicked, as she passes the vibe to Ryan.

Before Mia can react, Haley steps closer. She gathers the shorts from Mia's knees and tugs them down to her ankles. Carefully, she frees each foot from the stretchy fabric, lifting one knee to rest over the chair's arm, followed by the other.

Now Mia's propped up. Legs spread over the arms of the chair. She feels exposed. Displayed. Like she's being offered, not seated.

Her panties still hug her hips—high-waisted, black, soaked through. A breath of modesty stretched tight over something raw and wanting.

The air shifts.

Haley's fingers graze the inside of her thigh, almost idly.

Mia stiffens. Because she thinks she knows what's next.

From his desk, Ryan hands Haley a pair of long metal-handled shears.

She accepts them without a word, crouching smoothly between Mia's legs. A teasing glance up. "Hope these weren't your favorite."

Then—snip. One clean line across the top seam.

The panties stay up —glued there by nothing but her own slick heat.

Haley's fingers are gentle. Intent. She peels the fabric back with care, enchanted by every bit of wet, wanting skin that comes into view.

Cool air brushes her folds. Her legs tense over the chair's arms. She's completely exposed now.

Held open. Shimmering. Wet. On display.

Haley's eyes widen with delight. "God, Mia. You're soaked".

Mia squirms, already clenching. She chose this outfit carefully—tight shorts, high neckline, nothing suggestive. No wardrobe malfunctions. No excuses.

And still—she's here. Legs draped over chair arms, pussy bare, exposed to a girl who didn't need excuses.

Haley just took what she wanted.

And Mia... she let her.

"Do you know how to use it?" Ryan asks, turning the vibe curiously in his fingers.

Haley pulls out her iPhone Plus from the side of her spandex shorts, grinning like he just handed her the aux cord at a party.

"Oh, please. I own the

Zaya Three.

I've worn it to parties."

Her fingers dance across the screen, casual, practiced. A soft chime sounds.

In Ryan's hand, a sleek, C-shaped curve comes to life—pulsing gently, glowing at the edges.

Mia sees it—feels it—in her chest first. Then lower.

Ryan tilts the curved ends, mesmerized as it pulses like a heartbeat, before turning his eyes to Mia.

Her eyes lift, helpless. Shock and need flickering behind them.

God, no. God, yes.

Haley keeps talking, her voice light and giddy.

"That's waveform mode. One finger drives the whole thing. Up for more, down for less. Side to side adjusts the zones. You can control the clit end and G-spot curve separately."

Ryan turns the vibe over once more in his palm, and Mia feels it like a phantom—exactly where it will go.

Haley swipes again. "There's a web interface so you can hand it off to anyone via QR code or text. It's called

Zaya-Handoff.

See."

The toy responds, with a bling and a buzz as Ryan's phone blings from the text.

"But the new stuff?" Haley's eyes brighten.

"

Tease Mode's

my favorite. It builds on its own, faster and faster—until her hips start bucking."

She glances at Mia—spread open, already twitching—as if she's picturing how fast it will break her. "Then it just... stops."

Mia meets Haley's gaze—an accusing look, sharp with longing and disbelief.

How could she?

But Mia's thighs are already trembling.

She can hardly believe what they're planning for her—and worse, her body is listening. Attentive. Aching. Drunk on anticipation.

Ryan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Cruel."

"Oh, it gets better," Haley's eyes gleam as she taps again. The toy responds—another soft hum, a glow like breath.

"The

Zaya X

reads arousal. Real-time. Skin temp, heartbeat, god knows what else. Meet

Obedience Mode.

"

She lets it hang.

"It knows exactly how close she is—and makes sure she never crosses."

Mia's cunt pulses around emptiness—needy, aching, already responding like it's been trained.