The promise of finally getting fucked by my boss was... distracting. For the rest of the day felt like I was wading through honey. My thoughts were slow, sticky, impossible to get through without wanting to sit and taste.
I tried to work. I did. Typed emails, scheduled meetings, barked orders in his name that people jumped to obey. I smiled at clients, jotted notes, handed him reports I barely understood.
But every ten minutes I'd drift off. Back to his voice. Back to the weight of his hand on my shoulder. Back to the way he'd said we'd address my needs "after hours."
It echoed. It haunted. By noon, I was clenching so hard around nothing that my legs ached. By two, I'd gone to the bathroom just to slide two fingers into my underwear and press against the slick heat of my own frustration. Not to cum. Just to feel how wet I still was. By four, I couldn't stop picturing it: Him dragging me over his desk. Face down. Panties ripped. That cock - real, not rubber - finally shoved inside me like a punishment. Like a reward. Like I'd earned it.
I imagined him not even unbuckling fully. Just enough to use me. I imagined my moans against the desk blotter, muffled by my own underwear. I imagined his voice in my ear, reminding me I'd waited long enough. That I belonged to him now.
And still, through all that, I worked.
He said nothing. Gave no indication. Didn't even glance at me differently. Like the conversation that morning hadn't happened. Like he hadn't watched me admit what I needed with my lip trembling and my cunt aching.
But I knew he was waiting.
And so was I.
At six o'clock, the office personell began to thin. The building became quieter. He didn't call for me, I was already at my desk, in his office, waiting for the moment. I was bursting inside. After two agonising minutes, he looked up from his desk and said, "Lock the door behind you." Most days, that meant I should kneel. Of course, today of all days, I obeyed.
I didn't speak. I didn't even breathe too loudly. My thighs were already bare. I'd taken to wearing only stockings under my skirts, so I could touch myself without peeling anything down. He liked that. I was wet. Ready for him.
I looked up. Eyes pleading. He stared across at me from his desk.
But tonight... he didn't move.
And then he said:
"Stand up, Ruby. We're going out."
I blinked. "Sorry, Mr Duncan?"
He closed his laptop, slid his chair back, and stood with that slow, easy grace that still made my cunt flutter. "You're coming for dinner. With me. Proper food, not those cute little meal deals you eat over your laptop."
I hesitated. Part of me still wanted to be used, degraded, praised with a grunt in his throat and his hand in my hair. But another part - maybe the smarter part - stood.
"Yes, Mr Duncan."
"Put your outdoor shoes on, Ruby, we're not taking the car."
He was already at the door.
We walked. He didn't offer his arm. Didn't walk behind or ahead. Just next to me, tall and composed, hands in his coat pockets like we were discussing quarterly projections instead of the fact I'd been caught trying to fuck myself on a replica of his cock less than 24 hours earlier.
I didn't know what to say, so I said almost nothing until we were seated. A corner table, beside one another looking out over the room, legs angled towards one another. Low lights. Tablecloths. Not flashy, but quietly expensive. Somewhere people in this city knew to treat each other gently. They greeted him familiarly on the way in and I wondered how often he'd been here, and how often he'd brought someone like me.
He ordered wine. I declined. He didn't comment.
The silence wasn't tense. Just unfamiliar. Like he was waiting to see what kind of creature he'd made. Finally, he spoke:
"You're not the first assistant I've had, Ruby."
I paused. "No, Mr Duncan."
"There were others. Before you. One for nearly three years. She asked for a promotion, I gave it to her. She runs a tech company of her own now. The next didn't enjoy the pace of the job. Was too distracted by the sex. I had to let her go, generously of course. She became an artist using the redundancy money I provided. That piece in the lobby is hers, in fact. Buying art is an effective was to spend money on something that isn't tax."
My heart skipped. "So it isn't just about me?" He smiled. Not coldly. Not cruelly. Just enough to make me blush. "If it was just about sex with you, Ruby, I'd have bent you over that desk on the first day."
I looked down. Flushed. "Why didn't you?"
His answer was immediate. "Because I don't want to break toys. I want to build a legacy."
He let it sit. Then, as the wine arrived, he asked something I wasn't ready for.
"Tell me about your life."
I blinked. "Sorry?"
"Your life. Before this. Before me. Tell me something real."
I hesitated. But something about the calm in his voice invited honesty.
"I guess... I went to a good school. Good university. I got decent grades, didn't cause trouble. Parents divorced but they were civil about it. I never had to work retail or wait tables. I had jobs, but nothing that really made me sweat. No boyfriends that stuck. There were men, but..." I trailed off. He watched me. Not judging. Just listening. It was unnerving. "No real hardship," I admitted. "No tragedy. Just potential. I've always had potential."
"And now?" His questions were simple, direct, and that invited honesty. I wanted to be honest.
"Honestly? This job is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. I'm being..." I paused. "I feel useful. I love it." I didn't mean to say it like that. But it was true. I looked up at him, cheeks warm. "Honestly you scare me a little, Mr Duncan. But you also make me feel excited. Alive. Like this is something I'm good at."
He nodded slowly. Not pleased. Not smug. Just absorbing.
"I have needs, Ruby," he said, his voice low. "Needs I can't ignore. You already understand that's why you're here, but maybe you don't understand the full extent of it."
I swallowed. "And when you say needs...?"
He didn't answer right away. Just swirled the wine in his glass. "I've worked with a lot of people who were talented, Ruby, but so few of them were hungry. You're hungry, Ruby. Even if you don't know what for yet."
I flushed. "Is that what this is? A test?"
He tilted his head. "It's an opportunity."
"For what?" Now he smiled, slow and unreadable.
