Overtime

by Roxie Noir

  Stop acting weird, she thought.

  “Did we get Starbucks?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. He’d made quite clear that she was to make no advances, that her role was to sit back, do his bidding, and wait for him to make a move.

  “We find out Thursday,” he said. “This week, I’d like you to be working on the retreat.”

  Valerie nodded. The retreat happened every year. The three firm partners and the board went to the Declans’ summer home—actually a mansion—in the Hamptons for a long weekend, where they determined the strategy for the agency’s next year or so. On paper, it sounded simple, but she could only imagine the nightmare of logistics. Even getting that many important people to agree to a date would be a week-long hassle, to say nothing of the transportation, food, entertainment...

  “By the end of this week I’d like a list of possible venues,” he said. “How well do you know the Hamptons?”

  “I’ve never been,” Valerie admitted.

  Jasper nodded. “Come to me if you have any questions about venues or towns.”

  Valerie nodded, and they sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other, Valerie sitting straight up with her hands clasped together, Jasper lounging back in his chair, Manhattan visible through the big windows behind him.

  “Is there anything else?” Valerie finally asked, too nervous to sit in silence any longer.

  Jasper said nothing, but opened a drawer in his desk, fishing for something. Finally he pulled out a sheet of paper and balled it in one fist, slowly and deliberately, until it was a near-uniform sphere, and then he tossed it over his desk and behind Valerie.

  She looked at it and then back at him as he settled back into his chair, clasping his hands together and leaning back. He looked like a king addressing his subjects, he thought.

  “Pick it up,” he said in a low, smooth voice.

  Valerie felt the rush of adrenaline course through her veins, making the skin over her entire body flush. She was simultaneously glad and dismayed that she’d taken off her underwear as she stood from her chair.

  Consciously swaying, shifting her hips back and forth, she walked to where the ball of paper lay on the floor and bent over, ass high in the air.

  “With your teeth,” he said.

  Her hand was inches from the paper ball, and for several seconds, Valerie considered picking it up in her fingers, putting it in the trash, and walking out of the office. That would probably be the best decision, she knew.

  She didn’t walk out.

  She dropped to her knees. She put her hands on the floor on both sides of the ball of paper. She bent her elbows, her ass high in the air as she lowered her mouth to the edge of the paper ball, then took it between her teeth. It crinkled in her bite, dry and raspy.

  “Bring it here,” he said, and Valerie understood. Still on her hands and knees she began crawling the seven feet toward him, the pencil skirt and blouse she wore impeding her progress, making her movements slow and wiggling. He held his hand on his knee, and she had to come up and kneel to drop it in his palm, looking up at him through her lashes.

  “Good girl,” he said, and pleasure shot through Valerie’s body at the praise, at the knowledge that she’d pleased him. She swallowed, still on her knees, watching him.

  “Are you wearing panties?” he asked.

  “No, Mr. Declan,” she said.

  “Stand up, turn around, and bend over,” he said.

  She rocked back on her heels, wobbling a little as she stood, careful to keep her knees together, remembering his harlot comment last Friday when she’d been unseemly with him. Spinning on one shoe, she reached her arms for the floor, touching her toes, ass high in the air, her flesh straining against the fabric of her skirt.

  His hands traveled slowly up the backs of her thighs, pushing the skirt in front of them, slowly exposing more and more of her skin to the air in the office, to Manhattan beyond his window. Nervously, she watched the door, knowing that she hadn’t thought to lock it and knowing that her backup assistant might come in at any moment with a call for him. The skirt reached her pussy and then slid over it, the cool air hitting her with a slight shock.

  Finally, her skirt was entirely around her waist, every inch of her body from the bellybutton down exposed to anyone who might walk in and find her in the most compromising position she knew of.

  Fingers brushed along the very outside of her lips, just barely sliding along their wetness.

  “You’re very wet,” Jasper said in a low voice. “Are you enjoying this?”

  Valerie swallowed, her head still upside down. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  His fingers continued to glide, moving towards her clitoris, circling it, and then moving back to her entrance.

  Put them in, she thought. Please put them in, I can’t stand this.

  “You can straighten up and pull your skirt back down,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, one elbow planted on the armrest, hand held high in the air as he rubbed his fingers together. Valerie could see the slight shine of her wetness on those fingers as she shimmied the hem of her skirt past her hips again, relieved they hadn’t been caught, but disappointed that he’d only barely touched her. For just a moment she’d thought he might fuck her properly, bend her over and plow her deep, the way she craved.

  Instead, she was standing in front of him, fully clothed again.

  “Do you have lunch plans?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card: the Regency Day Spa, Yolanda Espirov, Waxing.

  “Please spend your lunch hour here, then. A full Brazilian. I find stubble irritating.”

  Valerie blushed at her boss paying for her personal grooming and almost said something: a protest, a plea that she could pay for her own pussy waxing. Then she thought the better of it.

  “Thank you,” she said, and walked back to her desk, sitting in front of her email, wondering how she was ever going to get anything done.

  Chapter Twelve

  At lunchtime, she nervously walked to the spa, not too far away, and was greeted by a lovely blond receptionist, pots of orchids tastefully arranged around the blue tile sitting room. As she waited, Valerie sipped the Pellegrino the young woman had given her, wondering how many working women stopped in for a pussy waxing on their lunch break. From the looks of the waiting room, that number wasn’t zero, which made her feel a little better.

  What if they’re all in strange, part-time submissive relationships with their bosses? She wondered. She checked each of their faces carefully: mostly thin, twenties or thirties, women in slacks and blouses reading Cosmo, perfect manicures and pedicures.

  Probably not, Valerie thought before returning to her own Cosmo’s article, Fifty Ways To Surprise Him With Fruit In Bed!

  A door opened. “Miss Bridge?” said a heavily accented woman wearing all-white. Valerie stood and followed her to a spa room, with a massage table covered in clean white sheets, more orchids, and candles lit everywhere. It smelled like lemon and sage, the whole room lit by a skylight.

  “Please remove your skirt and underwear and I’ll be right back,” the woman said. Valerie took her skirt off, folded it and put it on top of a chest, and then laid back on the massage table, psyching herself up for the wax.

  She’d never gotten the full Brazilian before. As far as she was concerned, a bikini wax hurt enough, and Brazilians were expensive.

  The woman came back in with the pot of wax and a pile of muslin strips, then positioned herself at Valerie’s feet, pushing her legs apart and peering at her vagina with professional interest.

  “You shave?” she said accusingly.

  “Uh, yeah,” Valerie said to the ceiling.

  The woman just clicked her tongue, shook her head, and began applying wax to Valerie’s outer labia.

  Ten minutes later, it was done, and Valerie had broken out in a light sweat all over her body.

  �
�Come out when you’re ready,” the woman said. “You look like you need a minute.”

  After taking several deep breaths, Valerie sat up and then stood. Still wearing her heels and shirt but nothing else, she walked over to the full-length mirror and looked at herself, completely bare. She rubbed one hand across her hypersensitive but smooth lips, surprised at the baby-softness of the skin there.

  She could get used to it, she thought.

  As she put her skirt back on, zipping it and tucking in her blouse, the woman opened the door a crack to hand her a package wrapped in brown paper. Immediately, Valerie recognized Jasper’s style.

  “Package for you,” the Russian woman said. If it was strange for someone to be sending her packages at the day spa, the other woman didn’t seem to notice.

  Valerie took the box back to the table and quickly tore it open. The inside box was bright pink and the top lifted off easily to reveal lacy black panties carefully laid on top of tissue paper.

  Okay, Valerie thought. Is he testing whether or not I’ll put these on? She frowned and lifted them, only to find that the crotch was surprisingly heavy, weighted down with something. Bringing the panties up to her face, Valerie held them up to the light and looked at them more closely, slipping a small flattened cylinder out of a pocket in the crotch.

  It’s a vibrator, she knew immediately. She’d heard of vibrating panties, of course, but never tried them out herself. Then, another thought occurred to her.

  How do I turn them on?

  There didn’t seem to be a switch or an answer anywhere in the box that she could find, and the answer dawned on her slowly: these were remote controlled.

  Valerie did not have to wonder who had the remote control.

  She put them on under her skirt, checking herself out in the mirror. She frowned at the slight panty line they left under her tight skirt and wished that Mr. Declan had gotten her a vibrating thong instead. But then, maybe a panty line was part of the game?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Valerie was on high alert walking back to the office, certain that the panties would begin vibrating at any moment, even though she vaguely remembered reading once that the remote only had a range of about twenty feet. But then again, Mr. Declan could be anywhere. By the time she got on the elevator she was jumpy and nervous; by the time she reached her desk, she thought her heart might beat right out of her chest.

  An hour passed. Nothing happened.

  Around three, Mr. Declan came out of the elevator and she watched him walk all the way in, through the glass doors, toward her. He stopped and said something to another assistant, then took a right and headed into the designer’s wing where he stood at the door to an office, nodding and speaking. Valerie pretended to do work, searching for a venue for the board meeting, but even five seconds her eyes flicked back to him. Was he reaching into his pocket? His jacket pocket? Where did he keep the remote—on him, in his desk, somewhere else entirely?

  Finally he walked back toward his own office, going right by her desk.

  “Good afternoon, Valerie,” he said, giving her the same nod that he always did.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Declan,” she said, trying to sound normal, as though it were any Monday.

  He went into his office and left the door open.

  At three-thirty, her chair creaked and Valerie thought it was the vibrator for a split second.

  At four fifteen, she got up and went to the restroom, feeling the little bullet nestled next to her clit for the entire walk, cool and firm and arousing.

  At four thirty, she began to feel disappointed.

  It wasn’t until four fifty-five that it finally turned on. Valerie nearly jumped out of her chair with surprise. The buzz was perfectly quiet, muffled by her flesh and her chair, but snuggled right next to her clitoris, the powerful vibrations running directly through her.

  She was absolutely positive that everyone in her open-plan office had seen her jump and somehow knew that she was wearing remote-control vibrating panties, controlled by her boss. Valerie froze and locked her eyes on her computer screen, sitting perfectly still, the wonderful low buzzing working its way through her cunt.

  The sensation began to build, and she looked quickly at Camille, but the other girl seemed hard at work on something, even though they had four minutes before leaving. She swallowed and took a deep breath as unwanted thoughts began to leak in: the thought of Mr. Declan, back in his office, one thumb on the remote control; Mr. Declan, coming out of his office and bending her over her own desk in full view of everyone.

  Then, the vibrating cut off. Valerie blinked, disappointed, and forced herself not to turn around and look at Mr. Declan. She waited, pussy aching, pretending to look at mansions in the Hamptons.

  The vibrator cut on, suddenly, and then off again—and on and off, on and off in a pulse. Valerie squirmed in her seat and tried not to, wanting to get the best possible angle for it against her clit, trying to move it around, wishing it would just stay on permanently. Finally she put one foot under her and discreetly nudged the vibrator with one heel, only for it to cut off again.

  Frustrated, she looked back at Jasper’s office. He sat there serenely, looking at his computer screen, refusing to make eye contact with her. A full minute passed, and Valerie stood, adjusted her skirt, and sat back down.

  Just as everyone was getting up to leave, walking past her desk, it came back on, stronger than before. Valerie gripped her mouse in one hand, tightening the other into a fist, determinedly looking at her computer screen, trying to act normal and smile at everyone leaving.

  “Night, Valerie,” said Camille, walking through the double doors.

  “Night,” said Valerie, her face feeling like a tight mask as the delicious feeling in her cunt grew, threatening to build to an orgasm.

  “Don’t work too late!” This was Michael, the nice, bearded guy who was the head of Design.

  Valerie could only smile back at him and clamp down her pussy muscles, doing her very best not to come until he was out the door.

  She grit her teeth together and crossed her legs, lodging it firmly against her clit in her folds. Valerie tried to breathe evenly, tried to relax, even as her eyes kept threatening to close and her hand was gripping the mouse so hard she was a little afraid it would crack.

  The vibrator stopped again.

  Goddammit! Valerie nearly shouted. She clenched her jaw tighter and looked at her computer screen again, waiting for it to come back on.

  She waited.

  A few more coworkers walked past her desk, all saying their various good nights. She nodded at them, distracted.

  As the glass door opened, it started again and her eyes drifted shut with relief, hoping that maybe this time she’d get to finish. It started on low and then built quickly to top speed, vibrating so hard Valerie felt like her teeth might be rattling, then going back down to low speed again, back and forth, the rhythm of it quickly bringing her to the edge and then back, every repetition more frustrating.

  Then it stopped, again. Without realizing what she was even doing, Valerie turned around and looked at Mr. Declan over her shoulder, her eyes wide, her face flushed. She could feel sweat making its way between her breasts and they made eye contact for a few seconds before he nodded and went back to looking at his computer screen.

  Valerie thought she might cry from frustration.

  As soon as she turned back to her computer the vibrator came on high again and stayed there, and it didn’t take more than thirty seconds before Valerie started coming, gripping the edge of her desk in her hands and grinding her teeth together as she came in full view of her coworkers, or at least the ones who hadn’t gone home yet. She tried desperately to act like nothing was going on, or like maybe she was a little surprised by an email she’d read, but what she really wanted to do was tear her shirt open and scream Mr. Declan’s name.

  Fuck me, Mr. Declan was on the tip on her tongue, but she swallowed it, opened her eyes again as the orgasm subs
ided. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to collect herself, and the vibrator turned off again.

  It was 5:03. Valerie shut down her computer, gathered her things, and headed for the door without looking back at Mr. Declan again. She was still wearing the panties and thought that at any moment, they might turn off, jerking all her muscles involuntarily and making her fall over in her high heels, but she made it to the glass doors and then to the elevator, limbs still shaky and face and neck still a little sweaty from the experience.

  When the elevator came, no one was on it, a little strange for 5pm in an office building.

  As the doors were just about to shut, a hand stopped them.

  They opened to reveal Jasper Declan standing there, cool as a cucumber.

  Valerie swallowed.

  “Going home?” he asked, casually, as he entered and hit the ground floor button. The doors slid shut.

  “I am,” Valerie said, standing up straight, trying to hide the fact that her knees felt wobbly and she was sure he had the remote still in his pocket.

  “Is 5:04 too late for our arrangement?”

  He looked at her with an intensity she was coming to recognize. It took her breath away, just for a moment, every time she saw it. She tried to act confident, to keep the quaver of desire out of her voice.

  “I think 5:04 is fine.”

  Without warning, Jasper hit the bright red emergency stop button and the elevator lurched, its downward progress halted, both the 15 and 16 lights lit.

  Then, very calmly, he removed his suit jacket and hung it neatly over the hand rail.

  “Open your shirt,” he said, as he unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll them up.

  Obediently, heart pounding, Valerie put down her handbag and jacket and began at the top button of her blouse, loosening it and the next four, all the way down to her waist, revealing a white bra with scalloping around the edges and a slight flower pattern on the cups. Jasper watched hungrily, never taking his eyes from her as if he was drinking in every single detail of the moment.