Played

by Tasha Fawkes

  My heart skips a beat. He’s serious. He wants to… in his office, in the middle of the day! I know I have to obey, but at the same time, what if somebody—

  His grip on my hair tightens. I wince. Without further thought, I quickly unbutton my blouse. He watches my every move. My trembling fingers unlatch my bra, which hooks in the front. His gaze dips from my face down to my breasts, and I feel my nipples harden under his gaze. I waste no time unzipping my skirt, stepping out of my slip-on flats, and divesting myself of my thong. I stand naked in front of him, waiting for his next command.

  "Blow me."

  Again, it takes my mind a few seconds to catch up with his words. As I stand there, dismayed, his hand moves. A second after that I feel the open palm of his hand slap the side of my ass. I gasp.

  "Did you hear me? I said blow me."

  Praying that no one will knock on the door, that no one in the outer office had any indication of what we are doing in here, I quickly nod and reach for his belt.

  "No."

  His grip on my hair forces my chin upward, forcing me to look up at his face. His expression blank, his gaze roams my body. I glance quickly away. He stands so close that I feel the bulge in his trousers.

  "Faster."

  I glance up again to find him looking at my face, no clue as to what he’s thinking, but my fingers work faster. He doesn't want me to unbuckle his belt, so I proceed to lower his zipper. He remains silent. I reach inside and feel thin fabric. Boxers. I find the opening and reach for his cock. It’s rock hard. I wrap my hand around it and maneuver it upward along his inner thigh until it juts from his pants. I glance down at it, not sure exactly—

  Both hands on my shoulders, he pushes me downward. Kneeling. His engorged penis aims straight at my face. His hands leave my shoulders and grab either side of my head.

  My heart pounding, I take him into my mouth. For several seconds, he remains perfectly still. I freak a little bit, because I don't particularly like doing this, not with Stewart, not with any of my previous boyfriends, and maybe not—

  "Suck harder."

  I tighten my lips around his head. I grasp his cock at its base with one hand using a firm grip, slowly stroking and laving his shaft with my tongue while at the same time minimizing the length his dick can reach into my mouth. I have a pretty good gag reflex, and if—

  "Let go."

  His dick still in my mouth, my hand still wrapped around it, I glance upward. He isn't looking at me, but staring at the door, jaw tight and eyes half-closed. I don't want to let go. I don't want him shoving his cock down my throat. I don't want… should I use my safeword? No. He isn't hurting me, he isn't putting me in any danger, but I definitely don't want… it isn't about what I want. At the moment, it’s all about what he wants. Reluctantly, I release my grip on his cock. I continue to suckle, my hands braced against the outside of his rock-hard thighs. He presses his hips forward, his shaft sliding deeper into my mouth. His head touches the back part of the roof of my mouth. Instinctively, I pull my head back. He growls low in his throat and tightened his grip on my head.

  "Don't move."

  I still myself and continue to suck, gradually increasing pressure, then easing back, all the while his hips begin to thrust a bit harder, a bit faster. And then it happens. His dick goes too far. He holds my head in a vice-like grip and I panic. The gag reflex kicks in and I barely prevent myself from biting him while a horrid sound rips from my throat. My grip on his legs tightens.

  He freezes. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, not wanting to look up at him. I don't want to see anger or annoyance. I feel embarrassed, but I can't help it. So, I kneel there, his cock in my mouth, my tongue hesitantly rolling over his head. He says nothing but he lets go of my head.

  Wanting to please him and make up for the fact that I gagged… actually gagged… I continue the momentum while he stands perfectly still. I worship his thick, pulsating cock with my tongue, suckling for a second, then using my tongue to stroke along his length. I pause to suckle again on his head gently, even once or twice nibbling softly at the tender, glistening flesh there. I make a humming sound deep in my throat, but they come out more like passionate moans, which they actually are.

  My own desire surges. My breasts ache for his touch, as does my pussy, gently contracting and relaxing in much the same rhythm as my mouth along his cock. I continue to moan, not because he asked me to, but because at this moment, I’m supremely happy and self-satisfied with myself. I can't believe I’m doing this; giving Daniel Stone a blowjob in his office while just outside the door my peers work away, none the wiser. He shifts and his hands clasp my shoulders.

  "Get up."

  I release him from my mouth and immediately stand, looking up at him. His pupils dilate, he stares down at me and then gestures with his chin toward his desk.

  "Go stand beside my desk, facing it."

  I do as he demands, but not before I glance down at his engorged shaft. It’s dark, throbbing, pulsing with a life of its own, the veins threading along its surface filled with pulsating blood that causes that shaft to do a little dance of its own. His head glistens with moisture. I walk over to the desk and stand with my back toward him. He approaches from behind.

  "Bend over and grab each corner of the desk with your hands.”

  I face the narrow side of his desk and do as he asked, my body tilting slightly forward.

  "Back up,” he commands.

  His hands on my hips, he forces my feet to move several inches back.

  "Spread your legs."

  I do and hear him move toward the window. I hear a zipper and then a rustling sound. He kneels and grasps my left ankle and wraps something soft around it. I hear a clinking noise, and then realize what he’s doing. A leg spreader. It’s maybe twenty-four inches long. In a matter of seconds, the cuffs are placed around my ankles. I lean over the desk at a forty-five-degree angle. He adjusts my positioning to exactly how he wants me. Occasionally I feel his cock brush against my thigh or my ass. My wet and throbbing pussy aches for him but he takes his time. The anticipation is killing me. I want to tell him to hurry, but I can't. He’s the Master. Not me.

  I hear him shuffling nearby, then the sound of tearing. The snap of plastic. Another surge of wetness moistens my slit as I realize he’s slipped on a condom.

  "This room is soundproofed," he says. "But I don't want you to make a sound. Do you understand?"

  I nod, swallowing. He had his office soundproofed? When? How— What is he going to do? Why would I scream—

  In one, swift, powerful thrust, he enters me from behind, surging deep into my wetness. It’s so hard, so fast, and so unexpected that I can't prevent the gasp that escapes my throat.

  "I told you to be quiet!" he hisses.

  A hand reaches under my arm and grabs my breast, squeezing. I wince but keep quiet. Several seconds later his grip eases and his fingers tweak my nipples. Touch gently and then grope again. Pain, pleasure. Pleasure, pain. Not blinding hot pain, just enough to awaken my nerves. His hips thrust forward forcefully. Even through the fabric of his trousers during that brief contact, I feel his heat, the occasional brush of his legs against the back of mine. Despite my awkward positioning, I feel my own desire burgeoning. Every time his cock fills me and he dives deep inside, I feel as if I’ll burst.

  He remains perfectly silent, only his hips moving. His breathing grows harsher and deeper. He pushes down against my upper back, so much so that my face is nearly pressed onto the surface of the desk. I desperately want to let go of that desk, to reach back, to touch him, anywhere, but I don't dare. And then, with two final thrusts, I hear the soft, rumbling groan rumble upward from his chest.

  Finally, he stills. I don't move, my own body humming with electrical, stimulating sensations. Still buried deep inside me, he wraps his left arm around my chest and lifts me upward while his right hand reaches around my hip and gropes my mound. Held captive in his embrace, my back pressed tightly against his chest, his thumb and
fingers work at my slit until my hips begin to rock of their own accord. He stops fiddling with my nub and grabs my right hand, encases it in his, and then lowers it once again to my pussy. Together, my hand encased in his, he brings me to the fullness of my pleasure. I climax, my body held firmly against his, his dick still deep inside me. I barely manage to prevent the moan of pleasure that escapes, although I do throw my head back against his chest. I feel his harsh breath against my ear as the waves of ecstasy sweeps over me, so much so that my knees nearly buckle. I don't have to worry. He holds me up.

  Panting, my body feeling boneless, I sag against him. My ears ring and my head stops spinning and gradually clears. My eyes focus on the clutter of paperwork on his desk. He kneels behind me and unbuckles the leg spreader. I don’t move.

  He points over my shoulder toward the small bathroom door. "Go get yourself cleaned up."

  Seventeen

  Daniel

  I watch Ashley walk toward my office door, where she stoops down to pick up her clothing before stepping into my private bathroom. Her back to me, I admire her shapely figure. I love the way her narrow waist flairs slightly into gorgeous, well-shaped hips. Her ass is firm and tight. I could probably stick a quarter between her ass and the top of her thigh and it would stay there. Athletic, although I don't think she’s engaged in any sports. Maybe she had an active childhood. I don't know. Maybe—

  I don't allow my mind to wander, but force it back to the present. I feel satiated. I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. Even my interludes with Crystal often left me feeling dissatisfied, or actually un-satiated; as if something was never quite finished, not sexually, but emotionally, or maybe even mentally.

  I shake my head as I reach for the box of Kleenex in my top desk drawer and remove the condom, bundling it up inside the Kleenex, and then another, before wadding it all up and throwing it in the trash can. I tuck myself back in my pants, zip up, and adjust. I hear the water trickling in the sink in the bathroom.

  I glance up at the clock on the wall. She's been in my office less than ten minutes. No one will wonder about that. Still, I don't want her to linger. Not because I don't want to spend more time with her, because God knows, I do. But not here. Not in my office.

  Maybe later tonight, or tomorrow—

  My cell phone rings. I move to my desk and reach for my iPhone and turn it over. The light blue background of the screen distracts me from the bathroom door, behind which Ashley is probably— I glance down at the screen, scowling when I see the caller ID.

  Karen. My sense of relaxation, that elusive sense of calm that enveloped me during those few blissful moments with Ashley are doused as effectively as a bucket of cold water thrown over my head. Poof. Gone. Immediate tension, annoyance, and dissatisfaction surge upward. I sigh and answer the call.

  "Hello, Karen." What will she complain about today? Probably that I didn’t show up for the cake tasting appointment yesterday or maybe because I didn’t make a final decision on the floral arrangements? I don't have time for this. I told her—

  "Hi, Daniel. What are you doing?"

  For a second, I consider telling her the truth. "I'm working."

  "What are you working on?"

  What the hell? For a brief second I think she might be suspicious, that her bat radar has picked up on something in my voice. Or perhaps she has a hidden camera in my office or something. I shake my head, feeling stupid. "A manuscript," I answer. "What do you need? I'm busy."

  She makes some pouting sounds, then chuckles softly. Before Ashley, and in the early days of our faux relationship, that throaty chuckle was enticing. Sexually charged. Now it just grates on my nerves.

  She gets to the point. "Fine. I know that you gave me charge over all the decisions regarding the wedding, but honestly, Daniel, I don't feel comfortable doing all of this by myself. You are going to be part of this marriage, after all. Do you think you could work up some enthusiasm and take on a couple of the tasks yourself?"

  "I don't know anything about planning for a wedding," I say, my gaze flicking toward the bathroom door as it opens and Ashley steps out. She’s all put together again, although her cheeks are still flushed. I gesture for her to sit in the chair in front of my desk. At least for a minute or two until some of that color leaves her cheeks. She might as well be wearing a flashing sign that says 'I just got fucked by my boss'. I grin at her. Her cheeks blossom with color.

  "It's not like you have to plan anything, Daniel. But do you think you can squeeze enough time into your day to make some calls to a couple of country clubs in the next day or two? I've got the church taken care of, but I'm not sure where I want to have the reception. I'm overloaded with the florist, the baker, the wedding planner, choosing the décor—"

  I sigh. "All right, I'll try to make a couple of calls. But seriously, can't you ask my mother to help? She knows more about this stuff than I do."

  "She's already busy with the caterer, the menu, and working on place settings."

  I tamp down my annoyance, wondering for the hundredth time why I allowed myself to agree to this. "All right, I'll take care of it. I have to go now."

  "I'll see you later this evening. We're having dinner with your mother, remember?"

  "I remember, Karen. Goodbye."

  I disconnect the call and toss the phone onto my desk blotter. Ashley look at me. "My fiancée," I explain. "Wedding planning stuff."

  "You're engaged?"

  I nod. She shifts in her chair, her back straighter and her expression blank. She has to know sooner or later, if she doesn't already. I don't go around talking about Karen or anybody else in my social circle, but I know how gossip moves through the grapevine, and in the publishing house.

  "Congratulations," she says. "When's the big day?"

  "Thank you," I say softly, sitting behind my desk. "And it's coming up."

  She doesn't say anything more but glances down at her fingers, crossed in her lap. The color has eased out of her cheeks. I glance around my desk, grab a printed reader's proof for a manuscript sitting on the corner, and hand it to her.

  She takes it, her brows slightly furrowed.

  "I called you into my office to go over a manuscript. It will look a little odd if you don't leave my office with said manuscript, don't you think?"

  With a nod, she takes the manuscript, then looks at me. I can tell by her questioning gaze that she isn't sure if we’re still in that Dom/sub roll. We aren't.

  "Are you all right?" I ask, indicating that our roles are over.

  "I am," she says, glancing down at the manuscript. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to my desk before anybody starts wondering…"

  I nod but don't say anything. She rises and walks to the door. I know women. I’ve spent enough of my time around them; different personalities, different attitudes, but one thing is a universal to all of them. Even my mother. It isn't so much as a look or a facial expression as it is about their posture, even subconsciously. As if intentionally and emotionally distancing themselves from something they don't want to accept. It's as if a wall descends around them. While Ashley's face doesn’t betrayed any emotion, I’ve seen something in her demeanor change.

  I frown as she quietly leaves my office, shutting the door softly behind her. Surely, she understands the boundaries of our relationship, doesn't she? Especially since she experienced my playroom. I made the boundaries clear to her, didn’t I?

  If she didn't understand them, then and now, it isn't my fault. Still, I want to… what? What am I going to do? I’m engaged to Karen Queen, and that isn't going to change anytime soon. Ashley and I can still see each other; that won't change. I don't feel guilty about that, not one iota. Karen and I don't love one another. That too, is plainly understood. Our marriage is simply one of convenience.

  Still—

  My phone rings again, and I glance down at it then roll my eyes as I answered, "Hello, Mother."

  "Daniel." Her voice sounds like it’s far away.

  "
Where are you?"

  "On my way down to see the caterer," she says.

  Did Karen call my mother to complain, to tell her I’m not invested enough in the wedding planning? "What's up?"

  "I know you're busy with your publishing business and everything, Daniel, but really, you could at least pretend you're interested."

  I barely hold back a sigh. "Mom, I've done everything she's asked. Yes, I missed the cake tasting appointment last night, but to be brutally honest, I don't care what kind of cake we have. I don't care about the frosting, or the decorations, or what kind of flowers are picked out. Why does this have to be so complicated?"

  "These things are important to women," she says, her tone voicing disapproval. "Now I certainly don't expect you to do everything, but to be honest, I think you're being rather rude. I'm trying to help out, but I think you need to do a few things, too."

  "She just called, by the way, which I'm sure you know, and I told her I would take care of some phone calls to find a venue for the reception. What else do you need me to do?"

  "Shrimp, chicken, or sirloin?"

  I space. "What?"

  "For the wedding guests. Choose one. Shrimp, chicken, or sirloin?"

  I blink. "Why do we have to choose one? Why can't we offer all three? You and I have both been to enough awards and dinners. Why not offer our guests a choice?"

  Nothing for several seconds. Did I lose the call? Then I hear her soft laughter.

  "There are times, Daniel, when you surprise me. Thank you."

  The call disconnects. I lower the phone and stare at it a second. When is this madness going to end? Then, with a sense of frustration, I realize that it probably never will. This is my destiny? To put up or shut up? I sit back in my chair, staring at the manuscripts on my desk, wishing that I could just dive into them, but one image keeps appearing in my mind. One face. It isn't Karen's.

  Eighteen

  Ashley