by Selena Kitt
“I can lose control.” His words were a whisper, his kiss on her knee as light as a feather, his fingers tracing the square pattern of the fishnets. “Such a small thing.”
He looked up at her and reached into his pants pocket. “You wouldn’t think something as small as this could make me lose control, would you?”
“You.” Kelsey gasped when he held up her black panties from yesterday. “You!”
“Control is an illusion.” He pushed her back and Kelsey stumbled, catching herself on the desk. He was between her thighs before she could even think about protesting, leaning into her, forcing her back. “In the end, we’re all already dead.”
“Then why sell insurance?” Her voice was trembling. “Why sell anything? Why do anything?”
“Because that’s what separates us from the animals.” He chuckled, nuzzling her ear, whispering his words. She could feel his cock through his trousers—he was very hard. “We’re civilized.”
“But that’s an illusion too.” She slipped her arms around his neck, unable to resist the feel of his body against hers, long and lean. It was Oliver all along. How could she have ever thought it was anyone else?
“Yes!” He grabbed her thighs, gripping her stockings, his fingers digging in. “We can’t help what we are.”
She moaned softly, wrapping her legs around him, locking them behind his back.
“So we make all these rules,” he whispered, rocking, his cock hard between her legs, far too many clothes separating them. Kelsey whimpered, hanging on tight. “We repress our instincts. We sell insurance.” He chuckled, gasping when she arched and shifted her hips, pressing her crotch tight into his. “But we’re drawn to each other.”
“Like magnets,” she panted, remembering what he’d said yesterday, feeling his breath hot against her neck.
“I make the rules for your own good,” Oliver murmured, breathing in deep as he stood, looking down at her sprawled across his desk. “When you come to work wearing stripes… or these…”
Kelsey gasped as he grabbed her inner thighs, spreading them wider, his fingers hooked into the holes in the fishnets. He looked at the surprise on her face, giving a low groan as he gripped the material in his fists, pulling toward her knees, the crotch splitting along the seam, the low sound of the fabric ripping filling the room.
She gaped down at the hole in the crotch of her brand new Victoria’s Secret stockings. Oliver was looking at it too, the expression on his face worth far more than she’d paid for the fishnets. Her white cotton panties had a wet spot in the crotch. She was so wet it was embarrassing.
“I can’t assure your safety around me if you wear things like this, Kelsey.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Fuck.” He said the word as if it could save him, save them both, but she knew better. He was already kneeling, burying his face in the wet fabric of her panties, his hands moving under the ripped material of the fishnets, stroking her thighs.
“Oliver!” she cried, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He nosed her panties aside, burying his tongue in the hot, wet flesh of her pussy, sucking at her clit. His mouth was skilled, his hands spreading her wide for the lash of his tongue. She couldn’t help arching to meet him, her legs dangling off the edge of the desk, her black pumps falling to the floor with a clatter.
Masturbating in the men’s bathroom and leaving her panties for some office stranger was one thing, but this… this was something else entirely. Oliver nudged her knees up over his shoulders, delving in deeper, making her writhe on his desk. Oh god, she was going to come. He was going to make her come!
“Please,” she whispered, finding her fingers moving through his close-cropped hair, begging him for release. “Oh god. Oh god.”
He moaned and swallowed her juices as she climaxed all over his desk, all over his face. Her pussy throbbed and pulsed with pleasure, every sweet contraction sending heat rushing through her veins. She gripped his shoulders, nails digging into the crisp white material of his shirt, shivering under the hot press of his tongue.
“Oh god, Kelsey,” he panted, coming up to kiss her. Oh my god, Oliver Pierce was kissing her! Given where his mouth had just been, this shouldn’t have been a surprise, but somehow it was. “I want you. I want you so fucking much.”
“Yes,” she breathed, tasting herself in his mouth, knowing there was no turning back now. She wanted him just as much. There was no denying it anymore. “Fuck me, Oliver. Do it.”
He groaned at her words, reaching for his belt, undoing his trousers. She couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his length, guiding him. They didn’t bother with the rest of their clothes. Kelsey’s panties were still on. She just kept them pushed aside, aiming his cock as he rocked her back on the desk with the shove of his hips.
“Oh god,” he whispered as he slid inside. She was so wet he bottomed out right away, making her gasp and hang onto him as they rocked on the desk. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Fuck me,” she whispered into his ear as he began to thrust. She wrapped the shredded remains of her fishnets around his waist, pulling him in deeper, the heated slap of their bodies filling the room. “Oh yes, fuck me hard! Harder!”
The whole desk shook and Kelsey whimpered, trying to stay quiet, knowing it was nearing eight in the morning, and people were probably arriving to work. What would they think if they heard moaning and groaning and screaming coming from Oliver Pierce’s office?
“Kelsey,” Oliver gasped, his whispered words like a warning. “I can’t… ohhh god… I can’t hold back…”
“Yes!” she panted, her hips rocking up to meet his, remembering the sound of him in the men’s room, the same low growl he was making now, music to her ears. “Come for me!”
He gave in, driving her forward on the desk, his silver pen holder clattering to the floor, pens and pencils scattering everywhere. His cock was like an iron bar inside of her, pulsing with heat as he came. He grunted and shoved his hips into hers, moving Kelsey back with each stroke as he filled her, again and again, so far back on the desk she was practically falling off the other side, and she just barely managed to save his crystal paperweight from sliding off the edge.
He chuckled, catching his breath against her ear. “Nice catch.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, closing her eyes, breathing in the scent of him as they collapsed together on the big surface of his desk. “DUX217? February seventeenth is your birthday, but what’s the DUX?”
“Dux is Latin for boss.” Oliver lifted his head, looking at her. “You knew my birthday?”
“I looked it up last night to be sure,” she admitted.
“I created a hidden account.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I know it was wrong, but damnit, Kelsey… I had a hard enough time keeping my hands off you when you actually followed the dress code. How could you expect me to resist you in those stripes?”
“So now what?” she murmured, stroking the damp hair at the nape of his neck, his words thrilling her beyond hope.
“Now, Ms. Watson, you follow the rules,” he admonished, making a stern face as he rolled to the side and then stood, doing up his trousers. He glanced at the door, and she could tell he was already thinking about work.
She smirked, half-sitting, toying with the shredded lengths of the fishnets covering her thighs. “Or what?”
“Or you get a spanking.” He swallowed, looking at her all spread out on his desk, distracted again. “In fact, I still owe you one. Damnit, Kelsey, stop it. You just activate all my baser instincts.”
“You know what Pavlov said about animals,” she purred, putting her feet up on the desk and letting her knees fall apart. He groaned. “Behavioral conditioning and all. And we’re just animals, isn’t that right, Oliver?”
He growled, stepping toward the desk and grabbing her open thighs, pulling her so she fit snuggly into the saddle of his hips.
“Should I ring a bell?” she teased.
“Just heard one.�
� He licked his lips. “Time for Round Two.”
Who knew her boss was so insatiable?
She closed her eyes and let him take her again, this time in pure, raw, base fashion, with Kelsey bent over the desk, and she couldn’t help but think, whether they were animals underneath their civilized exteriors or not, she’d never been so glad for a broken appliance in her life.
Katie and the Dom
It was Mr. Thomas Dunn, in the library, with the book. Her best friend, Lori, kept saying. “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have this stupid bee in your bonnet about this whole BDSM thing!” And she was probably right. It was quiet, polite, balding and bespectacled Mr. Dunn coming into her library looking for “The Erotic Bondage Handbook” who had created an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. He was the one who had set her, unwittingly, down this very path, a long and winding road that now ended with Katie sobbing uncontrollably, naked, on her knees, and choking on a ball-gag.
Katie learned everything from books—she always had. She supposed most librarians did. So while it started with her own copy of “The Erotic Bondage Handbook,” it didn’t end there. She moved on to more titillating fare quite quickly, from Anne Rice’s novels, written under a pseudonym, of course—there was always an air of the obscene about the topic, no matter where she turned—to “The Story of O.”
She couldn’t seem to get enough of the commanding Doms, the bright red spankings, the maddening restraints and there was something about the allure of a flogger that promised to sting like bees and fall like rain on the tender, untouched terrain of her pale white flesh that left her breathless and desperate, twisted in her sheets at night, crying out with longing.
And then she started going to the BDSM Internet sites. At first it was just to glean information, and then, she had to admit, to meet people. Maybe there was someone out there, someone local, who might be interested in teaching her? Because more than anything, Katie wanted to learn. She wanted to be the one on her knees in front of her master, following his lead, giving herself over completely to his desires.
Well she’d gotten what she wanted, and as Lori, from whose mouth dripped the most tried and true clichés, had warned before she went to meet Patrick for this first-ever play-date, “You should be careful what you wish for!” Lori was also full of stories about serial killers who posted ads on Craigslist just like Patrick’s, psychos looking for their next eager, willing victim. Lori had been sure that Katie was doing this at her own peril.
And Lori had turned out to be absolutely correct.
Once Katie was naked and shackled and gagged, she’d discovered something she didn’t expect—she was afraid. This man wasn’t a psycho. He’d made her sign an agreement, they’d negotiated a safeword and limits, they’d worked out the scene, just exactly what he would do to and for her. She knew she was taking some risks. She was, after all, in his basement, in a soundproof, padded room—but it was a nice, suburban house with a picket fence for god’s sake! And Lori knew where she was and why she had come. She had safeguards.
So why was she trembling with fear?
As Patrick plucked equipment off the wall—a crop, a flogger, things they’d discussed—she suddenly realized her mistake. She didn’t trust him. For whatever reason, she didn’t trust this man to take her where she needed to go. In fact, she was quite sure he couldn’t, that this, whatever it was they were playing at, was wrong. After all her anticipation and dreaming about this moment, she knew, as Lori would say, “with every fiber of her being,” she needed to stop.
She knew her safeword—she’d had it in her head for months and had told Patrick what she wanted to use—but she couldn’t say it because the red ball gag in her mouth made her effectively silent. He’d given her clear instructions though on how to “tap out” if she was gagged—three short taps on the mat and the scene would end. Except her hands were restrained above her head. And she was sure Patrick hadn’t anticipated her wanting to end things before they even really began!
Patrick turned toward her, tall and lanky, a handsome specimen of man in his snakeskin boots and leather pants, his shirtless chest smooth, his belly flat and ridged with muscle. There wasn’t a thing in the world wrong with him. She liked him a great deal, in fact, had since the beginning, or she wouldn’t have agreed to any of this in the first place.
You’re just being stupid. She tried to reason herself out of her fear. It’s butterflies, that’s all.
Except some part of her knew it wasn’t.
She’d read an article on one of those endless BDSM sites she’d perused over the past year written by a submissive waiting for “the one.” It was about the woman’s experiences, going to clubs, doing scenes, all the while feeling unfulfilled, because even if it was pleasurable, even if each Dom took her just where she wanted to go, it all felt empty because she hadn’t found “the one.” And of course, the end to the tale was how she felt when it finally was right, when she found “the one” and they lived happily ever after.
And as much as Katie had tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew Patrick wasn’t “the one” and anything they did together was going to leave her feeling just the same—hollow and unsated. There had to be a way out of this. Katie tried to speak but the gag did its job quite well, trapping her tongue, making anything but grunting impossible. Besides, Patrick’s gaze was on her body, not her face. She felt the heat of it, the way he looked at her breasts, his eyes dipping to the dark triangle of hair between her thighs.
She tried again, but Patrick was focused on the crop in his hand, trailing it over her shoulder and down to her breast. The “scene” had started and Katie found herself desperate to end it. Now. Right now. Even as the crop flicked over her nipple and her body responded, her pussy clenching with lust—she’d been fantasizing about this for so long, so very long. Yet here she was, and she couldn’t go through with it, in spite of the way her other nipple hardened when the crop found that one too.
Katie tried again, determined now to communicate her wishes, looking at Patrick, desperately seeking eye contact, but he seemed transfixed by the sight of her, bound and gagged on her knees, lost in the path his crop was taking down her belly. She grunted, pulling at the restraints above her head, feeling her body sway from side to side.
“Shhh,” Patrick insisted, flicking the crop lightly but quite soundly against her hip. The sting was incredible and brought tears to her eyes. And once the tears came to the surface, well, that was it. It was over. There was no stopping them. Her chest hitched as she began to cry and she grunted again, trying to say the safeword, over and over, but Patrick’s crop was parting her pussy lips and he was licking his own in anticipation.
She had never felt so vulnerable and exposed, tears streaming down her face, falling from her quivering chin in droplets onto her bare breasts. She could barely catch a breath now let alone try to speak or communicate and, oh god, there was snot running down her face too, just to make her humiliation complete. She hung her head, giving up, giving in, wondering if this was what surrender felt like—hopeless, powerless, helpless. If this was it, she didn’t want any part of it.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
Katie looked up at the booming sound of an unfamiliar voice. The man who appeared was like a bigger-than-life version of Patrick—the same dark hair and eyes, the same broad forehead and full mouth, but he was twice the other man’s size, his body literally filling all available space in the doorway.
Patrick straightened, frowning, taking a step backward from both her and the looming figure. “I’m… wait, what are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“Did this woman give her consent?” The man stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving Katie. He knelt by her side and the moment his hands reached for her gag, she felt her body relax, the restraints holding her arms up going taut, taking her weight.
“Of course she did!” Patrick’s voice grew angry and Katie looked at him with big eyes. “She signed all the for
ms!”
“I’m Liam,” the big man said to her, speaking softly as he worked the leather strap on the side of her mouth loose. “You’re safe.”
“What are you doing?” Patrick was mad—practically hopping mad, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “She wants to be here. She—”
“Take another look, little brother.” Liam sneered over his shoulder at Patrick and then turned his attention back to Katie, taking the ball-gag gently from her mouth, glistening with her saliva. “She’s sobbing.”
“Aardvark! Aardvark! Aardvark!” Katie croaked hoarsely, her face full of tears and snot and, she imagined, a great deal of mascara.
“Your safeword?” Liam guessed, using the sleeve of his black turtleneck to gently wipe her cheeks.
She nodded, looking at Patrick, her chin quivering. “I tried to say… I tried…”
“But we hadn’t even started,” Patrick whispered, his expression moving from anger to confusion.
“You need to pay attention!” Liam roared and Katie shrank back from him as he shifted focus to his brother. “Every minute. Every second. Every single fucking breath.” Liam’s jaw clenched as he turned back to Katie, his massive hands gentle as he loosened her wrist straps, moving more carefully when he saw the fear in her eyes.
“I said you weren’t ready for this!” Liam’s words were meant for his brother but she felt them resonate in her belly like a tuning fork.
Patrick stood, blinking, his crop forgotten, falling to the floor. “Rookie mistake?” he whispered, his face pained as he watched his brother take Katie down from the restraints, her body collapsing. Liam cradled her against his chest.
“Not to her,” Liam snapped, his voice growing quiet as he shifted his attention. “What’s your name?”
“K-K-Katie…” she managed. She was shivering now, uncontrollably, although she had no idea why. She tried to speak, to tell him what had happened, that it was just a mistake, she’d made a mistake, but no words would come out, just little hitches in her throat from crying so hard.