by Parker Grey
I nod.
“And please cancel all of my dinner engagements for this week. I believe there’s one tonight and one Wednesday.”
“Lunches?”
“Those can stay for now.”
“Anything else, Mr. Declan?” I ask.
He gives me a long, slow look, and even though his eyes don’t leave mine I feel like he’s raking his eyes over my body, heat bubbling through me as I imagine him saying come over here, Sloane.
I glance at his lap, just for half a moment. Maybe it’s the way his pants lay, but I swear I see the outline of his cock, stiff against the expensive material.
“Not right now,” he says, his voice soft, nearly a growl.
My juices slide down my inner thigh, and I clench my legs together, thankful that this skirt goes to my knees.
“I’ll get that done,” I say, my voice nearly trembling, and I open the door to the rest of the open-plan office.
“Sloane,” he says, my heart thumping in my chest.
Nothing is going to happen now, not with the door open, I think.
I turn. He’s still at his desk, leaning forward now, gray eyes deadly serious.
“Yes?” I ask.
“You’re off to an excellent start here,” he says, his voice so low I practically feel it vibrating through the floor. “Keep it up and you could go far.”
My toes clench in my uncomfortable shoes.
“Thank you,” I say, and walk out of his office, hips swaying in my tight skirt.
Chapter Two
Mr. Declan
Sloane, my new secretary, walks out of my office, her perfect ass swaying from side to side in her tight skirt. I don’t exhale until she’s seated again.
Fire her, I think. You don’t even need a reason. Fire her before you fuck her and get sued for sexual harassment.
It won’t happen, and I know it. Every time I get near her all I can think about is Sloane, on her knees in front of me. Blindfolded, her pink lips around my cock as I hold her hair and push myself down her throat. The way she’d gasp for air when I let her go, the sticky sweetness pooling between her legs.
I have excellent eyesight, but reading those texts only confirmed what I’d already suspected. Now I don’t think I’ll be able to get the thought of fucking Sloane over my desk out of my head.
My inbox has nearly sixty unread emails, and I turn to my computer screen and try to make myself focus.
From: Diane Williams
To: Jasper Declan
URGENT: Action required on utilizing the Slauson account!
I’m still rock-hard, my cock straining at my custom-tailored suit pants. Thinking about Sloane, on her hands and knees on my desk, skirt hiked over her perfect ass. Her eyes rolling back in her head as I make her come harder than she’s ever come before.
I try to read the email from our head of accounting, but it may as well be Greek because I can’t think about this right now. I clench my jaw and glance at my open office door.
Then I adjust my cock so I at least don’t have a tent pole in my pants, and walk out of my office toward the men’s room. I nod brusquely at my coworkers as I walk past, glad for my no-nonsense reputation around the office, or I might have to make small talk while nursing an erection so hard it feels like my cock might explode.
In the men’s room, I shut myself in a stall, lean one hand against the tile over the toilet, and finally free my cock. It practically jumps into my hand and I grip it, nearly groaning as I stroke myself from root to tip.
I think of the way Sloane’s eyes went wide when I asked her to step into my office. I think of the way she bit her lip when I told her she’d need to do overtime this week, like she didn’t even know she was doing it. I stroke harder, gritting my teeth together, forcing myself not to release the guttural growl I can feel building in my chest.
Sloane, standing in my office, breathing so hard, the buttons on her blouse strained. Sloane, on her knees, blouse torn asunder, big eyes looking up at me, mouth around my cock.
My balls tighten, tension gathering in my belly, and I squeeze my eyes shut, already close to coming just thinking about her like that.
Sloane, handcuffed and blindfolded. Face down on a bed, her sweet cunt slick with juices. The way she’d moan as I knelt behind her, so ready for me to take her, to claim her —
I pump my fist one last time and come with an explosive grunt, the thick, ropy streams splashing into the water below as I come spurt after spurt and don’t stop until my cock has gone soft in my hand and I’m panting.
I can’t fucking believe this, I think, staring down, trying to steady my breathing. Some secretary has me jerking off in the office bathroom like a teenager at the Playboy Mansion or something.
This is ridiculous.
I wipe the seat with some toilet paper, but I’ve done this quite a few times since Sloane started, and my aim is pretty good now. I tuck my cock back into my pants, flush, and hope that I make it through the rest of the day without needing to jerk off in the bathroom again.
I stay late that night but send Sloane home at five, her normal time.
“Are you sure?” she asks, standing in my doorway, hands clasped.
Hard to not imagine them tied, her legs spread as she moans please, Mr. Declan, please.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, my cock twitching in my pants yet again.
Then I pause.
“But I’ll need you to work late the rest of the week,” I say.
She swallows and nods quickly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
“Good night,” she says.
“Good night,” I say.
Then I watch her ass again as she walks to her desk, bends over to shut off her computer, then walks for the front door.
Chapter Three
Sloane
When I get to the ground floor of my office building, I step to the side, take off my heels, and slip into the flats that I bring for my walk to the subway. Most of the secretaries do this right in the office, but I don’t want to.
I can feel Mr. Declan’s eyes on me as I walk in these things. I know how my hips move from side to side when I walk in heels this high, and impractical as it is, I like it.
I shouldn’t want him to watch me, but I do. I shouldn’t want to drive my boss crazy, but I can’t help myself. Just thinking about him turns me into a shivering puddle of goo.
It’s dangerous. It’s dirty. I want him to do filthy things to me, things I’ve never even thought about doing to anyone else. I want to get on my knees and suck his cock in his office chair. I want him to take me in his office — every way he can.
My pussy throbs again, and I squeeze my thighs together, standing in the lobby of an office building.
Quit it, I think. The subway is no place for dirty thoughts.
The express train to Queens does help the situation, actually. I’m not usually glad to be stuck in a huge crowd of smelly strangers, but it has the welcome effect of making me stop thinking about the things I want my boss to do to me.
Only for a while, though.
As I unlock the door to my tiny studio apartment, I’m thinking about him again, so flustered I nearly drop my keys twice. Once inside I head straight for my bed in the middle of the room, tossing my purse on the floor.
I lie back, my skirt already hiked over my hips, and push my fingers under my soaking-wet thong, biting my lip so I don’t make noise. It feels extra silly to moan while I masturbate, but I’m thinking of being on Mr. Declan’s desk, his fingers stroking me.
I circle my clit with one finger and bite my lip harder, electric shocks going through my body at the thought of his finger there. I rub harder, adding another finger, both slippery with my juices as I arch my back, already breathing hard.
I imagine him, getting his cock out, stroking it in his hand.
“Please,” I whisper out loud.
Then I immediately bite my lip harder, because there is no one else here.
My fingers circle
faster, but it’s not enough. I’m aching with emptiness, and I reach my other hand down and slide three fingers into my swollen, wet channel.
I moan, working both my hands in tandem, and I can feel the pressure building inside me toward release. I think about Mr. Declan’s cock as he pushes me back on his desk, holding me down roughly as he teases me, the thick head against my entrance.
“Please,” I whimper, and this time I don’t care how silly it sounds.
My fingers feel good but I need more. I need to be filled up, satisfied.
I need Mr. Declan’s cock, but I can’t have that.
Then I remember: the dildo that Hayden gave me.
I stop for a moment and stare at the ceiling, blinking in surprise. Then I start laughing.
How the fuck could I forget that? I wonder. I pull my hands off myself, sit up in bed, take my thong off, and root through my underwear drawer, biting my lip.
When I broke up with my last boyfriend, almost a year ago, Hayden gave me a comically large dildo. She told me it was in case I got lonely, but I’ve never used it, because it’s... well, it’s way bigger than anyone I’ve been with before, and it just seemed impossible.
But right now, I’m so desperately needy that I’ll give it a shot.
I find it behind my stash of period underwear, and swallow hard as I pull it out of my drawer. It’s lifelike, flesh-colored and veiny, and even though I thought it was dumb when she gave it to me, just looking at this realistic cock makes me just a little wetter.
I lie back on my bed and close my eyes, rubbing my clit hard, the dildo thick and firm in my other hand. I slide it along my lips and then position its thick head at my opening, hold my breath, and push the head inside myself.
Fuck it feels good, and I gasp out loud, my hips lifting off the bed. I can feel my cunt stretch around the massive dildo, and for a moment I hold still, just the head inside, and try to breathe.
Then my body just takes over. My hips come off the bed further, almost moving of their own accord, and I moan out loud as I slide the dildo into my tight, waiting hole, as deep as it’ll go. I’m still rubbing my clit furiously, stretched and filled beyond anything I’ve ever felt, and it’s incredible.
I can’t believe I’ve never used this thing before, but I don’t think I’ve ever been horny enough to get it inside before.
I start fucking myself with the dildo, but I know I’m not going to last long. My thighs are already shaking, my pussy clenching and fluttering around the big sex toy. I’m imagining myself on Mr. Declan’s desk, his thick cock pounding into me as he holds my legs over his shoulders, plowing me as deep and hard as he can.
“Fuck me, Mr. Declan,” I whisper, eyes shut, head thrown back against my pillow. “God, please, just fuck me.”
I bite my lip and push the dildo deep and hard, my fingers still working my clit furiously. A bolt of heat flashes through me, nearly pushing me over the edge.
“Make me come,” I whimper, thinking of my boss’s face above my own, his cock deep inside me.
Then I’m flying over the edge as my muscles all clamp around the huge dildo, my head arching back as I gasp and moan, my whole body shaking and jerking with the force of it. I keep coming, the dildo in my pussy urging me on to new heights, and I’m panting for breath, forcing myself not to scream.
Finally, it fades, and I’m lying on my bed, work clothes rumpled. I pull the dildo out of myself with a sticky slurp and put it on the bed next to me, still lying there in a stupor.
There, I think. Maybe now overtime with the boss won’t be so bad, since now I know I can come home and fuck a monster dildo, at least.
I take a deep breath, then get up and make spaghetti for dinner.
Chapter Four
Mr. Declan
When I get to the office, Sloane is already there, seated at her desk, typing away at an email. She’s wearing a cardigan over a button-down shirt along with a skirt, and it’s an outfit that should be unsexy and demure.
But she looks up at me as I walk in, and all I can think about is the text I read over her shoulder.
Maybe you got him to bend you over the desk like you said you wanted.
“Good morning, Mr. Declan,” she says, prim and perfectly proper.
I nod once.
“Good morning, Sloane,” I say, walking past her quickly and into my office, cock already tenting my pants.
I know I already work too much, but today I’m glad for the distractions. I’ve got meetings all day for the Daily Grind account, and for once I’m grateful that I have to listen to the various people at my company prattle on about their genius advertising ideas, like advertising is going to change the world.
I make it to five o’clock without jerking off in the bathroom. Then I make it to six, seven, eight, and I look out my office door and realize that the office is empty.
Well, not quite. It’s almost empty. The only other person left is Sloane, still at her desk, typing away furiously. I force the thoughts of the filthy things I want to do to her from my head and finish looking through an album of possible advertising photos, selecting a few I think might have promise.
I look at Sloane again. Her back is straight, and even though I can’t see them, I can just imagine the way it’s making her perfect tits stand out and I imagine flicking my tongue over one rosy nipple and feeling it harden in my mouth as she gasps for more...
“Sloane,” I call.
She looks over her shoulder at me.
“Yes?” she calls back.
I shut down all the programs on my computer and switch it off. I’m done for the night, because I can tell I’m not going to do more work.
“Come in here, please,” I say. Even though we’re alone in the office, the please is automatic, the sort of everyday politeness that she makes me want to dispense with.
I don’t want to request things of Sloane. I want to take what I want from her, and I want her to beg me to do it.
She stands and walks toward me, and I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring at the way her tits move beneath her cardigan. The skirt she’s wearing today isn’t nearly as tight as yesterday’s skirt, but the way her hips move beneath it is still hypnotic.
“Should I close the door?” she asks, her voice low and husky, her eyes wide.
“Is anyone else still here?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Then leave it open,” I say.
I lean down, open a drawer, and pull out a bottle of Laphroiag 18-year scotch, along with two glasses. Sloane raises her eyebrows, her eyes going even wider. I pour a finger into each glass, my cock so hard I’m afraid I’ll break the zipper.
“I shouldn’t,” she says, her eyes flicking to the alcohol.
Not I don’t want to, not I don’t like scotch. Just I shouldn’t.
“I’m your boss,” I say, the words growling out of my chest. “Who could find out?”
Sloane steps forward and takes the glass in one hand, swirling the liquid gently, watching it.
“This is probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever drunk,” she says, her eyes flicking back to me.
“Better enjoy it, then,” I say, taking a sip of mine. “Here’s to your first day of overtime.”
She smiles, then takes a sip of her own. I half expect her to cough and sputter, but instead it goes down smooth, and she nods.
“It’s good,” she says.
I push a stack of papers aside and pat the top of my desk. Sloane looks at me uncertainly, and I stand from my chair.
“Come here,” I say quietly.
I don’t have a plan, but I’m already hard, and I know she can see the massive bulge in my pants as she takes another swallow of scotch. She’s already breathing fast, and she bites her lip again as she looks at me.
Then she walks forward to my desk, her hips moving even with those few steps, and she stands there. Watching me, her eyes filled with uncertainty — and lust.
“Yes, Mr. Declan?” she whispers in
a voice that makes my cock twitch.
“I’m going to give you two options,” I say, my voice coming out low and raspy, heavy with need. “You can go home right now. If you do that, when you come in tomorrow morning, none of this will have ever happened.”
She swallows hard, her fingertips alighting on the top of the mahogany desk.
“What’s the second option?” she whispers.
I lean forward, so close I can smell her scent, and I’m nearly overpowered by the need to take her, now.
“You sit on the desk like a good girl and do what I say,” I murmur.
Chapter Five
Sloane
I hold my breath, and even as I do I feel my cheeks flush bright red. I know it’s not just the scotch, it’s the slick moisture quickly making its way from my soaked panties and down my thighs, yet again.
I desperately want to be his good girl, and I swallow the rest of the scotch in one gulp. I need the liquid courage, because this is completely insane, but I want to.
Dear God, do I want to.
I put the glass down, turn, hoisting myself onto his desk. Before I know it he’s spun me around so I’m facing him, both his hands on my knees. My shoes fall to the floor but I barely notice, because Mr. Declan is looming over me, his face deadly serious, his eyes filled with lust.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, then puts one finger under my chin, tilting my head up.
My mouth goes dry.
“Of course,” I whisper.
He moves his fingertip down my body, tracing slowly down my throat to my collarbone, down the row of buttons on my blouse. I shiver as he moves his fingertip between my breasts and over the gully of my bellybutton.
I go to put my hands on his shoulders, to draw him in, but he catches me by the wrists, his hands hard and firm, his grip like iron.
“No,” he says. “Lean back and don’t move.”