Dating : Giving You the Business at Work

What You Want #3

Your personal and professional lives collide — and you love every minute of it

I’m sitting in a waiting area in a comfortable chair. I watch you for a while before you see me. I can’t tell for sure by the way you move if you’re wearing the plug in your ass as I told you to this morning, but I’m willing to bet you are.

You only rarely disobey me, even if both of us sometime enjoy the consequences of your insubordination.

It’s risky, me being here, where you work. Your professional and public life are as far removed from the private life we share as are the sun and the moon. I know you are not going to like me being here, at least not initially. It will probably make you angry. You’ll probably worry you’re going to embarrass yourself in front of your colleagues.

What a rush that would be!

But you have your safe word. You know it works in all of our interactions. If I ever do anything that crosses a line you truly don’t want to be crossed all you have to do is whisper it to me. I’ll even accept it as a text.

I hear or see that word, and I stop. I’m gone. Everything returns to normal.

I know your safe word. It’s something you chose, and it has some special meaning to you that you’ve never told me. I know when you’re ready, you’ll tell me why the word is so important to you.

But I’ve never heard you say it. Not even when you told me what it was going to be. It’s written on a piece of paper I keep in my wallet. Not that I would ever forget it, but I like having it on me. It’s like having a piece of you with me at all times.

I see you through the glass walls of your office. You’re dressed very professionally, in a modest black blouse and skirt. The skirt, while showing a good amount of your toned, long legs, hovers right around the HR-approved level of sexy. Your hair, which I so often love to yank when I’m fucking you, is done up in a tight bun that offers no handle to guide you. You’re wearing your glasses, which you don’t need, because you think it makes you look smart and capable.

Which they do. And you are. You’re one of the most accomplished advertising executives at this company, and maybe even the country. You’re very, very good at your job.

I’m here to see if I can make you less good at it, for just a little bit.

I watch as a tall, dark-haired gentleman enters your office and speaks to you for a couple of minutes. I know he has no idea what you’re like at home.

I know he, and all your colleagues, don’t know that you love being tied up and used on top of a filthy mattress in our basement. I know they don’t have the slightest suspicion that you were gangbanged by three strangers as my birthday gift for you.

They don’t know that when you took some sick days after the gangbang, it was because you didn’t want to try to explain the bruising on your neck from being held against a wall by a monster of a man.

I could tell them, you know. I even have a video of a lot of our adventures. That might make for some nice water cooler talk.

My cock is uncomfortably hard right now.

After a couple of minutes discussing something with you while you stand looking over something on your desk, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome leaves your office. You steal a glance after him, and I wonder briefly if you’d like to invite him to your next gangbang. I assume there’ll be a next one; you seemed to enjoy your first quite a lot.

But after you watch him leave your office, you sit down at your desk, facing me. As your gaze finally finds me, the look of wild curiosity on your face is matched only by the sheer terror that follows it.

I’ve never been at your workplace before. I’ve never met any of your coworkers. You’ve always preferred to have the two halves of your life separate. Now that I’m here — in this sacred place you’ve never shared with me — you are full of questions. Concerns. Panic.

I think you might storm out of your office and demand to know why I’m here. Instead, you grab your phone and frantically text me a message:

What are you doing here? Is everything okay?

So nice. So concerned. Worried that I’m here because something is wrong. I’m touched. I almost regret this little game I’m playing.

Almost.

I text you back:

Everything’s fine… I’m just hanging out

You look at your phone for what seems to be a long time before responding:

Please don’t do anything. I’m wearing the plug like you asked.

I chuckle and reply:

Oh yeah? I may ask for proof

You raise your head up and sigh heavily. I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.

I have a big presentation in a bit. It’s very important.

I know… it’s why I’m here

What?!???

You know how much I like to watch you

I could loose my job if i mess it up

I almost laugh out loud. You misspelled “lose” and didn’t capitalize an “i.” Not even a period at the end of that sentence. No one else would think anything of it, but I know you’re meticulously careful in everything you write. Even text messages. It’s only when you’re truly flustered that you make these trivial mistakes.

I’m already under your skin.

You know how to ask me to stop

It’s risky, reminding you about the safe word that you never use. Truth be told, I’ve never worried too much that you’re going to use it when it’s just the two of us at home. Someday I’ll tell you that I care too much for you to ever truly hurt you, even when you’re begging me to do it.

But today I think you may use it. If there was ever going to be a situation where you felt it necessary, this would be it. When I feel the buzz from my phone that tells me you’ve replied, my heart pounds and I collect myself before looking at the text.

Grrrrrrrrrr

I’m sure you see me laughing this time, but I can’t help myself. You’ve decided to not use your word (yet), but you want to let me know you’re resistant. Your bratty side doesn’t come out very often, but I enjoy it very much when it does.

I’ve been less turned on, occasionally, during actual sex than I am right now.

Apparently, I’m not the only one. You look me right in the eye through your office window and start moving in your chair. It’s enough that a random passerby might wonder what you’re doing, but I know for sure: you are grinding your ass against the seat of your chair, working the butt plug around and around your favorite hole.

I should stop you. I haven’t permitted you to pleasure yourself. But I am transfixed. Every day you surprise me.

Your face grows flush, and you are pressing down hard against your desk blotter with your left hand. I realize I can’t see your right hand; it’s hidden behind your desk. If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, I have to put a stop to it.

You ned to stop now

You don’t even look down at your phone. You don’t break eye contact with me. I have an urge to go to you, to remind you who’s in charge of your orgasms. But I don’t. This intrusion is fun for me, but something about crossing the threshold into your office is a line that I can’t bring myself to cross.

Even if, as I suspect, you wouldn’t stop me.

Your eyes close momentarily, but you open them before too long. As much as it looks like you’re enjoying yourself, you’d probably stop if you saw someone approach you. I’m not entirely convinced of that; once you get going it’s hard to stop you.

But you can’t control what your mouth is doing. I watch as you part your lips into the stereotypical “O” that often marks the start of your climax. I’m surprised at how quiet you are, at how much control you maintain over your body as it wants to lose all control.

You are a wonder.

With a sigh, you finish. You pull your right hand to your mouth and discretely lick your juices from your fingers.

I have suddenly forgotten what it was I wanted to accomplish here. I feel an urgent need to come, and my brain flails around hopelessly to figure out a way to fuck you within the next few minutes. I wonder if you’d fight me if I tried to have you right on that fucking desk of yours.

My phone buzzes.

I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.

I look to you, and I’ve never seen fear in your eyes as I do now. I have fun, sometimes, playing with the fear that always seems to linger just below the surface of the wild, wanton woman you are most of the time. But this seems different.

You know you’ve just broken a major rule. You’ve been breaking rules for a while now. You’ve never pushed back (much) against any punishment I deem worthy. I think you enjoy punishment as much as a reward. You know I could punish you by embarrassing you with your colleagues. I could virtually destroy your professional life, take away everything that makes you you that isn’t me.

I can’t deny the idea is intoxicating. To have you completely, totally, body, and soul. I feel dizzy, sick to my stomach with possibility.

But it would kill me to damage you in any real way.

I scramble to think of what I even intended to do with my intrusion here. You’ve never expressly forbidden me from visiting you at work, but I can’t help but feel I’ve crossed some unstated line.

And if I don’t know what I’m doing here, I can only imagine the questions racing through your mind.

I can feel my face reddening with sudden shame. I’ve forgotten the most important thing about our arrangement: the control I have over you is that which you have freely given me. I’ve tried to take more, and that’s not okay.

You’re in charge here, not me. I’m sorry I forgot about that.

I finally type out on my phone the only thing that comes to mind.

No im sorry… I shouldn’t have come here

Looking at your phone, you smile. It’s a smile I know well, one I always feel privileged to have brought to your lips.

It was fun. But I have to get ready for my presentation.

I know… i’ll see you when you get off

You laugh and type back:

Didn’t you just see me get off?

I smile at you and nod goodbye. I walk away from your office and out of the building. All the way to my car I’m hoping I’ll hear you running up behind me, that you’ll knock me to the ground and fuck me where we are. You’d pull that sexy black skirt down before ripping out the plug and begging me to fuck your ass, to tear you apart and take what’s mine, and you wouldn’t care that we were in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

But you don’t. You’re flipping through a PowerPoint presentation on your way to winning yet another big contract. You’re in a room full of clients and colleagues, doing what you do best.

Well, maybe second best.