Chapter 8
Riley
Ipicked up the last file folder and studied the label before facing the open drawer. I bent and leaned forward, stretching to put the file in the very back of the drawer. I was so absorbed in the filing that I didn’t hear Mr. Steele get up from his chair. But I certainly felt the hard length of his dick against my ass and the strength of his fingers when he cupped my hips and pulled me back against him.
I straightened, the file still clutched in my suddenly sweaty hand. Mr. Steele kissed the back of my neck. “Finish your filing, please, Charlotte.”
I leaned forward, a quiet moan escaping when Mr. Steele ran his hands over my ass, squeezing and kneading my flesh through the tight confines of my skirt. My hands shaking, I tried to stuff the file into the drawer, moaning again when Mr. Steele slid his hand under my skirt and caressed my tightly clenched thighs.
I’d worn thigh highs, and he made a sound of approval as he traced the top of the stocking.
“The filing,” he prompted.
I stuffed the file in the drawer, pretty certain it was the wrong one, but who cared when Mr. Steele’s big hand rubbed up and down my thigh?
“Good girl,” he said, and his praise felt nearly as incredible as his touch.
He pulled lightly on one thigh, and when I didn’t spread my legs, he said, “Open, Charlotte.”
I was immediately self-conscious. I had no doubt my pussy would be dripping, and how embarrassing was that? Normal women didn’t get this wet just because a man felt up their ass and told them they were a good girl. “Mr. Steele, I -”
“Be my good girl and do as I say,” he said.
I melted immediately, shifting my feet apart and gasping when he ran his fingers up my inner thigh. His fingers skimmed the crease of my thigh, and I couldn’t contain my moan. His other arm slid around my waist, and he pulled me straight. I leaned against his broad chest, grinding my ass against his erection as his hand tightened on my hip.
His hand was still under my skirt, but he was now tracing lazy circles on the front of my thighs, his fingers a soft rasp against the nylon. I twisted my hips, trying to encourage him to touch my pussy. His warm chuckle stirred the curls that had escaped my bun.
“Please,” I said when he didn’t react to my subtle hint.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Please touch me,” I whispered.
He squeezed my thigh. “Take off your shirt, Charlotte.”
I hesitated. It was stupid to feel shy, I had just asked him to touch my pussy, for God’s sake, but my self-consciousness about my not-so-perky tits reared its stupid head.
“Charlotte.” Mr. Steele’s voice was stern, and what did it say about me that it turned me on? “If you want me to touch your pretty pussy, take off your shirt.”
My body aching and throbbing for relief overrode my self-consciousness. I stripped off my shirt and placed it on the filing cabinet. I closed my eyes, my body stiff and my lust ebbing away as the cool air washed over my naked breasts.
The silence stretched out like warm taffy, and my skin grew hot. I was about to pull away and reach for my shirt when Mr. Steele said, “So goddamn beautiful, Charlotte.”
My eyes popped open, and I stared mutely at Mr. Steele. He was staring over my shoulder at my breasts, and when he raised his hot and glittery gaze to mine, I could practically feel liquid dripping from my pussy. The pure lust on his face left no doubt he told the truth.
“Beautiful,” he repeated, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Th-thank you,” I whispered.
He pulled his hand out from under my skirt, but before I could mourn its loss, he turned me to face him and cupped both of my breasts with his big hands. I arched my back, the sight of his fingers plucking and pulling at my hard nipples more erotic than I could ever have imagined.
When he bent his head and sucked my right nipple into his mouth, I cried his name and clutched at his head. His tongue flicked across my nipple, sending a line of pleasure straight to my core. I arched again, the hot suction of his mouth as he switched to my left nipple left me barely able to think straight.
I dug my fingers into his scalp, my soft cries filling the silence of his office. He released my nipple with a quiet pop and pulled me close, his mouth slamming onto mine. I opened to his demanding tongue, loving how he took control of the kiss as he cupped the back of my neck and held me in his strong grip.
He hiked up my skirt to the top of my thigh highs, and I spread my legs eagerly without needing to be told.
“Good girl,” he breathed against my mouth, and I was surprised I didn’t spontaneously orgasm right then and there. He cupped my pussy, his fingers parting the coarse hair to find my aching clit.
I tensed against him. Giving up on dating for the last two years meant I’d also given up on waxing and just kept my pubic hair neatly trimmed instead. I’d known perfectly well that, at some point, I’d be showing the goods to Mr. Steele, but it somehow hadn’t clicked with me that maybe I should book a damn waxing appointment.
I realized Mr. Steele had stilled against me, his hand lightly cupping me but not moving. I stared at him as he said, “Do you want me to stop, Charlotte?”
“No,” I said.
He studied me, and despite what I’d said, I instinctively knew he was about to stop.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I said quickly. “I’m just embarrassed because I, um, haven’t waxed. I will for next time, though.”
He relaxed, and I gasped when his fingers parted my folds, and he rubbed my swollen clit. He kept a tight grip on the back of my neck, holding me immobile as he explored my entire pussy, from my aching clit to my throbbing entrance. He pressed one finger into me, watching my face carefully, before adding a second finger.
“I love how wet you are for me, good girl,” he said.
My pussy clenched around him, and his hips rocked against me. It was only the barest of movements, but even that slight sign of his desire sent mine skyrocketing. I gripped his arms, digging my fingers into his biceps as he made two slow thrusts of his fingers.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Oh God, I… oh…”
“You’re so fucking tight.” For the first time since I’d met him, he’d lost some of that hard control in his voice. A secret part of me was thrilled I’d done that to him.
He angled his thumb to brush against my clit, kissing me again and muffling the sound of my sharp cry of pleasure. He rubbed harder, his hand tightening on my neck when I tried to crowd closer.
“No,” he said. “Stay right there so I can see you.”
I acquiesced to his demands, rolling my hips against his ceaselessly rubbing thumb as he stared at my naked breasts with hot need. Determined to please him, I cupped my breasts, running my thumbs over my nipples.
He groaned loudly, his hips rocking harder against me. “Oh, you’re being such a good girl. Keep playing with your pretty nipples for me.”
I pulled on them lightly, gasping at the sensation. Mr. Steele pulled his fingers out of me and used two fingers to rub hard at my clit. It felt incredible, and I was quickly working my way toward an epic orgasm. Tension and need coiled tighter in my belly, and I cried out when Mr. Steele bent his head and sucked on my nipple again. His hand was a strong but comforting grip on the back of my neck, and the feel of his erection against my hip made me ache to have it inside of me.
He lifted his head and gave me a fierce look. “Listen carefully to me, Charlotte.”
When I didn’t respond, he squeezed my neck gently and gave my clit a pinch that threatened to push me over the edge. I moaned loudly, and he rubbed the side of my neck with his thumb as his fingers stilled against my clit. “Charlotte, look at me.”
“Make me come,” I whined before glaring at him. “I want to come.”
A soft smile crossed his face. “I know you do, baby. But,” he gave my lower lip a light nip, “you don’t come unless I say you can. Do you understand?”
I tried not to pout but obviously failed dismally because Mr. Steele gave me a stern look. “No pouting, Charlotte.”
He rubbed my clit with light circles, not enough to make me come but enough to make me squirm. I squeezed his arms as Mr. Steele said, “Do you understand the rules?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good.” He rubbed my clit again, those terrible, magical fingers pushing me higher and higher toward the bliss I craved. I rocked frantically against him, moaning my disappointment when he slowed his touch.
“Please,” I said, “Please, I need to come.”
“Shh, baby,” he said. “I know you do.”
I shrieked, my fingers clawing at his arms when he gave my clit another pinch, and I teetered on the edge of the abyss. His self-satisfied smile turned almost tender when I gave him a pleading look and panted out a series of soft whimpers and moans.
His thumb stroking my neck again, and his fingers stroking light torturous circles against my clit, he pressed a soft kiss against my mouth. “Say my name when you come, Charlotte. Do you hear me? Not fuck or God, but my name.”
“Your name,” I moaned.
“That’s right, good girl.” He kissed me again. “Now come for me.”
He rubbed my clit hard, and I hardly recognized my voice when I cried his name and exploded into a thousand lights of bliss. My orgasm made my body shake, and my eyes roll back, and I would have collapsed on the floor if Mr. Steele’s arm hadn’t banded around my waist to support my weight. I leaned against him, chanting his name repeatedly as the pleasure rolled through me.
He squeezed my hip with his big hand, and as I came down from the high of my orgasm, I became aware of his deep voice in my ear.
“Such a good girl, baby. You did so well for me. You’re so fucking pretty when you come, good girl.”
I blossomed under his praise, the pleasure of my orgasm dimming a little in comparison. I was Mr. Steele’s good girl, and I had pleased him. I floated on a wave of dopamine from the combination of his praise and my orgasm, resting my head on his chest and keeping my eyes closed as I listened to his praise.
I had no idea how much time had passed before I realized two things - I’d just had the best orgasm of my life with a practical stranger, and I was failing miserably at my job. I was supposed to be giving Mr. Steele pleasure, supposed to be giving him the hand job or blow job of his life.
Fear that he’d send me away tonight and never book me again shot through me. I straightened, giving him an anxious look as I cupped his dick through his jeans and kneaded him roughly.
He winced, and I panicked even more. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rough. My hand jobs probably need some work, but here,” I fumbled at his belt, “let me give you a blow job. I’m really good at those, I swear.”
His hand covered mine and pulled it away. “Charlotte, stop.”
“I’m great at them,” I babbled as I shook free of his grip and reached for his belt again. “Let me show you.”
“Charlotte, enough.”
I crumpled at the scolding, my pleasure high disappearing under the weight of disappointing yet another person.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. “I’m not angry with you, but it’s -”
His phone alarm went off, and he glanced at it on his desk before kissing my knuckles again. “Get dressed, please.”
He walked toward his desk and feeling discouraged despite his reassurance, I yanked my skirt down and pulled my shirt over my head. He returned and said, “Our play session is over, Charlotte.”
“I could stay a little longer. Long enough to,” I glanced at his crotch, “make you feel good.”
He didn’t reply, and my cheeks flamed red. Christ, I was stupid. He would have to pay more if I stayed longer, and with the amount the sisters charged, I couldn’t blame him for keeping the sessions to two hours only. Probably for the best, anyway. My blow job skills were good, but were they pay for an extra half hour, good? Probably not.
You could do it for free.
Despite knowing what a bad fucking idea that was, I said, “I could stay another half hour for free.”
His disappointed look made me wilt. “It’s against the rules, and you know that, Charlotte. If the sisters found out, I’d be fired as a client, and you’d lose your contract with them.”
“I’m sorry,” I said as shame rolled over me.
There was an awkward silence between us before Mr. Steele glanced at his phone. “It’s getting late.”
Fuck me, why was I still standing here? I gave him another embarrassed look before walking rapidly toward his office door. “I’m sorry. Um, goodbye, Mr. Steele.”
“Goodbye, Charlotte.”
Like before, I didn’t bother to put on my bra and underwear. I just scooped up my purse and booked it for the door. Marvin started without complaint for once, and I drove down the driveway toward the road.
I gave his house one final look. I had fucked up again, and the finality in Mr. Steele’s voice made me certain I’d never see him again.