Chapter Nine #2
"A bad girl," she said.
A pause.
"Who is?" he said quietly.
She swallowed. "I am."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Say it completely," he said. "All of it."
She gripped the desk surface. "I am a bad girl."
The smack landed the moment the last word left her mouth. The hardest yet. Her back arched and a broken moan filled the office and her hips pushed back toward him before she could stop them.
His hand stayed on her ass afterward. Moving in slow circles over the fabric of her skirt, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric, and she felt it in her nipples and in her pussy like an electric current and her hips wanted to push back toward him and she held herself still with everything she had left.
He took his hand away.
"Good girl," he said quietly.
"Thank you sir," she breathed. Barely there.
She waited. The office was quiet around her and she was still bent over the desk and her ass was warm through her skirt and her pussy was soaked and her heart was pounding but some part of her thought that was it.
That she had made it through. That the professional accountability had been established and the punishment had been delivered and she could straighten up now and compose herself and walk out of this office.
She started to push herself upright.
"I didn't tell you to move," he said.
She went still.
"Lift the back of your skirt," he said. "And put your elbows on the desk."
Her stomach went hollow.
She reached back with both hands and gathered the fabric of her skirt.
She lifted it over her ass.
The air of the office met the backs of her bare thighs and she felt herself flush from her chest to her hairline and she lowered herself onto her elbows, her back flatter, her hips higher, and the position said something about her that she did not have words for and did not need words for because Xavier was standing behind her and could see everything the position was saying without her having to say any of it.
The silence held for a long moment behind her. She was aware of everything. Her pussy was dripping and she was certain he could see the evidence of it through the fabric and that certainty made it worse and made it better and she could not separate those two things anymore.
"I found something interesting," he said, "when I picked up your kindle in the boardroom."
She remained silent.
"You were reading two books," he said. "A thriller. And something else." A pause. "Were you reading that book here? At the office?"
"No sir."
"Where were you reading it?"
"At home."
"Be very specific."
A pause. The backs of her thighs were trembling slightly. "In the bathtub," she said.
He let that sit. She could feel him behind her letting it sit, the image of it assembling itself in the quiet office between them. Her completely naked in a tub reading that book.
"Were you alone?" he said. "Or with your husband?"
"Alone."
"And what specifically were you doing," he said, "when you were reading the page the kindle was left open on?" A pause. "I want to remind you of the rule about honesty."
She slowly bit her bottom lip. The silence stretched and she felt it stretching and knew she was going to have to fill it.
"I was touching myself," she said quietly.
"Be more explicit, Claire."
The smack landed before she finished drawing breath to speak again, directly across her panties this time, the thin fabric doing nothing, and the sensation was entirely different from the skirt, sharper and more immediate and more intimate and a sharp moan escaped her before she could catch it, her mouth pressed closed immediately after, and the pleasure of it radiated straight to her pussy and she had to lock her knees to stay upright.
"I was rubbing my pussy," she said. The words coming out broken and breathless. "While I was reading it."
Then his hand came down again, but differently this time.
Not the full flat smack of before. Lighter.
Faster. A rapid series of soft taps, not against her ass but lower, directly over the wet fabric of her panties, and the sensation that tore through her was nothing like the spanking had been.
The vibration moved straight through her panties and hit her clit like a current and her whole body lurched forward against the desk, a strangled sound pressing out of her that she barely caught in time.
He stopped. As if he hadn't done anything at all.
"The page the kindle was left open on," he said, his voice exactly as it had been before, unaffected, unhurried. "Is that the page where you made yourself cum?"
She could barely form words. Her clit was still pulsing from the tapping, her panties drenched and clinging, her whole body teetering at an edge she hadn't been anywhere near a minute ago.
"Yes sir," she managed.
The second full smack landed on the sir. She whimpered, a helpless sound she had never heard herself make before, and her hips pushed back toward him and her arms were shaking against the desk surface and she was sweating and breathing in ragged pulls.
Then the tapping came again. Faster this time.
The same rapid soft strikes landed directly over her soaked panties, his hand rapidly tapping her dripping pussy with filthy wet smacks.
The drenched fabric amplified every sensation, each quick tap sending sharp bursts of pleasure exploding through her swollen clit.
She pressed her forehead into the desk and let out a desperate broken moan she could not stop while her hips rolled shamelessly toward his hand, her pussy begging for more.
He stopped again.
She stayed there, chest heaving, right at the edge of something she had no business being at the edge of in her boss's office, and said nothing and did nothing because there was nothing left to say or do except hold on.
"Good girl," he said quietly.
"Thank you sir," she whimpered.
His hand rested on her ass and rubbed slowly, the same gentle circles as before, and she bit down on her lip and focused on staying still.
"Your panties are soaked through," he said. Factual. Calm.
She said nothing because there was nothing to say. It was true and denying it would have cost her something she was no longer willing to spend.
"You're making a mess of them," he said. His hand still moving in slow strokes across her ass. Her pussy aching for contact, still pulsing from what he had just done to it, still right at that edge with nowhere to go.
He removed his hand. "Pull them down and put your face against the desk."
She did not hesitate.
Her hands went back and her fingers found the waistband of her panties and she pulled them down in one motion and lowered her face to the desk the way he had told her to and her chest followed and her nipples, already hard beneath her top, pressed into the desk surface and the pressure of it shot straight through the fabric and she exhaled slowly and held on to the far edge of the desk with both hands.
Her panties were a mess as they came down. A strand of her own wetness stretched between the soaked fabric and her bare pussy, thick and glistening, and she felt it and knew he could see it and her face burned against the desk with a want so acute it had moved completely past shame.
She felt him move closer behind her.
His fingers arrived at her inner thigh, warm and deliberate, and she understood he was addressing the strand, cleaning it.
But he didn't clean it quickly. His fingers moved slowly, tracing up the inside of her thigh with a focus that had nothing hurried about it, following the wetness that had spread further down her leg than she'd realized, and she felt each millimeter of contact like something electric and her hips tilted toward him before she could stop them.
He said nothing.
His fingers worked higher, slow circles against her inner thigh, rubbing the wetness into her skin rather than wiping it away, getting closer with every pass without ever arriving, and she was pressing her nipples hard into the desk and gripping the far edge with both hands and her breathing had gone completely ragged and her pussy was throbbing for contact she was not getting and her hips were rolling back toward him in small helpless movements she could not stop.
He moved to the other thigh. Starting low again.
The same slow deliberate path upward, his fingers warm against her skin, tracing the wetness that had run down the inside of her other leg, working higher in slow unhurried circles.
She could feel how wet she was, could feel the slick heat of herself with every pass of his fingers getting close and then retreating, and a sound was building in her chest that she was fighting with everything she had left.
His fingers moved to the crease where her thigh met her hip.
Rubbing slowly. Still not touching her pussy directly.
Just outside it, so close she could feel the heat of his hand radiating against her clit, and her hips snapped back toward him hard and she gasped into the desk, her knuckles white against the far edge.
He stepped back.
She heard the soft sound of his pocket square. He was wiping his hand. The clinical composure of that, while she was face down on his desk with her bare ass in the air and her pussy soaked and swollen and completely ignored, was the most devastating thing that had happened in this office yet.