Chapter Nine #3
"The Velour materials," he said. His voice exactly as it always was. "Reviewing them as part of your work on the account." A pause. "Did they ever make you wet?"
She closed her eyes against the desk surface, still throbbing, still trying to breathe. "Yes sir."
"At work? In your office?"
"Yes sir."
"And did you touch yourself?"
Her nipples pressed harder into the desk, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bending each knee in turn, chasing whatever friction she could find, and exhaled. "Yes sir."
The smack landed on her bare ass.
The difference from the panties was total. No fabric, nothing, just his palm and her bare skin and the sharp crack of it filling the office and the burn spreading outward and she cried out into the desk and muffled it with her forearm and her pussy clenched hard around nothing.
She lay there breathing.
"In your bathtub," he said. "Reading that page." A pause. "Were you thinking about someone?"
The silence that followed was the longest yet. Her cheek pressed against the desk, her ass and bare pussy completely exposed, and she understood that whatever she said next was going to give him everything.
"Yes," she said finally.
"Who."
Another silence. Shorter. She had nothing left to fight with.
"You," she said. "I was thinking about you."
The smack landed on the last word.
She moaned into her forearm, loud and helpless and completely beyond managing, and then his hand came down again but differently, immediately, the transition so fast she barely registered what was happening before it was already happening.
The tapping.
Directly on her bare pussy this time. No fabric.
No barrier. His fingers coming down in rapid, light strikes directly against her swollen clit, and the sound of it in the quiet office was obscene, wet and sharp with every tap, the slick evidence of how desperately aroused she was audible with each strike, and the sensation was nothing like anything that had come before it.
Pure. Immediate. Detonating through her clit in rapid successive waves.
"Oh fuck," she gasped into the desk, the words tearing out of her before she could stop them. Her hand flew from the edge of the desk to her own mouth. "Fuck, fuck—"
The tapping continued. Faster. His fingers striking her clit in quick rhythmic succession, each tap sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight through her, her wetness audible and obscene with every strike, she could feel it, the slick evidence of how desperately aroused she was spraying against her own inner thighs with each rapid tap, and between each strike there was the briefest graze, the softest drag of his fingers against her clit, so slight she couldn't tell if it was him doing it deliberately or her own hips rolling forward to chase the contact.
She stopped trying to figure it out. Her whole body was grinding back toward his hand shamelessly now, chasing every tap and every graze equally, and the orgasm that had been building, since the tapping over her soaked panties, since every admission she had been forced to make in this office, came crashing through her all at once.
"Yes," she moaned into her palm, barely muffled. "Yes, yes—oh god—"
Her whole body convulsed against the desk, her thighs shaking violently, her pussy clenching and pulsing as the orgasm ripped through her in waves she had no control over.
She used her hand to muffle the sounds and they spilled out anyway, broken and desperate and completely honest, her hips still rolling back toward his hand even as she fell apart, her body wringing every last pulse of pleasure out of the contact until she had nothing left and went still.
The office was completely quiet.
He said nothing. Did nothing to acknowledge what had just happened.
His hand simply withdrew and after a moment she heard the soft sound of his pocket square again and understood he was cleaning his fingers and that composure, that absolute unaffected composure while she lay shaking and wrecked on his desk having just cum on her boss's hand in a locked office on a Tuesday afternoon, broke something open in her chest that she was not going to be able to close again.
"Good girl, Claire," he said quietly.
She lay there for a long moment. Sweaty, chest heaving against the desk, her nipples raw from the surface, her pussy still pulsing in the aftermath, completely and thoroughly undone.
"Thank you sir," she whispered. Barely there.
A pause.
"Get yourself together," he said. "We're done for today."
He was holding the kindle out toward her.
She reached for it and her eyes dropped.
His pants left nothing to question. He was hard, visibly, completely, and he made no move to conceal it and offered no acknowledgment of it and looked at her with the same even look he always had, as if they had just concluded a standard meeting and she was on her way back to her desk.
She took the kindle from his hand.
She walked to the door. Put the sign back in its holder. Unlocked it. Stepped into the hallway.