Chapter 29 Stephan #2
She probably thinks it has something to do with my younger brother, who is always in and out of trouble. And I’ll let her think that.
I shut the shades of my office and thank God, I had this room soundproofed.
The same room I built for privilege reviews, for shielding clients’ secrets, now shelters my own misconduct. One subpoena, and this desk becomes evidence. Still, I won’t stop.
I video call Katie. I tell myself I’m going to call her to check on the DOJ file review. To make sure she’s not panicking. To maintain control.
But the moment I hear her voice—quiet, hesitant, intimate—the pretense evaporates. She’s wearing one of my old Northwestern T-Shirts and the sight is sexier than any dress she’s ever worn.
“Yes, Sir? Is everything alright? Is this about the case?” She's doing her best to keep her voice professional, but I can hear a hint of excitement underneath.
“No,” I manage, my voice sinking to a dangerous low. “Nothing happened. I just needed to look at you.”
Her voice lowers instantly, a subtle, excited tremor catching the sound. “You shouldn’t be calling me from the office.”
“It’s fine. No one will look at the phone, and I’m on do not disturb for the next forty-five minutes.” That window of time stretches into a lifetime—one I'll spend drowning the DOJ’s shadow in the depths of her submission.
She bites her lip, the slight pressure of her teeth against the soft flesh sending a spike of heat down my spine. She was already aroused by the risk, by the unspoken weight of my immediate need.
“Then what would you like me to do, Sir?” she asks.
Fuck. She’s so good. How is someone so naive, so acutely attuned to my wants?
The words form automatically—habits of command—but somewhere beneath them, the lawyer in me whispers about evidence, recordings, exposure. Every order is another piece of proof that I’ve already crossed the line I swore I’d never touch.
“I want you to go into my room,” I instruct, my voice turning to gravel, the sound vibrating with the authority I refuse to lose. “Strip, get one of the dildos out of the top drawer of my dresser—I will direct you on how to use it. And I want you to touch yourself for me.”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, her voice suddenly husky. She gets up from my study and moves into the bedroom, where she sets up the phone so I have a full, devastating view of her undressing slowly.
The sight of her bare skin is a shock of cold water, snapping my control back into place. She runs her hands over her breasts, her nipples pricking from arousal and the slight chill of the room.
“Like this? Sir?” She squeezes her perfect pink nipples in between her forefinger and thumb, and my cock strains against the wool of my pants.
“Yes, Katie. That is exactly what I want.” I undo my belt and unzip my pants, the coarse sound loud in the quiet office, releasing my bulging erection. Wrapping Katie’s silk panties around my hand, I begin to stroke my cock, pulling the delicate fabric taut over my demanding flesh.
She goes and picks a medium-sized, realistic dildo out of the top drawer.
“Good girl,” I say, leaning back in my chair, the leather cool against my heated skin.
“What would you like me to do next?” she asks, the innocent cadence of the question a deliberate tease.
“Lie in the bed and position the phone so I have a clean view of your pussy.”
She obeys instantly, lying back and spreading her legs wide for me, a gift only I am permitted to witness.
“Use the oil, Katie. Slowly. I want to see you prepare yourself for me. Run your fingers along the edges, but no more. Show me that you can still maintain restraint, even when you're alone.”
She reaches for the small bottle of oil, her hands trembling slightly.
She anoints herself with a deliberate slowness, making the preparatory action itself an act of submission.
Her skin glows in the screen’s light. Her pussy is already wet, and I can’t help but stare in awe as her fingers rub her pink flesh.
I work my head slowly, savoring the image of her. The crests of her breasts in the background, the sound of her whimpers as she pleasures herself to the sound of my voice.
“You’re doing so well, Kaite,” I say, my voice heady with need. “Now take two fingers and press them against your clit. Don't rub. Press.”
She does as I command, and I see her leg shake with need.
“Harder. I want you to feel the tension, not the release. Tell me what the pressure feels like.”
"It feels...painful but also good, Sir. It's difficult to hold still.” Her voice, strained.
I stroke my cock harder, using her panties for friction, getting closer to my own edge. Her difficulty maintaining stillness is the evidence of my power, the only order I possess right now.
Another whimper rips through her, and it only fuels my desire. I love making her tremble. Making her come undone.
“That’s it. Hold that position. Show me that your mind is stronger than your body.”
For a second, I can’t tell whether I’m teaching or taking. Is this practice or indulgence? Does it even matter if the outcome’s the same?
Her back arches, and I can tell she’s close to breaking.
“Moan for me, Katie.”
She groans, a sound of pure, raw pleasure that hits me like a blow, accelerating my own frantic pace.
“Good. The pressure is control. Now, take the toy.
Hold it right at your opening. Don't enter. Just let the head press against your skin. You will use it only when I command. For now, you will use your free hand to touch your nipples. Only your nipples. Focus on the division of pleasure, Katie. One hand building the pressure, the other denied.”
She follows the instructions without hesitation. The dildo rests, cool and firm, against her entrance, an exquisite, aching promise. Her free hand finds her breast, rolling and pinching the sensitive peak. Her breath hitches, the divided sensation clearly overwhelming her.
“Yes,” I breathe, watching her face tighten with the effort of control. “Feel the ache in your center, the sharpness on your breast. That is focus, Katie. That is how you learn to prioritize.”
My own release is imminent. I can’t hold back the storm much longer.
“Look at you, Katie. Most people think your strength comes from your faith, but I know the truth. It comes from your obedience. You’re a creature of steel, holding that toy exactly where I told you, even while your body is screaming for more.
You’re being such a good girl, and good girls get rewarded.
” My voice is heady with my own need. “Now, show me that devotion. Take the toy inside, slow and steady. I want to see you stretch for me.”
She gasps, a sharp, broken sound that vibrates through the speakers and settles in my gut.
She obeys instantly, sinking the toy into herself with a slow, deliberate agony that makes the muscles in my thighs lock.
I watch her body arch—a bow pulled taut—as she takes the intrusion, her head falling back to reveal the elegant, pulsing line of her throat.
A ragged roar scrapes the back of my throat.
The sight of her stretching—pale skin flushed and slick against the plastic—violates every professional wall I’ve spent years reinforcing.
My cock thrums with a violent need to be where that toy is—to feel the hot, velvet clench of her around me, to taste the salt on her skin.
Watching her break like this, an altar of flesh offered up for my singular pleasure, is a high I can’t quantify.
“Answer me, Katie,” I rasp, my voice thick with a hunger I can no longer hide. “Tell me how it’s stretching you. Tell me what it feels like to be full of something that isn't me.”
“It feels... holy,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering open, glazed with a desperate, fractured light. “I want more. Please, Sir. I’m so empty.”
Her plea lands like a physical blow. I stroke myself harder, the silk of her panties a frantic friction against my palm. Every second I remain on the line, the lawyer within me withers, executed by the heat of her voice.
“Then take it,” I command, the ‘Noble Monster’ finally letting the leash slip.
“Fuck yourself the way you want me to do it. Drive it in until you can’t think of anything but the stretch.
But you will not cross that line, Katie.
You will build that fire until it burns you alive, and you will stop exactly where I tell you. Do you understand?”
She lies back, the mattress yielding beneath her as she works the toy in and out of her wet heat.
Her moans are sacred—low, rhythmic, and heavy with a devotion that has nothing to do with the Church.
She is my savior and my sin wrapped all in one, a living, breathing paradox.
Watching her, I don't know if I want to pray at her feet or be the singular, devastating reason she finally falls from grace.
“You look so beautiful when you’re utterly mine, Katie,” I rasp, my voice vibrating with a dark pride.
“No one at the firm would recognize this version of you. They see the sharp associate, the diligent mind. But I see the creature of steel I’ve forged.
I love knowing I’m the only man who has ever heard you moan—the only one allowed to see your virtue break like this. ”
I work the head of my cock furiously, the friction of her silk panties against my palm bringing me dangerously close to the edge. My focus is entirely fractured, divided between the urgent, pulsing pleasure in my hand and the desperate, beautiful image on the screen.
Katie’s moans turn frantic, her breathing coming in shallow, jagged hitches as she expresses her ecstasy openly for me. Her body locks, her toes curling into the sheets, and I can see it in her eyes—she is inches from the point of no return, the moment where her discipline dissolves into the storm.
“Don’t you dare come on that dildo,” I command, desperation lacing my own voice. The structure demands I control the moment of her release.
“Yes, Sir,” she says, throwing the toy to the side, the silicone clattering against the headboard.
“Now finish yourself with your fingers.”
The new command rings absolute, and she is hungry for release.
She sinks her fingers into her pussy, pinpointing the aching pressure point the toy left behind.
Her movements quicken, stripping away the “Associate” and the “Saint,” leaving only the raw instinct I’ve permitted her to unleash.
Her head rolls back against the pillow, her throat arching in a silent, beautiful scream of release.
Watching her, my control hangs by a single, fraying thread of silk.
The intimacy of this—witnessing her final, jagged moments of pleasure held entirely in the palm of my hand is the most potent power I have ever wielded.
It’s more intoxicating than any courtroom victory, more dangerous than any federal inquiry.
“You’re such a good girl, coming for me,” I growl, the praise a dark reward for her discipline. “You’re the only thing that’s real, Katie. You’re going to make me cum in your old panties while the world tries to burn us down outside this door.”
I thrust hard into the silk, my fingers tightening around the fabric as I cry out her name. My climax rips through me, a violent, uncoordinated surge that feels like an atonement. The image of her body shaking on the screen, her surrender is the only truth that exists in this god-forsaken city.
When reality finally snaps back into focus, the silence of the office is deafening. I breathe heavily, leaning my weight against the cold, polished wood of my desk. Then, I straighten my tie; the armor settles, colder than before.
“Good girl,” I tell the screen, my voice still rough with exhaustion. “You held.”
“Did it help you?” She asks through ragged breaths.
I glance at the stack of DOJ correspondence on my desk, the mountain of work that’s supposed to define my life. “More than you know.”
We say nothing else. I end the call, but the silence that follows feels heavier than any guilt I’ve ever carried.
For the first time, I didn’t lose control by accident. I wanted to know what it felt like to stop pretending I had any left.
The screen goes black, but her voice still echoes in the walls.
I resume my day, lighter, clearer, and ready for what the DOJ has in store for us.