I’ll do whatever it takes to please her… Podcast written by Rose MyErotica. Read by Bitsy la Bourbon
“Again.” Her voice is cold, impassive.
I sweep the objects on her desk to the side and begin lining them up, as precisely as I can. My fingers are shaking almost imperceptibly as I assess the angle of each pen, each folder. I adjust their arrangement minutely, calculating the distance between them. When I’m certain it’s perfect, I look up, questioningly.
The expression in her eyes is unreadable. She’s leaning back in her leather chair, her legs crossed, watching me like a predator contemplating whether or not to break its fast. She leans forward, and with a flick of her manicured fingers, sends everything spinning to the floor.
I try not to flinch. We could play this game for hours — it wouldn’t be the first time — but something inside me still stubbornly refuses to let her break me this easily.
I pick the objects up and start to rearrange them on the desk, slow and painstaking.
This time when I’ve finished, I don’t meet her eyes. Instead, I move to the mirror on the wall, checking my hair and make-up are tidy. I’m holding my breath, determined to stay calm. A wisp of hair has escaped from my neat bun and I tuck it back into place. I smooth my skirt over my hips, straighten the seams of my blouse. My cheeks look a little flushed, but otherwise I don’t think anything gives away how flustered I feel.
Finally I can’t delay the moment any longer. I look up at her hesitantly, willing her to give her approval.
With a sigh, she uncrosses her legs, rises and walks towards me. In her heels, she is taller than me. She’s slender, with a dancer’s grace, but she has a dancer’s powerful physical presence too.
She comes close and pulls my hair from its updo, tugging her fingers through it roughly. She untucks my shirt, a couple of buttons popping open. She cups my chin in her hand and swipes her thumb over my lips, smearing my lipstick. I let her do what she wants.
Now she turns me around and pushes me toward the desk, sweeping everything onto the floor and bending me over it. She pulls my skirt up around my waist and kicks my feet apart. My cheek flat on the cool wooden surface, arms braced against what is to come, I feel utterly exposed. I can hear the faint buzz of the air conditioning, and beyond that, the sound of vacuuming. I wonder what would be said if the cleaners caught me in this compromising position; but I feel detached, almost calm now the inevitable is about to happen.
The slap of her palm on my bare flesh is no less shocking for being expected. It stings, and then it burns. She waits until the first wave of heat has begun to fade before spanking me again. Today I get six strokes of her hand, one for each time she had to make me begin tidying her desk again. I count them in my head; it gives me something to focus on other than the pain, which is throbbing through my body in hot waves. It’s not until the final stroke that I feel the tears trickling down my cheeks… or the wetness seeping into my panties.
I can feel her eyes on me, drinking in the glowing red of my ass cheeks, the soaked crotch of my underwear. I wonder if her face still wears the same cold expression now, but I don’t turn to look. I stay perfectly motionless, waiting for what comes next.
She tugs my panties down around my thighs, the lace scratching my skin. I hear an impatient sigh as they bunch up, constraining my legs; she takes a pair of scissors from the tray on the desktop — its contents all knocked askew — and snips through the fabric on one side, so they fall in a pool around my other ankle. As she pushes my feet further apart with her own, I feel my wet pussy peeling open, exposing me even more fully to her cold gaze.
She kneels behind me, spreads my cheeks and licks a stripe from my pussy to my ass, her tongue pushing deep. My legs are shaking. I’m so slippery-wet her tongue glides easily over my flesh, tormenting me with the lack of friction. She laps at me steadily, the sensation at once too much and not enough.
I’m not sure when I start gasping and thrusting back against her tongue — I’m so delirious with need by this point that I’ve lost all conscious thought — but when she reaches around to press her thumb firmly against my clit the shockwaves flood through my body. I cum, hard.
When I can breathe again, I stand, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Rivulets of mascara and smudged lipstick, hair tangled around my face. My shirt twisted and creased, ruined panties around one ankle. I turn to face her — she is seated behind her desk with her legs crossed again, as if nothing has happened — and I await her approval.
She nods, inscrutable, and I am dismissed from her presence.
More confessions from me here — if you think you can handle it! Maybe take a cold shower first…