by Cerys du Lys
With one arm, he wrenched me towards him and pulled my pantyhose even lower, towards my ankles, forcing me to spread my legs so that my crotch was pressed hard against his business suit. His hands sought the buttons of my blouse, undoing them. When I tried to stop him, he frowned at me and then ripped the whole thing off. The buttons that had remained done flew into the air and scattered around his private meeting room.
The idea struck me, some out of context thought, that I should clean those up for him, but then my mind snapped back to the reality of the situation. I was laying on his table, legs spread around his hips, wearing only my bra and partially wearing my pantyhose. A quick glance to the side showed my blouse, skirt and heels scattered on the floor, much like the loose pages of his expensive book.
"Remove your bra," he said.
I hesitated. He sounded so fierce, but the look on his face was one of calm confidence, like he never expected me to defy him, never expected anything but obedience.
"Mr. Landseer," I said, voice wavering, coming out as more of a squeak. "You're married."
"Remove your bra," he repeated.
I sat up enough so I could reach my hands behind my back. My stomach tightened and when I moved I felt the zipper of his pants pressing against my wet, exposed pussy. He watched me, relished in seeing me dispose of one of my last articles of clothing. I don't know why, but once I unsnapped my bra and pulled my arms through the straps, I tossed it to the floor haphazardly, letting it join the mess with my other clothing.
"You deserve punishment," he said. "Do you not?"
I nodded fast, heart quickening. Shivers from the cold passed through my body. Or, that's what I wanted to think at the time, but his presence had me hot and flustered. There was no possible way I was cold right now with my body quivering in a heat of excitement. Here I was, some unknown women from the cleaning staff, and a temp for the day at that, almost entirely naked on billionaire CEO Asher Landseer's private office table.
In the blink of an eye his hand cupped my sex. His fingers pressed against my pubic mound, forcing me to acknowledge their presence, and I arched my back and let out an unintentional moan.
"How do I punish you when you're clearly enjoying this?" he asked. "Shall I remove this distraction first so we can begin your punishment?"
"Sir?" I asked. My breath felt like a fog, escaping my lips and covering my face in a warm, wet haze. Everything was a blur, like I was looking through an unfocused camera lens.
He never answered, didn't bother to respond with his ideas. Instead, he snaked his thumb lower, spread my moist folds with his finger, and then pressed inside of me. My hips bucked upwards instinctively and I gasped, caught off guard. My fucking God, I thought, is he going to take me right here?
And, if he did, would I let him? Would I moan for him, accept his hard erect cock inside me? Some part of me despised the idea, disliked the treatment, but only a small part. A larger part wondered at him, wanted him to take me on his meeting table. Wanted him to...
He was married. I couldn't, I...
Asher's thumb bent and he pressed against the pleasure spot inside my intimate tunnel. My body betrayed my intentions, ignored the thoughts of his wife, his marriage, and the wrongness of this, and bent to his will. He wrapped his other fingers around my pussy, treating me like just another object, something he owned. With his middle finger he teased at my clit, pushing me higher towards the precipice of pleasure.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head and my body tightened, muscles clamping down for the long haul. There was no long term for this, though. Asher knew what he was doing, and he did it well. His fingers expertly toyed with my sex and encased my crotch. It felt so strange, so different. I was exposed to the cool, office building air, but his hand radiated a warming heat that spread from my aroused slit to the rest of my body.
And then his fingers brought another kind of heat. A tingling sensation raced through me, the blissful beginnings of an impending orgasm. My pussy clamped down on his thumb, holding it in me, spasming around his intrusion, and the rest of my body soon followed suit. I squirmed in the throes of ecstasy, not even caring that I was openly displayed on his meeting room table. It was private, anyways, with the glass wall only showing through to his personal office. That shouldn't have made a difference, shouldn't have made the situation alright, but my mind wasn't thinking rationally at the moment.
He allowed me to ride through my pleasure, grinning at my squirming self, before removing his hand from my crotch. I lay on his table, a hot mess, completely breathless.
"Up," Asher said. "Now that your distraction is eliminated, I expect you to accept punishment."
I scrambled off his table, fell to my knees, and looked up at him. This man, Asher Landseer, had just brought me to climax like it was nothing, and was staring at me as if he'd done nothing in particular. Another day at the job, another...
"Now," he said. "Having finished my business meeting early, I find myself with some free time. I came back to my office, intending to read, but then you destroyed my book."
"I can repay..." I started to say.
"The cost isn't the issue," he said. "That—" He frowned and looked softer for a moment, as if he were remembering something. "That book was special to me."
I gulped. I'd never meant to destroy the book in the first place, and I understood a rich man would own expensive things, but now that I knew it was more than that, I felt horrible. I wanted to apologize, to hug and console him, but...
"Do you like Dante's Inferno?" he asked, all of a sudden.
"Yes," I said, the answer squeaking out of me.
"What? Be confident in your answer."
"Yes," I repeated myself, though I didn't think I sounded any less timid. I rose to my feet, standing before him.
"Why?" he asked.
Huh? "Why what?"
"Why do you like it?"
"The—" Was this conversation really happening? I stood there, mostly naked, talking to a young, billionaire CEO about why I liked a certain piece of literature. I would never be able to understand this, no matter how long I lived.
But, maybe that was the point. I'm not sure. I did feel a little better talking with him like this, though. Like if I could show him that I understood the book and tell him why I liked it, he might forgive me just a little bit for what happened. And then I could forgive him for... and...
"I enjoy the symbolism," I told him sincerely. "I think it's nice that the story starts off in the depths of Hell, with Inferno, but by the end of Divine Comedy there's some redemption and Dante brings us to Heaven with Paradiso. The rhyme scheme is also incredibly impressive. And the fact that he retained such a strict format through 14,233 lines? I find that amazing."
"Indeed," Asher said. I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face, but it was gone before I knew it. Had I imagined it? Yes, possibly, but...
"I enjoy that line," he said in a passing conversational tone.
I looked at him, confused.
He frowned and shook his head, though it seemed more teasing than chastising. "One ought to fear those things only that have power of doing harm. The others not, for they are not dreadful," he said, reciting one of the parts of the poem he'd read aloud before, the one on the page that he'd tossed aside before...
My God, I thought. I was really just on his table, I was really just naked, and... I looked down at myself, confirming my nudity. Somehow just now realizing it, or realizing it again, I tightened my legs and fidgeted, trying to cover my body with my arms.
"Stop," he said, a command. I dropped my hands, dumbstruck. "The best punishments are those that make you reflect and that make you uncomfortable. Part of yours shall be to finish cleaning my office as you are."
I stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"I never repeat myself," he said. "Never."
I did not give in, ever. I wasn't the type for it. I always questioned everything, and expected no less from anyone else. Why should I mindlessly
move through life like a drone?
This is how I always thought, but then why was I now stepping around his office, feather duster in hand and actively dusting while wearing only my pantyhose which I'd pulled back up after he'd finger fucked me to an orgasm? Wearing almost nothing felt nice, though, oddly. Freeing. The cool air became a little less cool as I grew accustomed to it, and I relished in the sexiness of my body.
This man, Asher Landseer, the married CEO of a billion dollar corporation, had wanted me. While I cleaned his office, I tried to catch his attention, bending over this way and that, arching my back and pressing out my breasts in hopes he would look at me. But it didn't work?
Some doubt slipped into my mind. He hadn't actually said he wanted me. No lustful words escaped his lips as he coaxed me to orgasm. Nothing of the sort, actually. In fact, now that I thought about it, he said he was only doing it to remove a distraction. But... no... that couldn't be it, could it? Except, it must be.
The idea sunk in. I wasn't some absolutely desirable woman. I couldn't tempt a billionaire away from his wife. This was business, plain and simple. I'd destroyed his book and he meant to punish me for it, and that was it. Well, he'd done a good job of that. I felt embarrassed for even thinking I could have garnered his attention.
I moved through his office, dusting without trying to be sexy, steaming in my own thoughts, annoyed. He thought he was all that? Oh, I could do better. Maybe I'd push his bookcase a little, send the whole thing crashing to the ground, see how he liked that. What would he do then? If one destroyed book equaled one smoldering climax, what would a whole bookcase involve? I shuddered thinking about it.
The phone rang. I glanced over towards it, catching Asher looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Or, no, he wouldn't even be doing that. If he hadn't glanced at me before when I was trying to act seductive, he wouldn't now. I was imagining things.
He reached for his phone and answered it. "Hello?"
I absently listened to his side of the conversation while dusting, planning on finishing this and getting out of here.
"Yes? No," he said. "Are you sure? Is that why...?"
He sounded confused, lost. I wanted... dammit! Despite my frustration with him, I wanted to go over to him and see if he was alright. Look at him, smile, become lost staring into his brilliant blue eyes, reaching a hand up to touch the hint of stubble growing on his cheek.
"Yes," he said to the person on the other end of the phone. "Yes, I'll talk with her. We've discussed this before. Thank you."
He hung up the phone and went to sit on his chaise. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples with his fingers and frowned.
I don't know why, and I shouldn't have done it, but I went over to him and put my hands on his shoulders. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and he looked up at me.
"I need a massage," he said.
"I can if you'd like?" I offered, my voice meek. I wanted to impress him, but I didn't know why. He was a jerk, and not worthy of my time. A man with money? Ha! Who cared. I had... knowledge of Charles Dickens.
"That wasn't a question," he stated firmly. "It was an order."
I tensed up, wanted to grind my fingers into his shoulders and squeeze as hard as I could, but I didn't. Instead, I gave him a light massage, erring on the side of softness, until he ordered me to do it harder. Oh, really? I intended to annoy him, to make him angry, but when I dug my fingers into his shoulder muscles, he only let out a content sigh and relaxed into the chaise.
Honestly? What an asshole.
"My wife is infertile," he said, nonchalantly.
"I'm sorry to hear that?" I replied. What do you say to someone when they tell you that? And, as unlikely as it was, I would have rather heard him say he was divorcing her. Was that a mean thought to think? Yes, but, then maybe...
"We've talked about this possibility. Adoption is one choice. It's admirable and respectable, but I'd rather not, and she doesn't want to, either. I'd like the child to be at least a part of me, genetically."
Something, I heard some strange inflection in his voice that made me think about what he'd just said. "What about her?" I asked.
He laughed. "She's not interested in children at all. I imagine this will be a boon to her, not being able to conceive naturally. She's fine with the idea of it, but the process bothers her. If she could, she'd rather have someone else carry the child to term so she didn't have to."
"It's possible," I said, shrugging. My massage grew lighter as our conversation unfolded and my fingers eased away the kinks in his shoulder. "There's egg donations, and you could have one fertilized with... with your..." I couldn't bring myself to say "his seed" despite the fact I was currently standing behind him without any clothes on. It felt too... dirty? I don't know.
"True," he said, scrunching up his brow, contemplating the idea. After a few seconds, he said, "I don't know your name. You're the temp they hired for the day, correct?"
"Yes." I gulped. The way he said it, the way the words just came out, indifferent, made the whole situation worse. He didn't even know my name and yet he'd tossed me on his table like it was nothing? Done all of that to me, and... No, I shouldn't think about that. "Jessika Fevrier."
"Fevrier?" he asked.
"Yes, it's French." I spelled it out for him, since this was a common confusion and I'd learned to do it unthinking. "Pronounced Fev-ree-ay." The fact that the cleaning manager had screwed it up earlier still frustrated me.
"Yes," he said. "French for February."
I frowned, but he didn't notice. It did mean that, but he didn't have to make it sound so ordinary and uninteresting.
"A pleasure meeting you, Jessika." He reached over his head and held out his hand for me to shake. Awkwardly, I took his hand in mine and shook it lightly. That seemed to satisfy him.
Moving from the chaise, standing, he looked me in the eyes. I hadn't noticed before, our initial meeting not really being a great comparison for heights, but he was a good deal taller than me. Not towering over me like a giant, but when he stood next to me and looked down at me I felt smaller. Smaller but... safe? Protected? Odd, since he'd been so angry before, but he had a certain guardian type of air about him, too.
He moved closer, put his hands around my waist, and brought his face almost even with mine. I wasn't sure what I should do, so I lifted one arm up and put it around his neck while the other just hung there, loosely. My God, this was confusing. Were we going to... was he going to? He looked like he might kiss me. The smell of his cologne intoxicated me; jasmine with a hint of vanilla and a sensual, leathery musk undertone. My mouth opened slightly, preparing for his lips to touch mine.
"Jessika," he said. "I'm sorry about before. I'll buy you a new shirt, you don't have to worry about that."
"No," I said, confused. "It's fine. Really."
"I'm married and I feel like my behavior was out of line."
"No!" I said again. "It's fine. I enjoyed it, I..."
"You're an attractive woman and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it, too, but that wasn't the point. I got carried away, and..."
Argh! I wanted to press my lips against his, kiss him, make him want to pull me close and do it all over again, except the only thing I managed to do was say, "If you think I deserve more punishment then I accept that and you can do it again if you'd like."
"Oh, Jessika." He laughed, but there was some undeniable twinkle in his eye. Or, I thought there was, but when I tried to figure it out, it was gone just as quick.
And then he asked me, "I know this is sudden, but would you consider becoming an egg donor for me and my wife? I'll need to discuss it with her first, but I believe she'll accept the idea. You'll need to carry the child, too, but I'll make certain you're comfortable. I can arrange for you to have suitable living quarters in my home for the duration of your pregnancy."
"There's no need to donate," I blurted out. "We can just have sex..." I realized what I'd said before I finished, and the words hung there, awkward.
"I..." I said, trying to think of something to say. Something witty, or sexy, or funny, or intelligent, but I couldn't manage any of those.
"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asked. "Let's arrange a lunch date. I'll let you know what Beatrice thinks, and you can let me know if you'll agree, too. Consider your answer ample repayment for the book, whether you agree or not. Those are my conditions. I won't accept anything else."
And, he left.
I stood there, stunned, staring at the door to his office. Did he just ask me out on a date? Not a real date, I guess, but...
I scrambled to clean the rest of his office, completely forgetting about my clothes. When I finished, I retrieved my outfit and put it on as best I could, but the shirt was ruined. Before I could worry about it, someone knocked on the door, opened it a crack, and slipped a package through and onto the floor before closing the door again and leaving.
Curious, I walked over to the package. On the top, written in a hasty scrawl, was a note that said, "Ms. Fevrier, courtesies of Asher Landseer."
I opened the package. Inside was the most beautiful silk chemise dress I'd ever seen. I held it up to get a better look, marveling at it. It was shorter than anything I usually wore, the skirt stopping at the middle of my thigh, but it was wonderful.
I pinched the soft, silk fabric between my fingers and gawked at the lovely pattern colored into it; a cloudy sky on the left side, going from collarbone to hip, with a rich, red rose blooming up towards the right breast, and a deep green field from the waist down. A lighthearted but fashionable piece of clothing, the sort of thing I could wear to a casual spring ball(if I were ever invited to one). Had he really just replaced my cheap blouse with an expensive dress? When I turned it around to look at the back, two pieces of paper slipped out of the sleeve and fell to the ground.
One was a receipt, with a price I thought couldn't possibly be right. It was a beautiful dress, but was it really that pricey?
