by Mia Madison
“Yes, just the washroom please.”
“End of the hall other side of the elevator,” she says. “Can I bring you coffee?”
“God, yes,” I almost pant. “I mean, that would be amazing, thank you.”
I'm tempted to play with myself in the washroom but the prospect of the Rachel lookalike waiting with coffee dissuades me. For some reason I'm dying to get off. It must be the intoxicating sense of power breathing through the walls around me.
I don't step out for lunch mostly because I'm terrified I won't make it back in. Or this will turn out to be a practical joke and the entire staff will leap out at me, cracking up at the idea that I could be sitting in an office like this, on what is obviously the executive floor.
Eventually, I watch the sun go down on the horizon. The lighting in my office gradually comes up in exact correlation with the disappearing daylight. I hear the sounds of people leaving to go home and decide I may as well do the same. I slip my shoes back on and stand to leave. Right as I do, a voice comes out of the walls. Not the sexy soft voice I've been hearing all day. But masculine raw and rasping.
“Come in, Carly.” Is all it says.
Chapter SIX
Carly
I have no idea where I'm supposed to come 'in' to, exactly. But the voice coming out of the walls sounded so authoritative that I didn't dare to ask questions. I'd figure it out. Even if I had to feel my way along these sliding glass panels inch by inch, like a burglar looking for an entry.
I step out into the hall and am drawn toward the end for some reason. Behind me is the noise of the staff piling into the elevator, no doubt heading off for happy hour together. I don't look back though – I'm sort of mesmerized by the voice still echoing in my head. A voice that was somehow familiar. Like one you've heard on a TV commercial and can't place exactly which famous movie star it belongs to.
At the end of the hall, the door slides open at my approach. So I was right in heading this way. And isn't it weird how the doors know to open? I mean it's not motion detected otherwise every door would have opened as I walked down the passage. It's like the building knows.
Creepy.
I step through the opening, nervous about meeting my boss at last. Bit I'm glad that someone's finally going to tell me what the hell I'm doing here and what's expected of me. Because all I did all day aside from look at the view, was work my hand up my thigh, desperate to stroke the pressure out of my folds.
The thought of rolling that high-end executive chair over to the window and sitting there with my legs spread open to the entire city was irresistible. I did it of course, and felt like the mistress of the world, looking down on the tiny creatures scurrying along the busy streets.
I needed to relieve the build up between my thighs and get off. I needed to release and feel the strain flow away down my legs, as a crest of pleasure rolled through me. Brought about by me, alone here in this crazy office. Maybe the walls have eyes and ears as well as vocal chords, but with my back square to them, what could they see? Not much.
So I hiked the detestable cheap skirt up my legs and parted my legs as wide as they would go in the chair. Immediately my clit began throbbing and pulsating, eager for attention. I threw a quick look back over my shoulder, in case that slinky assistant, or anyone else, appeared. But the room was empty as ever.
And even if someone did come in, my back was my shield. It would only be minor awkward. And the need coursing through me was too much. I wanted to get off so bad I could taste it in every cell. And there was a strange exhilaration to being up above the city, exposing my pussy where no one could see or had any idea.
I hooked my fingers under my panties and pulled them across to one side. The contact of cooler air on my heated swollen folds sent a jolt of lust through me. I need this. I wanted it. So much. It had been too long since anyone had touched me there and even that hadn't been remotely satisfactory.
Oh god, as soon as my fingers glided across my slit, a quiver of delight ran up me. A heat I couldn't contain. It was so naughty to be touching myself in this swanky office. I stroked up and down the length, avoiding the hard little point, making it wait. Teasing myself to build up the intense hunger to fever pitch. I could already feel the explosion starting to build. I knew my climax was going to be massive. And it was going to be soon.
“Oh, Smith,” I moaned as I traced circles in my soaking pussy mouth.
Geez. Where did that come from? His name emerged from my lips without my permission. A man I hadn't set eyes on for years.
After the shock and the twinge of shame, that I was still unconsciously harboring fantasies for my mother's ex, the gusting winds of filthy need intensified even more. With Smith fixed in my mind, my juices really began pouring from my entrance, all over my fingers and down my thighs.
“Yes, fuck me,” I murmured, as I pushed one finger inside my tight, untouched channel.
A poor substitute for the cock I already knew was massive. I certainly never forgot the sight of Smith's huge erection prodding straight up in his loose gym shorts.
“Oh god, yes, fuck me harder.”
I rubbed my hard little point faster, needing to be taken by a man's rough touch. Wishing I was being filled and stretched to my limit. I wanted to tear at my own clothes, pull my breasts out of their cups and imagine Smith, my stepfather, tugging on the agonized points.
It was insane, but it was so good. If I couldn't have the man himself, then the wild imaginings of his heavy hands all over my tender points were doing the trick. Breaths were coming in short panting bursts as my orgasm pooled and pressed tingles through my core.
“Yes,” I whimpered to the city at my feet. “Yes, more, harder.”
So close, I strummed my clit and tried to hook into my g-spot at the same time. I was so close. About to go over the edge. When the sudden flash of an object before me and the violent rumblings of noise outside the window threw me out of my pleasure. I yanked my hand out of my pussy and slammed my legs together, the violent color rushing to my cheeks.
My eyes stretched round as the helicopter rose directly up before me, as though it was climbing up the side of the building rather than flying on a horizontal plane. And the black windscreen was facing directly at me like yet another glassy set of spying eyes.
“What the fuck was that?”
I scooted my expensive chair back to my desk and smoothed down my skirt.
Holy shit. Had the pilot seen me? Sitting on the edge of my seat with my pussy stretched wide open, my fingers buried inside me, framed by the huge window. Like some hooker for sale in those store windows in Amsterdam.
I sat rigid in my chair until my fear began to uncoil. No harm done. He probably didn't see a thing. He'd be too busy concentrating on that cray flight maneuver – who did he think he was, Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible?
A very short while after, the voice summoning me came across the – whatever mechanism – certainly not an intercom. I smooth myself down and head in to greet my boss.
The door slides shut but the desk, even bigger than my own, sits in the center of an office that spans the entire side of the building and is just as devoid of furnishings. It's also empty.
I turn around to leave, thinking I must be in the wrong place after all and my knees just about buckle up under me.
“Smith,” I squeak, my voice sounding like a little girl's.
“Hello, Carly,” Smith says, leaning with his back against the glass beside the door panel.
His husky voice saying my name makes a prickle of goosebumps rise along my arms and a shiver fly down my spine. His huge arms are crossed over a chest even more solid than my memory still frequently recalls. One leg is casually thrown over the other, the thick thighs pressing at the classy wool of his pants. And below the black belt, an unmissable and delectable bulge pressing at the seam.
Oh god, help me.
Chapter SEVEN
Smith
“Smith.” She mewls my name in a tiny voice as
her eyes bat to the door.
It clicks to locked without my lifting a finger and her gaze stretches wider. With a hint of fear. It isn't my intention to frighten her at all, although I can't help but savor the tremor of vulnerability in her as she snaps back to search my face. And I have to smile, now that I finally get a proper view of her. A perfect eyefuck over her entire body.
Man, what a body, what a set of curves she's grown. I could stand here and drink her up all day.
“What are you doing here, Smith?” she whispers.
I note how her eyes trail down over my flexed abs, the ridges more pronounced, with the way I'm leaning concave against the wall. She takes in the bulge of my bastard wood, hammering in my pants to be let loose. Then she realizes how she's virtually licking her lips with hunger and her eyes fly back to my face. But not before a ravishing shade of pink colors her pretty cheeks. A shade she's soon going to be wearing on her other, even prettier cheeks, before she leaves my office for the day.
“Do you work here?” she whimpers. Her legs are shaking and I could invite her to sit down at my desk. Or on top of it. But I don't. Not yet.
Why?
Because I'm a bastard and I want to observe her falling into the pit of ravenous lust for me. The same that I've had to suffer for years. I want to see her losing her mind as she fights the desire for me to tear her clothes off her body and suck her perky full tits into my mouth. I need to know that she's tormented by the same raging need to be pressed against my body as I am for hers.
I'm standing here as casual as fuck, like I'm waiting for the parade to pass by or some shit. My arms crossed, one leg bent. It's all a fucking facade. I'm as tension-riddled as a tiger about to pounce. I want to leap at her like a fucking beast. I want to push her back three steps so she's shoved into my desk and has nowhere to go but clamber up onto it with the force of me.
My bulk will press her knees apart and spread her thighs so her pussy is open wide. Like a brute I'll pull her panties to one side and thrust three fingers all the way inside her slickness. I can't be gentle. I can't be tender. I am so burning hot for her I want to ravage her and destroy her pussy until she's screaming out my name.
What am I doing here?
“I'm waiting for you, Princess.”
“But how did you know I'd be here? That I'm working here? This is my first day.”
So fucking innocent.
“How do you think I know? I own this corporation. I own this building. This is my office. You work for me.”
And now I own you.
I take a step toward her and she automatically takes a matching step backward. Away from me.
So that's how it's gonna be. She wants to play cat and mouse chase me, chase me.
We can do that but it's only going to make the final submission rougher than she can even conceive of. She has no idea how hard I'm gonna fuck her when I finally claim her as mine.
I take another step toward Carly and again she backs up.
One more, sweetheart. One more step and you'll be mine.
I hold for a moment, again relishing her trepidation. Her face may read fear, but her nipples are prodding hard through her nasty cheap blouse like a pair of bullets on ice. How is a daughter of mine wearing such a shoddy outfit? I can't wait to dress her up like my little princess. Like she deserves to be adorned. In beautiful fabrics and lush furs. I may keep her in my house wrapped up in winter like a bauble, wearing nothing but fur enveloping her bare skin.
The image of that sends my cock blasting for the moon. The bastard is so hard, it's agony. Nothing but the soft wet caress of Carly's tight pussy will relieve the torture.
I'm so close to her now, I could reach out and touch her. I could squeeze that perfect mound of flesh in my fist and then tug out her protruding nipple, making her gasp. I need to hear her sharp intake of breath as I pinch her. I need that raspy inhale against my neck as I push inside her tight hole. And I can tell she wants that too.
Her eyes may be doe-scared but her breath is coming in little pants that match her heightened color and hard little buds.
“Smith,” she mewls. “Daddy.”
When she says that name I fall on her. Slamming into her and pulling her to me so her tits crush up against my chest.
“I'm not your father,” I say, surprising even myself at the feral tone of my voice. “Why do you call me that?”
She looks up at me with those huge wide eyes, her breath on my lower lip driving me insane. I have her body clasped in my grip and it takes every last iota of willpower not to rip her clothes to shreds and spread her out naked on my desk.
I drag her harder against my solid chest so her sumptuous tits go up and down against my burning muscle, making me even more crazed.
“Why?” I demand.
“I don't know,” she mewls.
“I saw you,” I tell her and that draws a gasp.
“Let me go, Smith,” she whimpers, with zero conviction.
I ignore her. My hand slides over her hip and my fingers hook into the fabric, edging the skirt up her legs.
“I saw you touching yourself in front of the window. I saw you watching me when I lived at your mother's house. Tell me you weren't thinking of exactly this back then. Tell me and convince me it's true and I'll let you go.”
“I -”
She's panting so hard shes close to hyperventilating. My fingers at her hip finally connect with bare skin and we both hitch with the shock of the intimate touch.
“Oh god,” she moans.
Clasping her hip in my huge hand, my thumb slides under her panties and finds her swollen little point.
“You're fucking soaking wet,” I growl at her.
The need to ravage her is now bestial. I'm a fucking wild man here, barely contained.
“I -,” she whispers again. Unable to offer up an excuse.
“You what? Tell me and convince me you aren't dripping with lust for my cock.”
“It's wrong,” she whispers. “It's so wrong.”
Then she reaches up to my cheeks and tilts my face down to tug me onto her mouth.
I'm not a kisser. I don't like that much connection and intimacy, but with Carly it's different. Her mouth is sweet and so responsive to me. While at the same time she's also fighting back against the dominance of my lips on her.
I strum my thumb pad over her clit until she starts to tremble and moan on my mouth. The sensation is rather delightful coming from Carly. Then I shove two fingers inside her hole and she comes undone.
Chapter EIGHT
Carly
My hands fly up over the swell of Smith's taut biceps to grip his shoulders. My nails claw into that hard shelf of muscle as he corkscrews a finger into my tight tunnel. The shock of him invading me makes me break away from his mouth to throw back my head and cry out. He isn't gentle at all. Smith pounds into my pussy like a beast. Taking what he wants from me but also giving me exactly what I need.
“Relax, Baby,” Smith gruffs, as I tense up on his hand.
But I cannot obey him. A voice in my head is telling me this is wrong – it can only be one voice. The same one that only ever told me what I was doing wrong. But my mother's right in this instance. Smith was her husband, my step-father and he's almost twice my age.
Add to that he is apparently now my boss and this is a forbidden fantasy I'm not allowed to enjoy. But oh my god, the way he holds me still against the desk while his fingers thrust into my tunnel so expertly. He rocks over a spot that makes me unravel with starry explosions behind my eyes, accompanied by my knees going out from under me. I'd be an absolute heap on the floor at Smith's feet if he weren't holding me up, impaled on his hand and his thick thigh pinning me immobile.
His hand travels up over my stomach to cup one of my full breasts in his hard grasp. He squeezes and twists until I cry out again. All my senses are on overload from the jabbing at that electric spasm spot inside me and the mashing of the desire building in my breast. Smith knows exactly where to touch m
e, exactly what speed and pressure to go at and I feel like I'm losing my mind.
He has me staked to the desk, half naked, while he has not even a button undone, not a hair out of place. I'm almost deranged with the need to explode, while he maintains complete control. Even the steel bulge burning through his Italian wool pants into my thigh isn't making him as crazed as I am.
“We can't do this,” I squeak, my voice a pathetic half moan that wouldn't convince anyone I was serious.
Smith immediately stops jabbing his fingers inside me and his eyes find mine, diving as deep as though he's looking for pearls. He wants answers. But I want him. I want him but I can't have him.
“It's so wrong.”
“Why's that, Baby?” he demands.
“Oh god,” I moan, my forehead tipping to rest on his solid shoulder blade.
I can't think straight with him still buried inside my pussy. He's twirling very slow circles with his fingers, keeping me on edge, making me need him. I have to be firm. I have to maintain focus. I've dreamt of exactly this so many times but that doesn't make it any less forbidden.
Except I need him to make me come. I need to release. I'm sitting on the edge of detonation and it's making my toes curl with agony of need.
Smith's breath is hitching. Hot on my cheek and his hand comes back up to my breast and cups the full load of flesh in his broad palm. I swallow hard. I have to tell him to stop. I'll tell him in a second. One more second. My clit is swollen solid and ready to burst with the need to climax.
I'm sure Smith knows this. He can surely sense every emotion I'm battling through, feel it coursing through me under his fingers. Those firm pads go to my nipple and pull it out, stretching it to the limit as he pinches down on the painful need trapped there.
“I know you want me as much as I want you,” he grits out as he slowly pulses in and out of my pussy.
He swirls circles around the entrance with two fingers as he pinches my bulging clit in a finger and his thumb.
