The first workday doesn’t end with the balance sheet—it ends with me on my knees before her desk, my cock hard and urgent in my pants, while her heels click on the parquet in a rhythm that shudders through my spine and shoots straight into my glans. She had called me in, supposedly to go over the numbers. But her voice sounded different: deeper, more demanding, like velvet sliding over granite. I, the newbie, the junior, the one who has to prove himself—but this? I hadn’t planned for this. My pulse hammered in my temples, and I felt my cock pressing against the zipper, a painful craving that nearly drove me insane.
The Invitation
“Come here,” she said, without looking up. Her finger tapped on the stack of papers like a metronome, and each beat echoed in my head. I went, standing before her desk, my hands buried in my pockets to hide the trembling—but also to conceal my stiff cock, which strained against the fabric. She wore a black suit, her blouse unbuttoned to the third button, a thin silver pendant between her breasts that glinted in the ceiling light and drew my gaze to her firm tits. “You’re trembling,” she stated, and my pulse shot off like a wild animal. “Don’t worry. I like nervous men.” She leaned back, the leather of her chair creaking softly like a cat, and her eyes slid over my body as if she were already undressing me. “Take off your shirt.”
I hesitated. One second. Her look turned hard, ice-cold, and I felt my cock grow even harder. “Now.” So I unbuttoned, let the shirt fall to the floor. The air-conditioned air enveloped my bare skin, but my face burned, and my nipples hardened under her fixed stare. She stood up, came around the desk; her nails grazed over my chest, leaving goosebumps that spread across my skin like fire. “Good. You learn fast.” Her breath brushed warm over my shoulder, then she stepped back, and I could smell the scent of her perfume, mixed with the sweet smell of her wet cunt, which floated through the room. “I can smell you,” she whispered, and her hand grabbed between my legs, pressed against my stiff cock. “You’re already ready. But we still have time.”
The Pact
She led me to a chair in the corner, pointed to the seat. I sat down, my knees trembling, my cock throbbing against the fabric of my pants. From the drawer she pulled out a thin leather whip—more toy than tool, with fringe that fluttered like wings. “We’re making this official,” she said, standing before me. “I tell you what to do. You do it. No resistance, no questions. If you stop, the game is over. But I want you to keep going, even when it’s hard. Understood?”
I nodded, my mouth dry as sandpaper, and I felt a bead of sweat run down my spine. She smiled—a cool, calculating smile that sent a shiver down my back. “Say it.” “Yes, I understand.” Her hand grabbed into my hair, grasped a strand, pulled my head back until my neck strained and I could almost taste her moist lips. “Yes, what?” “Yes… Boss.” She let me go, stroked my head almost gently, but her fingers left a burning sensation on my scalp. “Good. Then let’s begin. Take off your pants.”
I obeyed, opened my belt with trembling fingers, let my pants fall. My cock sprang out, hard and moist, the glans red and glistening under the ceiling light. She looked at it without changing her expression, but I could see her tongue briefly flick over her lips. “Sit on the chair. Hands on the armrests.” I did it, and she stepped closer, let the whip glide over my thighs, the fringe tickling my skin. “You will sit still now. No movement. Understood?” I nodded, and she struck.
The first blow hit my thigh, a sharp burning that spread like a web. I flinched, but she immediately placed her hand on the spot, massaged it gently, in circles. “Breathe,” she commanded. I did, and the pain transformed into a deep warmth that radiated into my cock, making it even harder. She struck again, on my stomach, then on my nipple, each time precise, exactly measured. Her hand followed every blow, soothing, possessive, extinguishing the burning with her coolness. My cock twitched with each hit, and I could see a drop of pre-cum bead from my glans and slowly run down the shaft.
The Negotiation
She dropped the whip and knelt before me, the skirt stretching over her thighs. “You held yourself well. Now you will pleasure me with your mouth,” she said matter-of-factly, as if we were discussing quarterly figures. “But not just like that. You will wait until I tell you. You will follow my instructions. And you will not come—not yet.” She opened her blouse, let it slide from her shoulders, and her breasts fell out—firm, tight, with dark nipples that were hard and aroused. “Lick them,” she commanded, and I leaned forward.
My tongue met her nipple, and she let out a soft moan. The taste of her skin was sweet, slightly salty, and I sucked on it while she pressed her hand into my hair. “Yes… that’s good. But not too fast.” I switched to the other breast, licked it, bit gently into the hard tip, and she drew in a sharp breath. “You learn fast. But now come down here.” She stood up, pulled me from my chair, and I followed her like a dog. She sat in her armchair, crossed her legs, and her skirt rode up, revealing the fine lace of her stockings, a narrow strip of bare skin. Her panties were sheer, almost transparent, and I could see the dark shadow of her wet cunt beneath. “Kneel down,” she said, and I obeyed, my face directly before her lap.
“You will lick me now,” she said, and her voice was rough with desire. “But slowly. Enjoy it. I want to feel your tongue.” I leaned forward, my mouth met the fabric of her panties, and I felt her warmth, her moisture, seeping through the thin material. I licked her through the panties, tasted the slight salty flavor, her perfume mixing with her scent. She breathed deeply, but her voice remained calm. “Continue. Don’t stop.” I pushed the panties aside, and her cunt opened before me—the lips wet and swollen, the clit hard and aroused, the skin glistening with lust. I plunged my tongue in, tasting her sweet, musky juice, while she gasped softly and pressed my head deeper into her wet cunt.
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