The scent of wet leather drifts to my nostrils as I clamp my teeth around his belt and wail, the searing heat from the stripe of wax on my exposed breast racing to every nerve ending that matters. I choke back the safe word behind the unforgiving loop that stretches around my head from the corners of my mouth. I’m a big girl, and asked for this; begged, even. I want to please him. Show him how much I trust his judgement to test my limits. How much better I am than his doting wife who’s definitely not on her knees wearing just panties in the office a few doors down the hall.

Momentarily embarrassed for drooling, I slurp, head lolling, cinnamon hair dusting my bare shoulders while the belt’s clasp bites into the back of my skull. The breast splashed and peppered in drying red wax fades in and out of focus. There’s no denying it’s pretty. Each dot reflects the desk lamplight; matt, unlike the twinkling tips of the bar piercing through the erect nipple that he’s avoided.

So far.

As if my vision belongs to someone else, my gaze drifts to the other breast, dappled where he’d dripped and rubbed ice from the bucket on his walnut desk. My senses struggle to comprehend such contrast. Hot breast, cold breast, and the collision between that permeates my delicate skin.

When he pulls back from my proximity, I look up, our eyes connecting. I plead, flashing him the look. Everything I hate to become – needy and desperate – yet crave when he’s near.

He smiles, a glimpse of neat teeth. “Not yet.”

I groan through the leather strip and eye his cock ahead of me, twitching below the point of his necktie at the control he exhibits. I’ll admit his power is a large part of the draw. But I also know that when he calls to tell me to wear the stockings, heels and not much else to a meeting, that I wield all the power.

My mind jolts to the last time we were together. Me, stood on the desk, while he sat behind it in the plush leather chair, my fingers buried in my snatch for his hungry stare. Wetness drizzling to splash on the desk’s baize inset as I panted above him. I loved the way he just sat there, again in his shirt and tie, stiff cock gripped, stroking to my lewd display. And I loved the way he groaned against my slippery pussy when I stepped from desk to chair, straddling his upturned face.

I’d gripped the back of his head and held him to my centre as I shook and cursed and gushed over his stubble. Surprised the maid hadn’t said anything about the wet stains on his shirt. Maybe she knows. Or maybe he’s doing her too? Wouldn’t surprise me. That cliché pinafore costume shows a little too much leg and bust to be purely functional. Plus, he’s magnetic. Unpredictable. Alluring and dangerous.

Pain catches me by surprise, zipping from my breast to inflame my pussy, drooling juice into my tanga panties. Pastel blue at his request, so I can easily gauge your readiness, he’d said. My drawn-out moan bounces off the stripy wallpaper of the soundproofed office. The seclusion has saved me a few times. Like when he clipped on a studded collar and made me kneel in his office chair as he lashed my bare behind with the very belt currently in my mouth. Each crack on increasingly pinker flesh was followed by a howl, then a beg for more after the heat dissipated.

As my head dips once more to manage the sting, the thick carpet on which I kneel deadens my laboured breathing. The swirling floral pattern of reds, blacks, blues and creams has disguised a multitude of sins and fluids we’ve spilled in the pursuit of whatever this is. Lust. Need. Power. Control. I know he’ll never leave her, even though I’m better in every way. Younger. Fitter. Certainly dirtier. Yet I still do it. Still crave his command, despite no prospect of happily ever after.

Stupid? Maybe. But I can’t escape his gravity. He’s the antithesis to my stressful and structured profession. An outlet. Everything with him is about now. About the moment. About every crushing, devastating orgasm he rips from my battered body as I surrender. The validation and celebration of just being. I want the marks. Need to feel like I’ve been thoroughly fucked for days after. I want my hair yanked, my cunt spanked, bites and nibbles and perfect aches to be replayed whenever I move or sit or comb my tresses.

After placing the candle back in the holder on the desk, the rattle of stirring ice disturbs the quiet office. He brings half a cube to my lips. Presses it into the gap between the leather and my teeth, the intense cold making me gasp. He points to my other breast and I angle my head so rivulets of the melting cube drizzle to snake from my collarbone down the gentle slope.

More rattling. The clink of ice against his teeth this time. He trails a warm fingertip over my hair to sweep a lock behind my ear. Continues to trace along my jaw, down to hot breast. Takes his time dot-to-dotting the wax then brushes my nipple with the faintest touch.

Grabbing its silver bar, he pinches and pulls, stretching the flesh and loosening some of the dried wax. I gasp before emitting a sharp yelp when he lets go and immediately slaps my breast, sending the wax tumbling to the carpet. Mere echoes of its existence remain as haphazard red tracks on my skin that he follows with his fingertip, then cups me. Squeezes. Strokes. Soothes. Almost apologising for the outburst.

God it’s exciting.

He sinks to his knees in front of me. Glides his fingers back up to my hair, then around the back of my head to bunch it in his grip. Tugs down. I jerk to meet his intense gaze, those caramel irises hiding all manner of dark thoughts I can only hope he unleashes on me.

With my neck exposed, tits skyward, I know I’m to become an offering. A prize for the taking.

I drip.

He yanks harder, arcing my back until my mane brushes my calves. Freezing kisses skim from my lower lip down over my chin, nip my neck, then hover over cold breast, his icy breath condensing on my skin.

I shiver.

Anticipation is everything with Nathan, starkly different from the pace of his life. Beyond these walls he makes snap decisions; within them, there’s an unhurried grace. A fluidity. Like he knows the perfect pause to heighten my need. That delirious delay.

I shut my eyes.

Expecting his lips enclosing my peak I’m surprised as only his breath remains detectable; measured, yet faster than a minute earlier. Snapping my eyes open I catch the reason for the pause a fraction too late. He’s retrieved the candle, poised over hot breast, and tips at exactly the same moment he wraps his lips around the nipple of its sister and lashes his icy tongue against me.

There’s nothing I can do but shudder, held taut between his grip and the physical limits of my skeleton. My body screams to make sense of the conflict and I vocalise on its behalf. A guttural groan rolls through my throat as the wax and ice brand my skin, culminating in a single word:

“Fuck.”

Except it comes out as Hhhhuck because of his belt.

Barbs of pain flash through me and I can’t tell the difference between the intense heat and the cold tendrils that traverse the sensitive capillaries of my nipples, swirling their way to sting my pussy like startled jellyfish. Incredible warmth floods my groin and it takes a moment to realise it’s not just heat but wetness too. I moan when he bites the nipple; grips the tiny bar and tugs, amplifying the need that oozes from my slit to stain my underwear.

I know he adores when my panties are transparent. When my arousal coats the gusset. When he eyes me and can no longer hold back. There’s usually a sublime moment where his manner darkens, like I’ve infected him somehow, and he snaps. Pulls. Hauls me into position by whatever he can grab, sweeps stationery from his desk, shoves me onto it and buries his face in my underwear.

Fuck, to be eaten that way as I cry out and come and come after all the torment is pure heaven; listening to the filthy squelching of him sucking my juices from the fabric as I deliver a fresh supply from within. Sharing me while I convulse and quake in his animalistic grip on my thighs, until I’m a soaked, gasping mess. I can only hope that’s in my near future. But with him, well, anything’s possible.

He lets go, hands and mouth gone, leaving my body a tangle of want, but I don’t move. Remain arched for him like a good girl, knees spread on the carpet, head tipped back, trembling with lust. Unsupported and unrestrained, I let my hands drop to the floor, wrapping fingers around my ankles, clutching, pulling down as far as I can to exhibit further. Yoga has its benefits.

The locked double doors that appear upside down in my predicament lead to the corridor. They blur and sharpen as I hold myself open. Ice rattles once more and I stiffen as his firm hand cups cold breast. Colder now there’s a melting cube in his palm. He rolls and pinches the flesh, tweaking and pulling. All I can do is gasp and slobber through the belt, saliva dripping back over my cheeks to the carpet between my feet.

Then nothing.

The weight of silence in the opulent office masks employees scurrying along the corridor, and Laney in her sensible skirt, blouse and flats clattering the keyboard beyond the adjoining door to my left. It leaves only me presented at the centre of this cocoon. His lair in which I’m willingly trapped. God, what would my colleagues think if they could see me this way?

His voice cuts the quiet, baritone and edgy. “Do you want to come?”

“Aha.”

He runs his cold thumb up to my cheek and scoops a stream of drool. “Would you like to tell me how much?”

I nod.

His hand slips behind my head. So does the other and he cinches the belt a fraction until the pin disengages. After tenderly freeing the leather indented with my teeth marks, I flex my jaw, head still tipped back. The buckle clinks.

“Well, Tess? Would you like to come?”

“Yes!” I hiss. “God yes.”

The smile in his voice is undisguised. “Is that all you have for me? All that hard work for a mere yes?” His voice steels. “Maybe this will improve your focus.”

I barely have time to tense before the belt cracks and the fire in my cunt ignites. I scream. An honest-to-goodness, piercing scream and I know the tip of the belt is going to leave an imprint on my pussy lips. The sting is insane, even through the soaked material. It eddies, heat spreading and as it races north to stiffen the peaks of my chest, I spit, “Fuck.”

Nathan’s palm slithers over my panties to soothe and pat the strike point, and it reminds me of just how drenched I am. He lays his finger along the crease for an extended moment then paints a wet line all the way up to my chin. “I’ll ask again. Would you like to come?”

Having his fingertip so close to my throat thrills me. I shiver. “Fuck, yes, Sir. Please let me come. I ache for you.”

He draws a line, side to side across my neck. “That’s better.” My spirits soar at the prospect. “But no.”

Deflated, I try not to let it show. Although he’s been inching me towards release for fuck knows how long, I’m well aware he can stretch it out for as long as he pleases. He’s blocked his diary for our “meeting” and told Laney to hold all calls. And if I crack before he gives me permission there’s no telling what he’ll do. Probably leave me hanging. And I can’t take that. Not with the state I’m in. Acquiescence is the fastest route to release. “Thank you.”

The tip of his finger walks my jaw again. Up to my mouth where he dips it in and I suck hungrily before he draws a wet arc from shoulder to shoulder via my collarbone.

“Once more, my beautiful little slut.” He rakes the belt across my wet panties and pats the leather tip to my clit a few times. Pauses, then punctuates each of the next five words with a fierce snap of the belt to my sodden underwear. “Would… You… Like… To…” I barely hear the word Come over my wailing.

Fuuuck.

Such heat, such pleasure racks my jolting frame with each strike. I almost draw blood from my lip to prevent the orgasm ripping through me, clapping my knees together and squirming as the final lash bites. The belt remains captured between my clamped thighs as I rock my hips, gasping.

“Please… fuck. Ohhhhh, so close… Pleeease let me come, Sir. PLEASE!” I stifle a sob as a tremor seizes hold and I fear my body is going to betray me. My resolve hangs by a single thread, with Nathan the puppet master. And he knows it.

The belt is tugged free of my legs and clanks when it lands on the carpet. A pair of hands grip my tits hard. Massage. Pinch as I writhe my exposed frame under him, on the cusp of madness. His hold splits, one hand riding the hourglass and taut belly to dive beneath the elastic of my panties into my sopping cunt, the other curling up to clutch my neck.

I take a hurried breath just in time before his chokehold prevents it. Two – maybe three – fingers split my bare folds and hook inside as he barks, “Come, Little Kaninchen. Come for me.”

Already balanced on the precipice, my body stiffens as self-control collapses, every stifled breath a luxury that effervesces from throat to where his digits relentlessly invade. I try to wail but all I can emit is strangled white noise as rigidity gives way to incredible all-body pulses. I buck in his grip, and would have folded in two with each contraction had he not been holding me so firmly, my buttery walls spasming and snapping around his embedded fingers to a pounding beat.

As his thumb makes direct contact with my clit and presses, clasping me between that and his fingers inside, I lose sense of the office space. I’m floating yet heavy, bathed in light yet shrouded in darkness while objects disintegrate and reform in my failing vision. Pure energy courses my punished skin, whirling and turbulent, burrowing deep, throbbing.

The realisation that I’m squirting into my underwear, soaking his wrist and breaching my wrecked panties to drip and puddle on the carpet doesn’t register until he releases my throat and I gasp much-needed oxygen. Release is incredible and I bask in the intensity as I let my body have its moment, free of thought and worry.

I’m vaguely aware of his fingers leaving my slit. Wet sounds that could be him hungrily lapping my juices from his hand filter through my foggy subconscious. I’m locked still, like a human deck chair, arms rigid behind me, gripping my ankles, thighs tightly together as the tsunami rages between them. It pummels my core, inner heat and outer coolness in the room meeting at the saturated fabric barrier.

I don’t know how long he leaves me that way, watching me unravel, but it’s long enough that my arms begin to ache. Stirring, I ease upright and open my eyes to find him standing alongside me. He strokes my cheek and I turn instinctively into his touch. His cock is stiff. Raging. Glistening pre-come beads at the exposed tip.

Extending my tongue, I lap to catch it, a translucent string bridging the gap as I draw away and bring the sweet droplet into my mouth. Gazing up at him, he watches me swallow. Recognises what it does to me, that fire recently quelled by my orgasm reignited.

He smiles. “Still hungry, Little Kaninchen?” I nod and he tucks my hair behind the other ear. “So pretty.” His fingertip rounds my jaw to rest under my chin. “How do you want it?”

Drifting my hands to my lap, shuddering as I brush the sensitive clit nestled in my underwear, I reply simply: “My way.”

He nods and I shuffle to face him fully, mouth an inch from his magnificent prick. I chew my lip then ease towards him, opening to accept his girth. Rolling my tongue around the head, I savour his pre-come but don’t stop moving down his shaft. I’ve been practicing with a toy at home. Sucking it deep, training myself to beat the natural gag reflex. To be the best.

His cock disappears. The slick, frankly dirty sound of it nudging then entering my throat makes him swell. I draw back, lips closed tightly to pop from the flared end and kiss it. “How’s that?”

“Exceptional.”

Reaching to my side I retrieve his belt. Hold the buckle and flick the tip around his bottom, grabbing the other end so he’s trapped in a leather sling. The shirt tails split either side of his solid, wet meat and I pull the belt ends until he rests against my mouth. Open. Glide, tugging him forward so he arches a little from his spot rooted to the floor by my knees. He enters me gradually. Fills me. Slithers along my tongue to be deflected downward by the back of my skull. Takes my air, my eyes widening as I perform for him. The obedient little slut.

Bet his wife doesn’t deep throat him like I do.

Bet his maid isn’t as dirty, despite her fucking flawless skin and pigtails that I’m sure he’s used many times to drag her onto this very cock.

I choke and smoothly recede, his glistening manhood revealed inch by inch until those saliva and pre-come strings stretch and loop like diaphanous elastic. I slurp them up before easing him back into my mouth, pulling the belt towards me.

The languid pace of the blowjob is almost payback for his earlier torment. Each time I sink to engulf his glorious dick, the struggle in his eyes electrifies me. I want to keep him there, teetering, like he did me. Suck him in, jam him in my throat so he feels every filthy contraction as I gag, hold, hold, hold and then slither free.

Over and over, sloppy, almost alien noises spill from my throat as I take him at a maddeningly slow pace. It makes me drip at behaving this way for him. I’m going to have to cut my panties off when I get home: they’re glued to me.

On the next upstroke I bare my teeth a fraction and draw them up his steely erection. Nathan sucks in air through his teeth. “Please.”

I pull away. Smile up at him. “Would you like to come?” He reaches down to stroke my face. My arousal is strong on his fingers, heart kicking up a notch when he traces my wet lips and feeds strands of saliva and sweet pre-come to me, laced with my own tangy juices. Hunger spikes and I stoop to kiss his shaft, nibbling all the way down one edge to lick and suck the heavy balls at its base.

His sac is smooth. Totally bare. I wrap my mouth around the orbs. Suck. Pop them out wetly and slather my tongue over the crinkled skin. He purses his lips and exhales when I delve further and lap up between his cheeks, catching his dark knot. “Fuuck.”

He twitches, a thicker string of pre-come oozing from his wet cock head and dangling. Before it can hit the carpet I trail my tongue up his shaft and capture it, sucking greedily all the way to the source. I kiss the bulbous end, sitting back on my heels.

“Would you like to come?”

His nod is sharp. Decisive. Letting go of the belt to land at his feet, I shuffle forward so I’m directly below his bobbing cock and open my mouth, poking my tongue out. A clear invitation. The breath beneath his straining manhood makes him moan. I trail fingertips up his legs, the hair soft and tickly, in direct contrast to the skin of his balls that tighten further when I reach them. Without a pause, I continue, one fingernail of each hand scratching up the sides of his jumping pole.

When I reach the ridge, I stop. Reposition my fingertips at the very base of him and scratch up again, administering the faintest touches from clear-lacquered nails interspersed with the occasional brush of my finger pads. Gentle strokes. Tiny flutters to keep him on edge. My breath hitches against the knot beneath the ridge where his foreskin was once joined, coaxing him to cover me in his sticky load.

One flick of my tongue to that magic spot is all it takes to tip him over. The groan starts low in his throat, body tensing. From my position beneath him, the pulsing of the tube along the underside of his shaft is delicious: a prelude to the first drizzle of thick cream that pools on my tongue.

Nathan curses. Groans and locks eyes with me as the second spurt rockets up his shaft. This one has force behind it, lashing to stripe my cheek. So does the third, ending a fraction before my eye, each pulse painting my face and tongue with streaks of hot spunk. I resume stroking my fingernails up his length, faster now, in sync with each jet, adoring the way his breath bursts from him and cock flexes, jerking up with each contraction.

As the last surge deposits its contents on my tongue, I enclose his hardness in my fist and stroke him, squeezing and milking every delicious drop I can. My mouth envelops his heat and I suck, smearing his cock with my salty prize, giving him a lewd show of finishing him off as he gradually withers in my grip and I swallow.

He steps back and leans against the desk, breathing hard. “Fuck, you’re something else.”

I run a fingertip over each cheek, scooping the remnants of his come into my mouth, throat rippling, eyes shining with each mouthful. Standing, I step to him, grabbing his necktie to tug his lips to mine to share a dirty kiss. My possession. At least for this moment.

When the embrace draws to a close I step back, eyeing him, as he does me. Breaking the hold he has over me, I pace across to the chair by the faux fire surround. Pick up my bra and put it on, facing him as I adjust the straps then reach for my blouse, buttoning it over the top. Scooping hair from beneath I swipe up my navy skirt and step in, tugging up and zipping it closed at the back. The heels add two inches to make me the same height as him.

My pussy stings as I make myself presentable, a constant, throbbing reminder of the need that’s been sated. For now. It will continue long into the night. Probably well into tomorrow, and while I sit in the office crossing and uncrossing my legs as meetings drone, I’ll inevitably get wet. Squirm in the seat, praying the client or my colleagues can’t smell my drifting arousal.

I’ll try and focus, like a good girl. Professional. Until I’m overwhelmed by the dark thoughts. The craving. Until I have to excuse myself. Hustle to the restroom. Lock myself in a stall. Hike my skirt and tend to the crushing ache. One hand jammed in my panties circling my ravenous clit, knuckles of the other between my teeth to keep the noise down as I replay today and imagine what he’ll do next time. Bent over his desk, the belt leather repeatedly biting my striped behind. Or wrapped tight around my throat; an impromptu choker that he yanks to haul me upright against him, endlessly fucking my need away.

God…

Nathan extinguishes the candle, grey smoke curling into the air as he picks up the belt, returns to his side of the desk and pulls on his boxers. I watch him redress. It’s part of our thing: reverse voyeurism. He zips up and rethreads the belt, reaching for the buckle when I call across the room: “You missed a loop.”

He checks, nods his appreciation and feeds the end through, then buckles it shut.

We stand, silence trapped between us in the heady miasma of sex before I grab my bag, head for the double door and unlock it.

“Tess?”

I turn, hand on the doorknob. Say nothing.

“Leave your panties here.”

Eyeing him across the room, my heart thumps. This is new. Exciting. I release the handle, tug up my skirt and peel the ruined garment to the floor. Stride to his desk, opening them out and spread them, gusset up on the baize. There’s more dark material than dry, punctuated by silvery peaks of frothy come. Fuck, they’re a mess.

He leans forward, his eyes on mine the whole time until they drift shut when his nose makes contact with the central strip of material. He breathes in deeply. Runs his tongue over them and sits back, swinging in his plush armchair.

“I was going to tell you earlier, but,” he flicks his gaze from me, “I have a new toy.”

My heart sinks and tears unexpectedly prick the corners of my eyes, crushed that my panties are to be his souvenir. That our relationship is going to return to being purely platonic. Business handshakes and perfunctory lunches. That I’m being replaced with a newer model, after all we’ve been through. It’s probably that tight fucking maid with her D in art. Anger and confusion flashes, as I frantically scramble for clues of what I’d done wrong. How I’d managed to displease him with my act. What the fuck he thinks he’s doing discarding me like that.

I open my mouth to give him an earful when he reaches for the drawer of his desk and retrieves a medieval-looking flogger, placing it alongside my panties. Fronds of leather protrude from its handle and I blink back my insecurity, heart rate soaring at the prospect of how it will feel marking my skin. The flashes of delicious pain eddying through my pussy as he wields it.

Nathan raises an eyebrow. “I think my attorney ought to become better acquainted with this at our meeting on Thursday. Just those heels, nothing else under your coat.”

I can’t tell whether it’s nervousness or excitement that flutters through my belly. Maybe both. I colour at the tumbling thoughts all the same.

“Yes, Senator.”

I stride back across the room without looking back, invigorated, repurposed, intently aware of juices clinging to my inner thighs as I close the door and pace down the long corridor. Past the office where his wife sits at her laptop. Nodding courteously as I breeze beyond the security guard at the door and out into the cool early evening air that only amplifies the effect of the wetness between my legs.

Standing at the top of the wide steps leading to the sidewalk, I pause and gaze across the downtown skyline, its lights beginning to switch on. I breathe in. Out. Smile at my good fortune to be Tess Underwood, attorney and slut to the most powerful man in the city.

Yes, today was a good day. Tomorrow promises to be its equal as I bask in its after effects. And Thursday, well, that can’t come soon enough.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.





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