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Under the Desk

He falls back into his chair, clearly sated and relaxed.

I tuck him back into his pants with gentle hands, before crawling forward the tiniest bit so I’m between his knees again.

My hands tremble with the effort of holding back my orgasm, but I keep them on my thighs and resume my position.

I don’t keep my eyes downcast, though, wanting instead to see everything.

When he does open his eyes, they’re dark and sultry, lazily studying me and he reaches forward to cup my chin in one hand.

My breath is shaky and uneven as he skims a thumb over the swell of my lower lip, pressing the pad of his thumb against my tongue.

He doesn’t need to tell me this time—I wrap my lips around his finger and suck softly, watching him think.

If he’s wondering whether or not to let me come, please say yes

But I pause in concern as the corners of his mouth turn down in a faint frown. He presses deeper, grips my face just a little tighter as an indication to keep sucking.

So I do, and wait for him so speak.

I find I don’t like what he says.

It quieter, like it’s meant only for the two of us. “We’re going about this all wrong.”

It makes me frown too. “How so,” I say, speaking around his thumb.

He shakes his head, purses his lips—I run a flat tongue all the way from the tip of his thumb to his palm and back again to persuade him.

He bites his lip. “We still have to finalize our agreement, not to mention that neither of us have discussed STI screenings—”

“I’m clean,” I interrupt. “Clean and consenting, Sir.”

I pause before continuing, noticing the way he can’t seem to look away from me.

“. . . And I will graciously accept any punishment you see fit to give me.”

He shakes his head, laughs to himself.

So handsome when he laughs.

“Damn you, tempting me like that . . .”

I feign innocence, run my teeth ever so faintly over his thumb before soothing it with my tongue.

He huffs. “Fine,” he agrees, seemingly begrudgingly, “But we’re discussing our contract first thing tomorrow. I want you at my house by noon; casual attire.”

I smile, giving his thumb a hard suck as I pull back, kissing his fingertip before speaking. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

He sighs, releasing a breathy laugh to himself as he retracts his hand.

“Alright, stand up. Bend over the desk.”

I blink, confused, as he holds out the same hand to help me up.

He laughs fully this time, wholeheartedly, “What, you didn’t think that was your punishment, did you?”

I grin. I had assumed that was it, actually—not that I’m complaining.

I don’t admit this, though, and instead follow the instructions I’ve just been given. I’m more than eager to get fucked over the desk—what a wet dream come true.

I contemplate asking, shifting around on the cold wood of the desk in discomfort.

“Um, Sir?”

He’s rummaging around in his work bag, at least until I speak up. “Yes?”

I bite my lip—I really shouldn’t ask—“May I come, Sir?”

I think he’s found what he’s looking for, his oxfords scuffing against the flat carpet until he stops behind me.

“No, pet.”


A flood of molten heat washes over my body at the thought of holding back, every inch of my body his to do with as he pleases.

He taps my feet with his own, telling me wordlessly to put them together from their spread position. He moves closer, his body curled over mine, but not enough because I can’t feel any part of him.

And then his hands begin to rub my sides, maybe to calm me, maybe to loosen my shirt. Whatever the reason, he succeeds in both, and then moves on to completely untuck my shirt. His hands are warm, but I get goosebumps anyway—shivering head to toe and squirming as I leak into my pants.

I hum, enjoying the sensation of being touched, but also testing the waters. I can’t be sure if I’m allowed to be a bit noisy.

I arch my back as he runs a hand firmly down my spine. My own hand comes up to my face, a loose fist that I muffle a quiet moan into.

He doesn’t stop at the base of my spine, doesn’t even hesitate as his other hand tugs at the front of my pants until the button comes undone, enabling him to pull my pants down to my thighs.

I wonder why he doesn’t pull them down further, until I hear the pop of a bottlecap, and suddenly his cold, slick fingers are there to prepare me for what I hope is an intense finger bang. I can’t move my legs at all, forced to keep my legs closed.

My body trembles—I feel so much fuller when my legs aren’t spread, there’s just something about it.

As he adds a second finger, he pushes in farther and brushes against that spot—bringing me dangerously close to orgasm.

"Sir,” I warn, wanting to move away, but the desk doesn’t allow me to.

He doesn’t stop, pushing further still and adding a third finger—I feel myself clench around him in anxiety.

“Sir please, I can’t—”

"Quiet. You’re loud—unless you want the entire office know I’m taken?”

I do, I definitely do, but damn it, he knows I can’t—it would be far too embarrassing.

I moan in agony into the desk, quieter, relieved and simultaneously tortured when he removes his fingers. My entrance flutters against my will, missing the feeling of him in me—I tighten my muscles, try my best to focus on the smell of the varnish on the mahogany desk.

“How are you feeling, Marcus?”

“I—good . . . but I’m gonna come—I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, sweetness,” he reassures, then takes a moment to think. “You can come once, only when I tell you to, and then after that you’re going to have to deal.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful more than anything for his mercy and understanding. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you . . .”

His fingers are back—I flinch at the intense sensations I get from just a simple touch. He only uses two fingers, but scissors them in a way that makes my eyes roll back for a second.

I moan loud—I can’t help it, I swear, it’s just so good—he scolds me with a hiss of my name, removing his suit jacket to roll it up and stuff it in my mouth.

I bite down on it and moan again, every sound I make unintelligible beyond the jacket.

He scissors his fingers again, holding them there as another snap of a bottlecap fills my ears.

I mean to say what are you doing, but from behind the jacket stuffed between my teeth, it sounds more like Chewbacca entered a hot dog eating contest.

I flinch as he pours the lube straight into me, even fight a bit as I settle with the coldness.

He has to set the bottle down quickly to press down on the small of my back, keeping me at least somewhat still as he fingers it into me.

I let out an affronted noise, lifting my head to look over my shoulder and glare.

At his own unimpressed, challenging glare, I’m quickly subdued, and instead lay my head back onto the desk.

But the cold eventually loses against the heat of my body, his hands. He poured a shit ton of lube in me, but I can still feel every detail of his fingers as he pushes them in and out of me.

My entire body heats up, though, I get hotter and hotter, and suddenly I’m nearing the edge again.

And just as he’s bringing me to the edge, he pulls out again—a pained moan escapes me in protest—how dare he

He doesn’t acknowledge my greed, ignoring my writhing, shaking, messy form bent over his desk.

Once again, hurry up before I slap you with my hard-on becomes Chewbacca and the hot dog eating contest.

He seems to understand anyway, though, as I feel something at my entrance again.

But it’s not his fingers. No, that’s definitely a toy.

I try to spread my legs, but I’m trapped by my own work pants, and I don’t want to rip them because they’re really nice.

It’s not that big, but it’s certainly big enough to drive me up the walls, holding my breath in an attempt to calm my aching cock. It twitches as he pushes the toy into me, lighting every nerve in my body on fire.

I’m losing it, I can tell, because I start closing my eyes and letting everything else drift away.

He can tell too, a command that sifts through my diluted thoughts and rings clearly in my head. “Stay with me, Marcus.”

And as he pushes the last bit of it inside me in one go, I arch my back as much as I can, stretching onto the tips of my toes as my muscles clench around the toy. It’s a plug, I realize, the end piece preventing it from going any deeper.

“Shit, I want to fuck you so bad right now Marcus—”

I moan in agreement—his dick is way better than this piece of plastic.

“Tell me your safe words,” he demands, voice deeper than usual. I don’t see why he doesn’t just fuck me already.

He rips the jacket from my teeth for all of two seconds, just long enough for me to spit them out in a dazed mumble.

“Water, stop. And . . . mist, for . . . mmn . . . slow.”

“Good boy,” he allows, and stuffs my mouth again. I hope I don’t ruin his jacket. I hear him fiddling with something on his desk, before he shoves a pen into my hands. “If you want to talk, drop the pen.”[1]

I nod, clutching it tightly so there’s no way I could.

“Ready to come, babe?”

I moan loudly into the thick cloth, a clear yes as he pulls at the plug.

He leans forward, the scratchy material of his pants rough against my thigh as he reaches for his phone by my head.

And then the plug starts vibrating.

Of course.

It sends waves and waves of pleasure along every inch of my body, making me tremble, forcing a gush of pre-come from my tip.

He fucks me with the plug, and reaches forward to wrap a hand around my aching hard-on.

Please-please-please-please . . . yes

He doesn’t bother starting out slow, gripping me hard and stroking fast, base to tip, in a way I can’t handle.

I jerk against the desk, try to warn him with a loud moan.

“It’s okay, baby, come.”

I do, don’t hesitate for a second to let everything go.

My orgasm comes violently, almost painfully, as I shoot my load onto the desk and in my boxers.

A variety of pained noises escape me as I jerk forward into his hand, before the weakness gets to me—my tense muscles relax, weak knees collapse—sated, finally.

Sir wraps his arms around me, before pulling my back to his front and walking us backwards into his chair. He sits back, me leaning against him.

He strokes me softly through the final parts of my release, spreading my come along my softening dick with his hand.

He reaches another hand between us, pushes at the plug, but doesn’t pull it out. Instead, I guess he’s reaffirming its situated inside me before curling his hands into the waistband of both my pants and boxers to pull them up. He tucks my slick member back into my pants, without cleaning me up.

I moan in protest, go to adjust myself when he catches my hand, brings it back down to my side.

“You’re going to stay a mess for me, okay?”

I’m not too keen on the idea, already wanting to start working my hips and hump his leg to ease the discomfort.

“Yes, Sir,” I agree breathily.

“Surely,” he continues, “Since you’re so keen on the office knowing about our relationship, you won’t mind a little exhibitionism.”

I tense, and he feels it, because he laughs.

“Nothing crazy—I’m going to turn the plug back on, and I want you to go back to work and finish your tasks for the last—” He checks his watch. “Hour and a half of your shift. Think you can do that?”

I bite my lip. “Can I come?”

He smiles at me, brushing my fringe away from my eyes. “No.”

“. . . What if it’s too much?”

“Then you text me your safe word, and everything stops.”

I shift on his lap, nearly jerking as the plug moves inside me. And it’s not even on yet . . .


He smiles. “Yeah?”

I nod, smile back because his is just infectious. “Mm-hmm.”

He rubs my thighs with his hands. “Yes, what?”

I smile wider against my will. “Yes, Sir.”

“Alright,” he says, slapping my butt to get me to stand up off of him. “You can stay for a minute and collect yourself, but I want the cash flow statement for the month done, as well as the spreadsheets for the Mills Project, by the time your shift is over, okay?”

I purposefully grind my ass back on the tent in his pants as I stand. “Yes, Sir!” I say cheekily, throwing him a wide grin.

He rolls his eyes at me, then eyes the mess I’ve made on his desk. From there, he moves on to look me up and down, bedroom eyes making me squirm.

“Lucas . . .” I mumble, smiling against my will.

He grins back, like he enjoys teasing me or something, before he starts tidying the desk area.

I’m hunched over a bit, have to get used to the plug when standing upright, but when I straighten out, it pushes the tip of the plug into my sweet spot.

I mutter a profanity—I can’t help but get all hot and bothered at the sensation.

Just as I think I’ve calmed down enough to pass as sane in the eyes of my coworkers, Lucas leans over in his chair to pinch my butt.

“Ow,” I protest, throwing him an accusing glare.

“Get going, you’re wasting valuable time.”

I stick my tongue out at him before I leave.

As I shut the door behind me, I take a deep breath—walk slowly and try to pass for someone who doesn’t look like their ass is stuffed with vibrating plastic.

The mess in my pants isn’t helping anything either—I’ve taken all of ten steps and I’m already dying to sit down at my desk.

. . .

I have to say; the odd looks Tom gives me i[2] n the next hour and a half are pretty great.

I don’t know if he knows what’s going on, but between my awkward grinding on my chair and a possibly audible vibrating sound coming from me, I would have to admit I’d be surprised if he didn’t figure it out. He’s probably way too embarrassed to say anything.

The best part is, acting like nothing’s happening and confusing the shit out of him. I give nothing away, my impeccable poker face all thanks to a childhood filled with little white lies.

It would be funnier if I wasn’t burning up a sweat trying to hold myself back from orgasm.

Everything down there is just unbearably hot and sticky—the minute Tom leaves for a bathroom break, I’m openly grinding against the chair in an effort to ease my discomfort at least a little.

I stop when the plug pushes inside me at just the right angle, hold back a yelp with a hand over my mouth.

This sucks, but I’m still horny as hell.

There’s only fifteen minutes left of my shift—I check the clock minute by minute as it ticks, until there’s only ten minutes left, then five . . .

I barely finish the Mills spreadsheet on time, far too distracted to even try focusing.

The minute my desk phone rings I pick it up. I don’t bother giving an introduction, just waiting for the minute I hear his voice.

“Marcus, come see me in my office, please.”

I email him the spreadsheet, as well as the cash flow statement, before struggling to get up from my chair.

My legs are weak and wobbly like jelly, threatening to give in on me any moment. I take a deep breath. Just a little while more . . .

I don’t bother knocking, instead letting myself in and closing the door behind me, letting my expression melt into a reflection of the pleasure that I can barely stand.

He barely has time to look up before I round his desk and kneel at his feet.

I can’t be too concerned with proper position, instead bowing into his leg with my head on my hands that grip his knee. “Please, Sir, please may I come now—”

He smiles. “Alright, hush. Come here.”

He pulls me onto his lap so that we face each other—me being the slut I am, immediately grind into him. The friction feels so good I accidentally let out a loud moan.

"Marcus,” he hisses. ”Hush, I said.”

I bite my lip, grinding even when his hands find my waist to steady me. “Sorry, Sir,” I mutter into the space between us.

I’m not though, and he knows it. He grips one side of my ass brutally, pulling me to him so that I can line my body along his. ”Easy, babe,” he threatens, teeth gritted and looking hot and dominating as hell.

A gush of pre-come leaks into my underwear against my will. How can I hold it back when he does hot shit like that?

I tone it down, as much as I can before I go insane.

He guides me with his hands, reaching under my thighs to lift me and yank my pants as far as they’ll go, down to my mid-thigh.

"Shit . . . you’re a hot fucking mess, yeah?”

I whimper. ”Nn—Yeah . . .”

He wraps a large hand around my cock, jerking me a few times before I protest.

"No—no, Sir, I’ll—”

I feel it coiling below my stomach, tightening as my body shakes. He suddenly stops, gripping my base harshly and growling in my ear.

“You’ll what?” He demands.

I shake my head—he has to give me permission

“That’s right—you’ll do nothing until I say otherwise.”

I lean my head against his chest, curling into him and still shaking like a leaf, hoping he’ll let me come soon. Hell, I don’t know what I’ll do . . .

He reaches behind me, uses two fingers to tease my asshole before he grips the end of the plug and slowly pulls.

My fingers curl tightly into his shirt, which had been seamless before I had done so. All of my muscles tense—I have to get used to being empty again, my hole twitching as the loss of the plug.

Just as I’m relaxing, he slaps my ass just hard enough to startle me.

He caresses my face with his other hand, his gentility a sharp contrast to the brutality. “Up.”

I stand—he helps me, mindful of my weak knees. I sit on the edge of his desk, focus on evening my breathing as I watch him.

He crosses his office to lock the door, before returning to rummage through the desk drawers beside me.

He pulls out a simple red tie.

I scrunch my nose. “What is that, a back-up tie?”

He grins. “You never know when you could use an extra tie.”

He ties it in a loop, but doesn’t pull it yet.

And just like that, the playfulness is gone, replaced with a stern, demanding look. “Now shut your mouth.”

I almost want to give him a flat look—literally just told me to shut up—but I’ll accept it because it’s Sir and he’s the only one with Marcus silencing privileges.

He brings the tie over my head until the wide part covers my mouth, tightening it until it’s firmly set above my mouth.

A gag.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, totally not sorry. “But you’re loud, and I’m going to need you to be quiet for this part.”

I nod, happy to comply with Sir’s wishes.

He smiles. “Good boy.”

I smile back, as much as I can behind the red tie. Man, I love when he says that.

He bends down, and suddenly yanks my pants down my legs to quickly I jump, let out a yelp muffled by the tie.

“Look at you, what a mess,” he says, like he’s surprised.

He glances down to admire my absolutely ruined briefs, my cock sticky with my previous orgasm coupled with the pleasure of the last hour and a half.

Please, I just want to come. Why did I ask to be punished?

He takes my hands, steps back. I follow him, toeing my shoes off really quick and leaving everything on the ground.

Once again, he sits down onto his work chair, undoing his pants and pulling his cock out.

“Sit on me,” he demands.

I flush. He wants me to ride him?

He raises an impatient eyebrow. “Good boys don’t hesitate to follow directions.”

He’s right—so I hurry onto his lap, grateful for the lack of armrests on the chair. I’m not that flexible.

He runs his hands up and down my sides in a soothing gesture that helps calm me.

“Can you breathe okay?”

I nod, even though my breath is shaky.

“Not too tight?”

I shake my head this time.

“Did you get all your work done? Send it to Jade in auditing?”

I nod eagerly. Enough with the pre-fuck interview, let’s get to it already.

I jerk my hips forward, grinding against him.

He hisses. “Eager, are you?”

I moan against the gag, but he already knows.

He takes a pen out of his pocket. “Drop it if you need anything.”

I grip it tightly in my sweaty hand, groaning a complaint that says fuck me already.

He shakes his head, amused, but indulges me, gripping my hip with one hand, lining himself up with the other.

I pant, head bowed down to see everything as he lathers his cock with lube. I try to push down, but Sir makes me go slow.

The moment his tip is past the tight ring of muscle, I accidentally sit on most of his cock at once. I moan—half in pain, and half in mind-numbing pleasure—focus on breathing.

I can’t help but tighten around him—he feels so much better than that dumb plug, so much bigger . . .

And I’m weak, so weak, because I can barely bounce, just fall forward into his chest and whine like a slut.

He does a lot of the work, moving my hips up and down, bouncing me on his lap and groaning sexily with the effort.

Slick sounds echo softly off the walls of the office, driving me straight to the brink of insanity as he fucks into me.

Sir steals my breath away, kissing my jaw and my shoulder, biting into it as he quickens his pace.

A quiet mewl escapes me as I struggle to keep up, to hold back, as he impales me on his thick cock.

I can’t stand it, start to jerk myself off with one hand, let out a shaky sigh of ecstasy when he doesn’t stop me.

I’m getting close, so close—

He suddenly stands, taking me with him, thrusting into me and forcing my body to bounce on him.

And then the doorknob jerks.

I’ll be honest, the fear nearly makes me come, but I remove my hand and hold my breath, keeping my release at bay.

I whine, unsure.

“Shh,” he says, just as the person knocks on the door, calls out his name.

Bitch. I’m the only one who can call out his name like that.

He fucks me harder, the sound of skin slapping together bouncing off the walls and fueling my desire.

“Come—do it now—” He growls in my ear, sparing a nervous glance at the door.

I press my forehead against his chest, clench my quivering muscles just to make it that much better—he loves it, forcing himself into me as deep as he can and holding me there as he starts shaking—and I’m already too far gone as my painful release crashes into me like a freight train.

My eyes roll into the back of my head, vision darkening for a sweet, blissful moment as I come, reveling in the feeling of him inside me, his body against me. I moan loudly, once again muffled by the red tie.

He empties himself into me, his release burning, pulling me down again to fuck it into me and produce the slick noises that drive the both of us crazy.

I say his name, but once again my gag reduces it to an unintelligible moan.

He falls to his knees, leaving me no choice but to fall with him, as another knock comes to the door.

“Mister Phoenix, I have the docomeents you said you wanted as soon as possible?” It’s a woman—unsure.

He removes the makeshift gag, revealing a bit of drool smeared against the corner of my mouth, the inside of the tie.

“Fuck, you’re hot—” he praises, giving my barely responsive lips a kiss, deep but quick. “Under the desk, babe.”

I laugh. We’re so going to get caught.

He pulls a wipe out of the second drawer, makes quick work of himself as he throws one down to me.

I smile at him. “Thank you, Sir,” I mutter.

He smiles back, looking like he’s having the time of his life, and kicks my clothes toward me.

I clutch the pen in my hand loosely, listening as he greets the woman at the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quite charismatically. “I was on call, forgot the door was locked. You have those docomeents?”

He has a pen, taps it against the doorframe to mimic the sound we made moments before.

“Oh, I was wondering what that sound was,” she says, probably eager to have a conversation with my man.

“What?” He plays along with feigned ignorance. “Oh, the pen? Yeah, nasty habit I picked up.”

I lean my head against the underside of the desk, just listening to Lucas talk, and smile wide.


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