He had prepared.

He had cleaned the room top to bottom and made sure and doubly sure that it, all adjacent rooms, and the entire corridor would be abandoned for the rest of the day. There were no cameras in the entire building except in the hallways on the top floor that housed the admin offices and in the atrium upstairs, which was also where the guards had their little room. The same guards who rarely ever looked up from their phones or the little TV in the corner. The same guards who didn’t make the rounds until 10 pm, just before locking up.

It was perfect.

He had deep-cleaned and groomed, cut his nails and neatly trimmed his beard down to soft stubble. His shirt was starched, his pants ironed, shoes shined. He smelled good, clean.

He was as perfect as he was ever going to get.

He kept staring at the object that sat snug in its case and reflected the overhead light off its gleaming surface. In his mind, he had ten different ideas of how he could… how he would use it. He would make sure that it would feel so good for her.

Her.

She trusted him, and trusted herself trusting him, feisty, twisted, pretty, horny, beautiful little thing. At any given time she had all the control, but she held it in her hand as softly as a baby bird.

She was more than perfect.

His cock twitched in his pants just thinking about her. Her doe eyes and those dusky lips she kept nibbling when she was nervous, her velvet-smooth skin and her sweat that smelled like peaches to him, her firm little tits tipped with pale pink nipples and her ample ass and – fuck – her dripping wet cunt…

But she was more than the sum of those things. Absurdly, unbelievably, she was even better.

Therefore, he also had to be better than he was. She deserved it. She deserved everything.

He went to check the windows and doors one more time.

The clock on the wall said 5.30. Only thirty more minutes.

His palms were just a little sweaty.
 

I lifted my fist into the air, inhaled, exhaled, and finally rapped my knuckles against the wood. Long seconds ticked by in which I thought I might have knocked too softly to be heard inside, but then – finally – his voice rang out.

“Come in.”

I opened the door just wide enough to slip inside and let it fall back into the lock. The sound was dull in the low-ceilinged room.

He was the first thing I saw.

I suspected that he would always be the first thing I saw when I entered into a room, no matter if it was crowded with people, or, like this one, empty except for him and sparsely furnished with a large office table, two chairs and a little rolling file cabinet.

He had somehow become more handsome and more attractive since yesterday. His clothes were neat as a pin and emphasized his male form, the wide shoulders and strong pectorals, and only added to the air of authority I found simultaneously frightening and irresistible.

His eyes took in every square inch of me. I felt like he could see every small hair that was standing on end, and possibly even the gleam of sweat that dotted my forehead.

I had almost been late. My empirical social research professor had spontaneously relocated the lecture to another building and then let it run long. I had to power-walk all the way to the admin building – which had earned me many bewildered glances (or maybe, probably, they were all looking at you like that because they could see that you weren’t wearing a bra, or panties-) – and then almost had a little panic attack when I couldn’t find the staircase to get down into the basement right away.

I didn’t want to ask the guards that sat in their little booth by the door. I didn’t want them to know I was even there.

I knew full well that was crazy. Unsafe, irresponsible and dangerous.

This – he – was the first vaguely crazy, remotely unsafe, even slightly irresponsible or dangerous I had ever done in my life. Stupid as it was, I wanted him all to myself, and I wanted myself all for him, more than I wanted to be safe or irresponsible right now.

He looked me over as I stood in my sensibly flat shoes, my legs clad in my favorite pearly-white panty hose, and a dark navy blue dress whose swishy hem fell down to just above my knees.

I had put make-up on and artfully done my hair this morning, then stared at myself in the mirror for full five minutes because I hardly recognized the person there. Then I taken it all off and brushed the hairspray out again. I couldn’t undo the shaving of my legs and in my armpits, though. I was regretting the latter – I’d never felt as excessively pit-sweaty in my life as I had today.

“Good evening,” I started. God, my tongue was dry as sand.

“Good evening, Miss Wilkinson,” he replied politely. He glanced at the clock that ticked away at the opposite side of the wall. “Just in the nick of time.”

I huffed a relieved “yes” and couldn’t help a smile.

“Lock the door for me, will you?”

The key was in the keyhole.

I reached out and turned it. I turned it all the way.

When I turned back towards him, he was smiling softly. Then his smile turned darker.

“Shall we begin?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.” Please.
 

I crossed my legs a little tighter and cleared my throat. The piece of paper in my hand shook just a little.

“’The purpose of this additional security check is to definitively ensure the safety and health of all campus attendees, including that of the searched party – henceforth ‘I’ and ‘me’, Miss Isobel Sofia Wilkinson, 23’,” I read the form out loud.

The pen in my other hand felt cold, or maybe my palms were just hot.

“’I understand that this additional security procedure is justified by my less than exemplary behavior at yesterday’s security check at the campus library main entrance.’”

I couldn’t help but bristle. I had never been less than exemplary at anything in my whole life. It was stupid, but it still stung a little.

“Do you want me to elaborate on this point?” he asked when I was silent for a longer moment. “We can recapitulate in detail-“

“No!” I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. If he were to start recounting yesterday’s events – in detail, no less – I would probably die right here. My heart was already beating a mile a minute. “No, that won’t be necessary, I think.”

I ducked my head and quickly kept on reading before he changed his mind.

“’I have agreed to take part in this procedure because…’” I trailed off. There was an empty line.

“Would you care to fill in the blank, please?” he asked when I just kept staring at that blank.

Because I wanted to.

Because it pleases you.

Because the idea alone kept me so fucking wet tonight I almost-

“Because I want to prove my innocence once and for all,” I said aloud and promptly jotted down the words. The ballpoint scratched against the paper.

He propped an elbow up on the table, pressed his knuckles to his mouth and said nothing.

I cleared my throat and kept reading.

“’I am aware that, if I agree to take part in this security check, I will be asked to comply with any and all of the directives given by the executive officer in attendance-‘” I glanced at the ‘executive officer in attendance’ but he just watched me silently. “’-to the best of my abilities. I am aware that a most thorough examination will be performed’,” I continued, “’and that…’… uhm…”

“Keep going, Miss Wilkinson.”

He managed to smirk without moving a muscle.

“’And that… I may be required to undress, completely or partially, to offer the officer for inspection, including sensitive areas such as my chest, my backside, and my pubic area.’”

I cleared my throat again. Doing it was one thing. Saying it was another.

“’I am aware that this examination entails a detailed cavity search of all my major ori--- orifices, namely my oral, vaginal, and anal cavity.’”

Holy mother of…

I looked up at him. “May I have a sip of water, please?”

He slid the tall, half-filled glass closer to me and gestured an invitation with his hand. I took several long gulps and didn’t miss how he stared at my working throat, or at the drop that escaped from the corner of my mouth and fell onto my dress, just over my left breast.

“’I am—‘ Uhm. ‘I am aware that, in the course of this cavity search, aforementioned cavities may be… penetrated’… uh… ‘digitally or with… adequate… instruments… which are designed for and approved for this procedure.’”

Oh my God, did he mean… ? I bit my lip.

He shifted in his seat.

“Miss Wilkinson, please.”

He sounded almost as impatient and tortured as I felt. Almost.

I quickly continued to get it over with. My face felt like a furnace.

“’I am aware that, in the course of the procedures, there may be moments of personal or physical discomfort. I am aware that it is my absolute duty to inform the officer of such at any given moment without hesitation. Appropriate steps will be taken by the officer to ensure a… satisfactory completion of the security check.’”

Satisfactory. Completion. I licked my lips.

“’I am aware that I may abort the security check at any time for any given reason. I am aware that the officer may abort the security check at any time for any given reason. I understand that no recordings of any kind are made before, during or after the security check. I understand that this form will be kept entirely confidential by the executive officer.’”

A warmth suffused me and I took a deep breath, expelling a small amount of the nervous tension that sat in my neck.

“’I understand that this is a closed session. It will last until 10 pm at the most.’”

Four hours. The warmth flared up into a red-hot flame. Four whole hours. I clicked the pen twice, suddenly almost bursting with impatience.

“’I have understood this declaration of consent in its entirety.’”

I stared at the form for a short while. My eyes got caught again and again by the words ‘vaginal’ and ‘anal’, and by the phrase ‘penetrated digitally or with adequate instruments’.

“Do you have any questions, Isobel?” he asked me when my silence stretched on.

I wanted to ask about the adequate instruments, but I also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

So I ended up saying, “There is nothing about my bra in here”, and signed on the dotted line, then slid the form with the ballpoint pen on top of it toward him.

Again he smirked while still keeping a straight face. It was all in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about that, Miss,” he said. “You will get your bra back soon enough.”

“But-“ I pouted just a little.

“Stand up, please.”

He had also got to his feet and came around the rather large office table towards me. On his way there, he took the now empty glass of water and the cup full of stationery which I had plucked the pen from, and put both onto a small chest of drawers on wheels, out of the way.

That made me sit up.

Why did the table need to be cleared?

Which things could happen on a cleared table this big?

“Up,” he repeated somewhat harshly, and I snapped up onto my feet.

He pulled the chair I had sat on far out of the way, clearing the space around me for himself.

“Miss Wilkinson, I cannot help but notice that you seem to have paid considerable attention to your outfit today. Would you say that that is correct?”

So he liked my dress? I tried hard not to smile in triumph.

“I guess so?” I answered and blinked at him with extra wide eyes. He stood beside me, not an arm’s length away.

I could smell his soap.

Fuck, I wanted him closer. Much closer.

“I have, specifically, taken note of the very… fashionable legwear you have donned today.”

I had to stifle a giggle at the big words. “Why, thank you. It’s my favorite pantyhose, actually.”

He set his feet carefully, almost subtly, until I had to turn my head just to keep him in the corner of my eye.

“Would you care to repeat what I told you yesterday, Miss Wilkinson?” he asked, “Specifically in regards to your wearing pantyhose to this appointment?”

I pressed my lips together to fight against an even bigger smile.

“Uhm, no.” I shrugged and blinked at him with big eyes. “I am terribly sorry. Would you be so kind as to repeat it for me?”

Oh, how his eyes sparkled. He loved this, I was sure. He loved it when I gave him a reason to be stern.

“Oh, now you need repetition, do you?” He glowered. “I just asked you five minutes ago whether you would like to go over yesterday’s events once more and you said ‘no’.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, still fighting the smile. “I sometimes simply don’t remember details…”

“I remember quite clearly,” he said low, leaning in closer and closer, “that I told you not to wear your pantyhose.”

He stepped closer to me until his chest pressed against my shoulder and upper arm, big and solid and warm.

I wondered if he had chest hair. I wondered if his nipples were as sensitive as mine. I wondered if I would ever have the guts to ask him, or to just find out.

For a heated second, I thought he would kiss me on the cheek. Instead, he leaned forward just enough to reach the cup full of stationery he had placed on the adjacent chest of drawers and plucked from it the pair of silver crafting scissors. It gleamed in the ceiling lights, its blades at least twice as long as its handle.

“I told you that if you did wear one, I would use it to tie your ankles to this table.” He waited just long enough to hear the tremble in my exhalation. “Now keep your eyes front and stay still.”

Taking the scissors with him, he disappeared from my line of sight as he stepped fully behind me.

I would never get used to the thrill of having him behind me, of him lying in ambush for me. It wasn’t a feeling of serious fear, not even now that he was literally armed with a deadly weapon, but something much sweeter, heady and hot.

“Oh, right!” I said with gushing innocence. My cheeks heated with a weird mixture of embarrassment and excitement. “I seem to have a vague recollection of you mentioning that.”

“’Vague’. Is that so?”

He came closer. The floor creaked gently under his shoes. My entire back started to prickle.

“One would think that a promise like that, phrased like it was, would be hard to forget.” His voice turned a little scathing. “Is this a common occurrence for you, then – men telling you they would tie your legs to furniture?”

I shrugged one shoulder and clicked my tongue. “I’m a scatterbrain sometimes. I guess I just need to be told things twice.”

“She needs to be told twice,” he said as if to himself. “I see.”

“Well, if my pantyhose poses a serious problem, I can just-“ I began, bending my knees, leaning my upper body forward and sticking out my backside, making a move to reach underneath my dress and quickly push down the pantyhose.

Close as he was standing to me, my ass bumped into his groin, and I could feel his erection through the deplorably numerous layers of fabric that separated us.

“No,” he interrupted me, and I halted mid-sentence as well as mid-movement, with my left buttock trapping his hard cock against his own thigh.

“No, that’s not quite what I had in mind,” he said and pumped his hips forward once, twice, three times. His voice took on a strangely distant note. I imagined him standing there, mesmerized by the sight of my ripe, round ass pressed up to his tented crotch.

Was he thinking about fucking me from behind? Imagining how his cock would look like disappearing between my ass cheeks?

I knew I was.

I bit my tongue. My thighs trembled a little with the effort of staying statue-still in this position.

He eventually stepped back half a step, making me sway on my feet, reached down to grab the hem of my dress, and flicked it up to my lower back, exposing my ass. I gasped at the feeling of cold air against my butt. Sweat broke out of my pores for the second time today.

“Hold still,” he said as he hooked a finger into the elastic at the top of my pantyhose and pulled it off my lower back.

My hands shot forward and my palms slapped onto the tabletop for support when the cold touch of metal against my skin almost made me jump. The rippling, slicing sound of scissors followed, and the snug tension of the elastic around my waist suddenly eased with a snap.

“But-“ I put up some token protest.

“Hold still, and be quiet,” he barked. The blunt outer edge of the scissor blade glided down along my right buttock, just a centimeter to the right of my ass crack.

He took his time, parting the delicate nylon with endless patience. It tickled so bad I mewled, especially when he arrived at the lower curve where I was especially sensitive, but the sound immediately died in my throat when the metal edge brushed against my pussy lips from behind. It felt like being licked there by a small, ice-cold tongue.

“If I have to tell you to hold still and be quiet a third time, Miss Scatterbrain, I swear I will spank your ass until it’s as red as a cherry,” he snarled at me.

My legs were trembling like a flower and his words weren’t helping. Still, I hushed a “Sorry”, locked my knees, bit my lips and focused my eyes on a tiny spot on the wall so that he could continue cutting along the seam of my pussy without nicking my skin.

He drew the ordeal out as long as humanly possible and pressed the cool shears up into my clit on purpose, I was sure. Just to see if I could stay still for him.

“Good girl,” he cooed when he was done cutting the hose from behind and below, and I exhaled.

“Now stand up tall, feet apart, and pull your dress up for me at the front, like you did so beautifully yesterday,” he commanded. “I’m guessing you won’t have forgotten that.” I sure haven’t, he didn’t have to add.

I stood like he wanted me to, even as the shredded pantyhose trickled sliding down my ass, and lifted the skirts of my dress up to my belly button.

Both his arms came around me and I wanted nothing more than to sink backwards into him. But he had told me to stand up tall and not move, so I did.

I watched as he, very carefully nicked the elastic band of my pantyhose, which already hung in loose frills due to having been snipped in the back, with the scissors. Then, he put the scissors on the table and reached down between my thighs with both of his hands. Deeper than would have been necessary.

His fingers slid along the sensitive insides of my thighs and his thumbs grazed my pussy. My mouth fell open on a sigh at that brief, heartbreakingly fleeting contact, and my pelvis tilted of its own accord to give him easier access, to invite him, plead him for just a bit more-

He caught the cut ends of my pantyhose in his fingers and ripped them apart the rest of the way, until the tear he had cut into them from below and the nick in the elastic at the front joined up. The hose, now split in two like a pair of very long stockings, fell apart entirely. The heavier elastic was pulled by gravity and the nylons peeled themselves halfway down my thighs, tickling my hairs there, most of their tension lost.

Baring my pussy and ass to the air, and to him.

“Stay like that,” he ordered as if he knew full well that I yearned to drop the front of my skirt and cover up my recently complete nakedness.

He knelt behind me, close enough for his forehead to graze my buttocks, and guided one loosening hose the rest of the way down my left leg with ticklish fingers. His fingertips whispered along the back of my thigh, the hollow and the side of my knee, down the sides of my calf and to my ankle, then slid first my shoe and then the material off my foot which I lifted for him.

“Anticipating my wishes now, are we?” he chuckled and, just as I answered affirmative, swiped the material of my skirts out of the way, leaned in, and nipped the back of my now naked thigh with his teeth.

I jumped and a strangled little “hah!” escaped my mouth. His lips closed around the small area, just below the crease of my right butt cheek, and soothed the spot he had nibbled on, which made it only worse. My toes curled and my fingers tightened on the roll of fabric of my skirt.

“Didn’t anticipate that, I see,” he murmured with a self-satisfied grin in his voice, his teeth and lips and the tickle of his beard still against my skin.

I couldn’t help a giggling laugh at his antics. Goof. Sexy, sexy, terribly sexually frustrating goof.

Keeping his mouth on me even though the fabric of my skirt must have fallen into his face or covered his head rather awkwardly, he slid the other hose down my other leg, hitting all of my ticklish places and making me squirm inside my skin. This time, I felt a little stubborn and pointedly did not lift my foot for him.

He promptly reached up under my skirt and gave my naked ass a sharp little smack with the flat of his hand.

“You do have a fondness for obstruction, don’t you, Miss Wilkinson?”

Luckily, he wasn’t waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. I was still processing what that slap was doing to me.

Damn. I should have squirmed around some more after he had threatened me with a spanking.

“I am glad I called you to this office for this extensive conversation.” He removed my other shoe and peeled the nylon off, leaving me completely barefooted on the faux wood floor which wasn’t cold beneath my soles. “Gives us a lot of time to do away with all those silly notions in your head and set you straight most thoroughly, doesn’t it?”

Oh, my God, I was so ready for his being ‘most thorough’ I thought I would probably start screaming soon. My whole abdomen was pulsing and tight with need – so tight that a drop of my wetness fell from my nether lips and dripped onto the floor.

He noticed, and chuckled.

“Well, well. It is good to see you so… forthcoming at this point at least.” He finally got back on his feet and leaned in to my ear again. “However, I hope you don’t think this will have any expediting effect on this process tonight.”

I whimpered again. “No, of course not,” I acknowledged reluctantly.

10 pm, the contract had said. Four hours. How long had we been here already? Maybe twenty minutes? Thirty? The clock was behind me on the wall, ticking away, but I had no permission to turn around.

The worst bit was, even if our time together were seriously running out, there was no guarantee he’d take it as a reason to give me what I wanted so badly. He had left me needy before. He had liked it (and so had I, God help me) and he might absolutely do it again - send me home ultimately unsatisfied – even if our contract had promised ‘satisfactory completion’. 

A twinge, almost strong enough to be a cramp, went through my pelvic floor muscles, and another fat drop fell from me and splattered onto the floor.

“Very forthcoming,” he observed slyly, missing nothing. Then again, my liquid pennies probably showed up on the light grey plastic flooring as very visible dark spots that were difficult to miss. I didn’t dare check.

“You have been waiting to have this type of conversation for a long time, haven’t you, Isobel?” he asked, reaching his right hand around my hip and caressing, just briefly, the back of my hands.

As soon as he brought my attention to them I noticed that I was clawing my fingers into the material of my skirts there, holding on so tightly my knuckles turned white and my fingernails had started throbbing. I eased up a little. My palms smarted a bit.

“Oh, only twenty-three years,” I answered his question with just a slight shake in my voice. I was half joking, half serious. The gentle gesture and the mention of my name strangely made me feel more vulnerable than the fact that I was spread-legged and without panties or pantyhose, in a functionally abandoned locked basement room, alone at night with a man whose name I still didn’t know. More vulnerable but, irrationally, not in a bad way.

“All the more reason to go nice and slow, and… touch on each-- topic separately,” he said, thankfully not cowed in the least by my admission that I was, for all intents and purposes, a virgin. Then again, he had probably known or at least suspected from the moment he had laid his sharp, blue eyes on me in that campus security cubicle in front of the library main entrance two days ago.

If I had learned anything about him in the miserably short time we had spent together, it was that he was very observant. Spookily so, almost. Never truly maliciously, though.

If I had learned anything about myself, it was that I was very obvious. To him, at least.

Maybe even for him.

Only for him.

“Now, Miss Wilkinson…”

My spine straightened at the delicious strictness infusing his tone.

“Just to ensure that we’re on the same page here – would you please repeat to me exactly what you know about the further proceedings tonight?”

“I-uh… Ca—Cavity search?” My answer sounded like a question and my nervousness was only half an act.

“And which body cavities did you give me written permission to search, exactly?”

My eyes fell on the form I had signed. It still lay just where I had left it, with the pen on top.

“Oral, vaginal, anal,” I enumerated dutifully.

“That’s exactly right,” he said. His shoes scuffed against the floor as he turned away from me and seemed to tell the room, with his crudest tone, “Your mouth, your cunt, and your asshole.”

I shivered as I picked up on his own anticipation through his suddenly coarse words.

I heard a noise behind me, like a drawer being pulled open and shut again, and then his steps rang out once more as he walked back toward me. Slowly and steadily, like always.

“First-timers like you often need a bit of assistance to guide them through the procedure as smoothly as possible, you see, which is why this little technique is very much recommended.” He went to his knees behind me again. Warm hands touched my left lower calf. “Widen your stance, please.”

“Like this?”

“Wider, Miss Wilkinson,” he said.

I slid my left foot out until I was well and truly wide-legged, enough for the sticky-wet lips of my pussy to gape open. Cold air licked at my core. I could feel the next drop fall.

“Good girl,” he commended. “Now the other one as well, just a little.”

The stance left me a little unbalanced and my hands reflexively let go of my dress and landed flat on the tabletop again to steady me. “I am sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be.”His fingers slid down my right leg. “You’re perfect.”

I tried to hide my smile.

“I knew you would get into position like a natural.” He huffed a laugh. “Makes me wonder whether this is the case with all positions.”

“Hah!” An embarrassed laugh burst from my mouth. Well, in my dreams last night I sure as hell-

A rope of silky material slid against my right ankle and tightened, not nearly painfully, but noticeably. My pantyhose, or one half of it.

He slid two fingers underneath the noose he had made and probed it all around. When he was satisfied with the fit, he switched to the other leg and repeated the action.

“Now you only have to hold this exact position until I tell you not to. Can you do that for me, Miss Wilkinson?”

“Well.” I affected innocence once more. “I can try.”

He made a noise and put either hand on my legs, then simultaneously slid them up – and up and up, all the way up to the cheeks of my butt that were now barely covered by my airy little dress. He grabbed them quite roughly and massaged the rounded, fatty flesh there.

“Yeah, you will try, I am sure,” he said, sounding hypnotized again.

When I rocked forward due to his ministrations, which made my insides tingle and felt so fucking good I groaned, I became aware of the resistance around my legs for the first time. I couldn’t move my feet much more than a few inches in any direction – except even farther apart, I supposed, but I had never been the most bendy person (except in my dreams). As it was, there was a very faint tension in the muscles in my thighs and on the inside of my calves that told me I would be feeling the burn and be sore tomorrow if I went much wider.

A thrill, both hot and cold, went up and down my spine. I was truly tied to the office table.

“Are you comfortable, Isobel?”

Again it was as if he had read my mind. Or my body. Or both.

“I am.”

“Very well. Let us proceed, then.”

Still, he spend several more minutes reverently kneading the flesh of my butt with both hands, probably watching more drops fall from my pussy as he jostled and nudged me there. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the waves of almost decadent pleasure his deep, hard touch sent up and down and through my body. It was like yesterday, when he had grabbed and massaged my chest, just more. He took more time, touched me harder and even more completely, until the marrow of my bones seemed to hum with it.

Who would have thought just how good it felt to simply be touched? And to want to be touched? God, I thought I would probably need this every day until the day I died. My fingers curled again against the polished wood of the table, suddenly itching with the need to return the favor.

“I want to touch you back,” I confessed quietly.

“I know you do,” he replied, a smile audible in the way he said it. “But today is just for me, you greedy woman.”

Implying that tomorrow would be for me? I hoped so. I really, really hoped so. Three days were hardly enough. I was indeed greedy for the pleasure of pleasing him directly and not just through my obedience and my body.

“Focus, Miss Wilkinson,” he admonished and slapped my well-kneaded, tenderized ass hard with both hands, making me yelp and rock forward on my toes again, then got up and stood so close behind me again that my hip bumped into the edge of the table. The fabric of his pants rubbed against the now-bare skin of my legs, his crotch squeezed up to my ass, and his chest enveloped my entire back.

He reached around me and set a dark gray box onto the table, right between my splayed hands. It looked like a case for pencils or maybe glasses, just a little bigger.

“This will be the main instrument for our cavity search, for now. Please, open it.”

I did. It came with a little latch that could be flicked open. The lid opened easily.

I stared at the silvery item couched inside on a matte black plastic inside part that was molded exactly to its unconventional shape. A little longer than my thumb, translucent like glass, with a slim notch and a wide flared base, its main body consisted of three increasingly large beads, one on top of the other. It looked a bit like modern art.

“Take it out.”

I did. The thing was surprisingly heavy and felt solid in my hands.

“This… probe,” he began, gingerly taking the toy from my hands when I had looked, felt and (yes) sniffed my fill, “is a brand new investment of mine. It has been bought for you specifically, actually.”

“Oh?” I didn’t know what else to say. My heart was thumping in my chest. I assumed the plug was indeed made of glass, it so felt completely smooth in my hands, and it smelled and looked clean and unused and… well. Intriguing.

While it had seemed frighteningly big in my hands, it wasn’t so daunting in his, and I couldn’t help but wonder, with an exciting pinch of fear in my gut, where exactly he would use it. And how.

“I guess I should just demonstrate,” he said, casually sliding a hand under my skirt and flipping it up again. “It is really a very nifty, helpful little tool.”

If the cool kiss of the scissors along my gash had been exciting, the feeling of the ribbed, bulbous glass plug sliding shallowly along my labia from behind had me nearly cumming right that instant. My pelvis twitched and jolted with the exquisite sensation, and got an equally twitchy response from his cock behind me. I hung my head and focused on breathing.

“You see, it helps with the rinsing out.”

Drip, drip. He made sure to smear some of my wetness liberally around my vulva, the lower
the inside creases of my thighs and the swells of my butt.

“Experts swear that it increases blood flow to the areas it is used on, thereby making my job a lot easier.”

Back and forth and back and forth.

“Because it is easier to probe a cavity when the tissue is nice and supple.”

I could hear the sound of glass against slick flesh.

“Not too supple, of course,” he conceded, getting slower because he could tell by my breathing and my shivers that I was getting closer.

Back… and forth… and back-

Closer.

Closer.

“Please,” I gasped, feeling an orgasm rising, looming.

Immediately, he stopped and took the plug away.

“Good girl,” he said even as I whined in frustration, as if I had voluntarily given him the information he needed to deprive me yet again.

“Look up.”

I did, lifting my sagging head, only to see the glass plug in his head right before me. It was… messy now. A clear string of my lubrication was dangling from its tip, like some sort of obscene drool. Whitish slickness gleamed in the grooves between the three beads.

“Open your mouth.”

I hesitated.

“Open your mouth,” he repeated, sliding his free hand around to my hip and between my legs – just a fraction of an inch above the spot where I needed him.

The implication was clear.

There was really no choice to be made.

I opened my mouth.

“Wider.”

I opened wider, and the solid glass slid over my tongue, barely grazing my teeth, until the notch lay against my lower lip and the smallest bead was just shy of triggering my gag reflex.

“Good girl,” he said again – this time, it was a little groan – and moved his finger that last, elusive inch.

I inhaled deeply and then held my breath. Every nerve in my body seemed to inhale with me.

Then his fingertip moved and rubbed me gently.

One more exhale.

One more inhale.

He tapped on my clit once.

Boom.

Fireworks.

My eyes rolled up as the accumulated sexual frustration of the last two days broke from me and seemed to rip itself out of my body through my pussy. I groaned and cursed with my mouth full even though I could barely remember how to breathe. It felt so good. Too fucking good. And I couldn’t close my legs even a bit to stop it from feeling too fucking good. He held me against him and kept the plug in my mouth with his palm. I sobbed.

“Suck it clean, Isobel.”

My eyes squeezed shut with his words and the sensation and taste in my mouth. I sucked and licked and swallowed.

“Fuck,” he swore appreciatively through my body’s crazy twitching. “Fuck yes, that’s it.”

I was equal parts thankful and saddened when the force of it subsided gradually. I felt like a wet, wrung-out noodle, all my strength gone, breathless like I had just run a sprint. I was fairly certain my thighs were still shaking.

He pulled the plug out of my mouth and I drooled saliva over my chin.

“Don’t wipe that off,” he snapped when I unthinkingly lifted a hand to do just that.

“Sorry,” I hastily apologized, and just like that, the tension already started racking up over again, just seconds after I could have sworn I would never have an orgasm again in my entire life. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth like that might cool the flames that licked underneath my skin, from my core across my chest and up my throat and into my entire face.

“Very useful, as you have seen,” he said, as if the last three minutes hadn’t happened and we were in the middle of a very sober discussion about body cavity search instruments.

“Indeed.” I nodded, just a little jerkily. His body had disappeared from behind me. I leaned forward onto my hands a bit more to compensate.

“Your oral cavity seems to be unproblematic, so let’s move on-“

I was almost too loose, too wet to even feel the plug as he pushed it up my pussy without warning. There was no resistance at all until the last, the biggest bead.

“Oh, fuck!” I yelped, went all the way up on my toes, shifted my hip forward and away as far as the table allowed, and felt my muscles constrict with the sudden tension.

Well, now I could feel it. It felt massive inside of me.

“Quiet,” he admonished. His fingers had a firm grasp of the base of the plug and maneuvered it around ever so slightly, pushing in and pulling out and angling it this way and that, working against my movements.

Hitting all the spots. All of them. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

I moaned and grunted and rolled my hips, impaling myself on the stubby glass plug over and over. The beads massaged me from the inside, and every time the big one slid out of me, there was a squelching sound that sent a shower of goosebumps up my neck. The edge of the flared base bumped against my clit with every other stroke.

Just as I was edging close to the next climax, he pushed the plug up and merely held it there.

“No results,” he said and clicked his tongue. “I was so certain I would find something, Miss Wilkinson.”

I was beyond words. My head sank down onto the table until my forehead touched the smooth surface. My thighs now truly trembled with the strain and with nerves. Mostly with nerves. My body was alight like a Christmas tree.

“Then again, we do have one more cavity to search, don’t we?”

For a second, I was almost worried that he would use the plug on my back door as well, perhaps even just as abruptly as he had used it on my pussy – but then his knuckle grazed my clit and any concern I had ever had in my life melted into thin air.

He could do anything to me, so long as he kept touching me like that. Just like that.

Oh, fuck, like that.

“Relax. Let me take care of this,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

A finger slid through my wetness, collected some of it and then circled my pucker. Round and round it went, mirroring the motion of the finger that was travelling around my clit, consistently grazing and teasing but not hitting the bull’s eye.

Eventually, the fingertip slid into the middle and nudged it with every turn, and then nudged deeper. He breached me very gently, very slickly, not even causing the slightest pinch of pain. I realized he had to be wearing a glove when his finger slid in deeper and drove a different type of moan from me.

This one was more feral than the ones before.

“Very cooperative,” I heard him say. “Such a good girl.”

We found and moved in a rhythm that made me mewl every time his finger reached a new, deeper spot – which seemed to be every single time. And still, the glass plug sat snug inside my pussy, gently moving along with the both of us, kept exactly where it was by the heel of his hand. And still, his other finger teased and evaded.

“Such a good girl,” he repeated. “Look at you.”

At his words, my next orgasm came like a flash flood and buried me under it, out of nowhere.

I howled and sobbed and cursed. I could feel my inner muscles clutch and release the glass plug, clutch and release the finger that was knuckle-deep in my ass. Fresh wetness squirted sideways out of my plugged hole and splashed against the inside of my trembling thighs.

I rested my hammering heart against the cool faux wood, counted the aftershocks, and just breathed.

I felt the emptiness much more sharply than the actual removal of the plug and his finger. So hollow.

“All done, Miss Wilkinson.” He sounded cheerful, with an edge.

I turned my head and dipped my still sloppy chin until I could see him in the corner of one teary eye. He was licking his fingers like he’d just eaten something delicious and wanted to save the last of the taste, and he was locking eyes with me as he did it. His expression was intense.

“I will find you tomorrow to give you a copy of the report.”He pulled off the black rubber glove he had been wearing on his right hand. The wet snap of it made my skin sizzle with electricity. “You can go.”

“No,” I said before I had finished sorting out the reasons for saying so.

His eyes bored into mine. “Careful,” was all he said.

“Please.” I bowed my back as far as it would go, flicked my skirt up onto my lower back again and let my hips sway from side to side.

His gaze flicked to my ass, to the ravaged, pulsing area in between, trickled down my thighs that had to be gleaming with wetness, caressed my straining calves, and took in the knots of white nylon that were wrapped around my ankles – exactly where he had put them, even though I could easily have freed myself with minimal effort.

“Please,” I begged and kept begging even as he held my gaze and, as if a switch had been flicked, hurriedly undid his belt, tore open the button of his pants and ripped down the zipper.

“Please, please, please,“ I went on as I watched him pull out his glorious cock, fat, ruddy, veined and gleaming with pre-cum, and pumped it with his hand.

“Please, please, plea-”

He slid into me as quickly and painlessly as the glass plug, but apart from that, it was completely different. Worlds apart.

My mouth opened but stayed utterly silent.

Neither words nor sounds could describe the feeling of his hard, pulsing flesh invading me, or the sensation of his hands clenching my hip and waist and pulling me into him, or the sweet frisson caused by his voice, usually so perfectly composed, spiraling out of control on a whole string of vicious, lovely curses.

There were no names yet for the places inside of me he reached.

I closed my eyes and bathed in him, in his presence, his weight on me, his forcefulness against me, his lust for me, and let his words and sounds wash over me.

I may have come again before he wildly barreled into me with a shout and spilled inside of me. I had no way to be sure. I was floating inside myself, like a reverse out-of-body- experience. I could feel his cum splash against my insides and his cock twitch like crazy inside my channel.

He collapsed and covered me with his body, heavily, beautifully pinning me underneath him, cocooning me, and we breathed together for a long while. His cock went soft inside of me until it slid out, followed by a last thick gush of wetness.

I could see his hand where it lay splayed on the table next to mine. I slid my fingers over and caressed his knuckles. His skin was soft and warm and I had the sudden image of licking and nibbling his fingers, just like he had nibbled my thigh.

I felt the shiver go through him at my touch.

“Tomorrow,” I said. It was a question, a plea, a statement and the gentlest of threats, all wrapped in one word.

“Tomorrow, Isobel,” he promised quietly.


   
FIN


Thank you for reading! Leave a comment if you feel like making my day.
xo cydia

P.S.: Just to make sure: This is fiction, like fiction-y fiction, written by a person who literally hasn’t ever done any of the shit she’s writing about. Nevertheless, she knows that dear Isobel Wilkinson is a wetbrain. Don’t ever, ever go meet with someone in secret after two days. Ever. Not even after three days, or after thirty. Don’t. Not sexy. Stupid. Also, use a condom, please. Be safe!