You held me close and said nothing, Sir. You stroked my hair and gave me little kisses on top of my head while I cried and cried. You even rocked me back and forth, like a baby, and more than once you plucked a tissue from the box beside your chair and held it to my nose for me to blow into. The sweetness of it, the tenderness and caring, made me cry even harder, I think.
But at last I was completely wrung out, burrowed into your shoulder with my arms around your neck as I subsided and became quiet, interrupted only by an occasional sniffle. You held one more tissue to my nose, which I snuffled into, then tossed it into the wastebasket before gently easing me up so you could look into my eyes.
“My little girl has had a very long and eventful day,” you said quietly. “Maybe enough for one day. I should take you home, I think, and give you some t--”
“Please no, Sir!” I sat bolt upright in your lap, horrified at the thought of being separated from you. I practically fell to the floor as I scrambled out of the chair and hurriedly resumed my kneeling position in front of you. “I’m so sorry, Sir! It won’t happen again, I promise! Please don’t send me away, Sir!”
My hair was in complete disarray, my eyes red and puffy and my face still wet with tears. I must have been a thoroughly unattractive sight to you, Sir. But I must also confess that within seconds of taking my position again my arousal had returned with full force. Kneeling before you, looking up at you, offering myself to you, begging you… If anything, my storm of emotions had left me even more vulnerable and open to you, Sir. More completely surrendered to you.
How could you already understand me so well, Sir? You slipped out of your chair so that you too were kneeling and we were face to face. You took me in your arms and whispered, “Such a good girl.” Then you pulled back and looked into my eyes as you lowered your hands and began to gently pinch my nipples.
Then much less gently, making me gasp out loud. Then--
Damn it! I lost track of the time again and nearly got caught down on all fours by the Kellys - all four of them, including their two kids. I barely had time to get to my feet and pull down my skirt before they came in. Once again I did not have time to pull up my pantyhose so I waddled somewhat as I walked over to greet them.
But of course it didn’t matter, as I almost immediately excused myself so that I could strip, kneel and call you, Sir.
But you weren’t there when I called, Sir, and I didn’t know what to do. Should I stay in position and keep trying? But I couldn’t, Sir. The Kellys were waiting for me to take them out to see some houses. And I felt that I couldn’t skip ahead to the next step of masturbating through my panties for you without having spoken to you. So, feeling deeply frustrated and unfulfilled, I got dressed again and took the Kellys out to see the houses they were interested in.
I’m glad it was a nice day and I was able to keep the car windows open, Sir. I was afraid that the odor of my sex and my wet and all-too-fragrant panties would have been overwhelming. It felt so completely strange to be outside in the ‘real’ world again after all the hours in my office focused on nothing but you, Sir, and what I have become at your hands. I felt as if I were playing a role, and very unconvincingly at that: pretending to be or to care about anything other than being your possession. I squirmed in my seat, aching to rush back to the office, to get down on all fours to write about you, to strip and kneel for you, to call you - oh, to call you and hear your voice again! - to masturbate for you and be nothing but your little slut again.
It was so hard, Sir! I tried to stay focussed on the pros and cons of the different houses I was showing to the Kellys but I think I must have been babbling because I had to repeat things several times and apparently contradicted myself more than once. What they must think of me, Sir.
And then when you called, Sir! I had no idea that you’d put that picture on my phone; I barely remembered you even taking it. But there I was, in the middle of the living room of the house we were looking at, trying to talk about square footage and septic systems to Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, when my phone rang and I automatically pulled it out to see who was calling…
And there I was: tied to my desk with my ass in the air and my panties in my mouth. If I had been holding the phone at an even slightly different angle, both of the Kellys could have seen it.
Oh god, Sir! When I saw that picture my pussy clenched so hard that I groaned out loud and fell to my knees. I had to bite my lip, hard, as I fought off the orgasm that was about to overwhelm me.
I was hyperventilating from the effort - the Kellys thought I was having a heart attack, Sir! They were about to call 911! But I managed to get myself under control and told them I must be coming down with the flu that’s been going around. I certainly looked the part, Sir: feverish, sweaty and shaky. So the Kellys were more than eager to get themselves and their children away from me when I told them I was going home to lie down. I said my house was just on the next block, which wasn’t true, and could walk there easily, and told the Kellys to go ahead and that we’d reschedule the rest of the house visits.
The moment the door closed behind them I had planned to run to the nearest bathroom but I couldn’t wait, Sir! I jerked the curtains closed and stripped to my panties right there in the living room (Thank God this wasn’t one of the houses that was still occupied), fell to my knees and called you.
Oh, Sir, I can’t begin to tell you what a relief it was to throw off my public self along with my horrible clothes; to kneel and spread my legs again for you, wearing nothing but my soaking wet, multiply-stained, stinking “Disobedient Little Slut” panties; to hold my breath while I pushed the button that would connect me to you, unable to let go until that moment when you answered.
And I’m sure you remember what happened then, Sir. How I blurted out, “I apologize for being a disobedient little slut, Sir,” and how then your little crybaby burst into tears again and just started sobbing, “I’m sorry, Sir… I’m sorry, Sir… I’m sorry, Sir…”
And how you gently hushed me and told me that I was your good little girl, which, needless to say, made me cry even harder. It was more than just the words, Sir; it was simply hearing your voice again. It made everything all right and at the same time filled me with such a desperate need to be with you again, to be your possession again.
But as always, Sir, you seemed to know exactly what I was feeling and you told me that you would come to my office at five o’clock. Which didn’t stop my sobs but at least allowed me to change my babbling to “Thank you, Sir… Oh, thank you, Sir!”
In fact, after you hung up, I continued to say, “Thank you, Sir!” while I masturbated through my panties right there in the living room. And again under the desk in the home office, imagining myself pleasuring you with my mouth. And a third time while kneeling on top of the dining room table, imagining myself performing for you while you ate. All three times bringing myself so close to the edge of orgasm that I was literally shaking with the need for release but never once gave in. Oh, Sir, what have you done to me?