Emma had a terrible reputation. Office whore. Slut. Shameless. Rumour had it her voracious sexual appetites were almost never fully satisfied. Notoriety? It was her drug. Even dressed for the office she was the promise of endless nights of steamy sensuality. I thought about her incessantly. I had imagined fucking her so many times it was starting to feel like we had already had sex. I couldn’t care less about her reputation. Emma was driving me crazy. I wanted to fuck her. Desperately.
My fantasies had begun relatively benignly, straight sex, perhaps even romantic sex. As the weeks passed, my masturbatory efforts explored deeper and darker fantasies. Soon I was filling her every orifice; handcuffs appeared, nipple clamps, harsh spanking that left lingering marks on her firm round ass. I imagined her as a demure virgin, a wanton slut, a submissive willing to meet my every dark need.
One blissful night I had conjured Emma’s image in my bed, wrists locked behind her back, ball gag firmly in place, her wild mane twisted around my wrist as I pounded my cock into her dripping cunt. Her imagined mewling around the ball gag increased my desire, fueling an intense orgasm that left me completely drained. Of everything. My desire for her was an echo of endless need.
As the office’s resident bad boy it seemed ridiculous that we hadn’t already fucked. Finally one afternoon Emma asked me to stay late to help her with budget projections. By 5PM we were ensconced in her office, chairs close together as we huddled over her computer screen, examining endless strings of numbers. Patiently I awaited her first move, convinced the evening had nothing to do with budgets and could only end in her defilement.
Distractedly, she tapped her pencil against her lush bottom lip then slid the pencil into her mouth, sucking gently on the eraser end. I imagined my hard cock in place of the pencil, fucking Emma’s mouth with wild abandon. She must have realized something because she suddenly turned away from the screen to regard me with a look I immediately chose to interpret as raw, naked desire but may have been something else.
“Let’s take a break. The numbers are swimming together in my head. How about a drink?” She smiled.
“Sure, I could use a break; a drink would be great.”
She walked to her small office fridge, bending at the waist as she pulled bottles to make up two vodka tonics, a welcome relief against my rising heat. I stared lustfully at the perfect firm heart of her ass, pushing against the blue silk of her tight skirt. I furtively adjusted my pants, seeking comfort as my aching erection threatened escape.
To my intense disappointment she handed me my drink then sat back down, staring at the screen, a fierce concentration evident in her furrowed brow. The tumbling numbers were reflected in her green eyes; I imagined the scrolling figures as a rising count of the men she had bedded. Except me. My frustration grew. I found myself examining her every curve, every tiny detail of her. I sipped idly on my drink, desperately wondering if it was time for my Plan B.
Her skirt had fallen away, exposing almost the entire length of one silky smooth leg as she dangled her black pump on her toes. I was aching to touch, to explore, to draw my fingertips along her creamy skin. My gaze traced upward from her heels, a sudden image of her panties dropped around her slender ankles filling my thoughts. I imagined them in excruciating detail, soft lavender, the lacy details and the translucent front panel already soaked.
My eyes climbed, enjoying the fall of her white silk blouse against the sweet curve of her breasts. My staring was abruptly interrupted as I caught a sudden movement in the corner of my eye. Her hand was carelessly stroking up and down her glass, tracing patterns in the condensation with her fingertips. I gazed, mesmerized as she removed her hand from the glass then trailed a line down her neck, her cooled fingertips drawing to the hollow of her throat. Her wet lipsticked mouth was slightly parted, the tip of her tongue moistening her upper lip. I watched, fascinated, as a single water droplet disappeared into the folds of luminescent silk.
Her nipples pressed against her blouse as I envisioned a delicate bra that left little to the imagination. I lost myself in thoughts of my hot tongue brushing over her tightening nipples that soon dissolved into a diabolical need to crush her hardened points between my thumb and forefinger as I took her from behind, bent over her desk. I was on the edge of control, the barest thread holding me back from just taking her, taking her hard, again and again. I realized I had to up the ante; I couldn’t take much more. My cock throbbed for release. It was time for Plan B.
“Back in a minute,” I said. “Need something from my desk.”
I dropped the handcuffs on her keyboard with a metallic rattle. The following silence was deafening. Emma deliberately turned her chair, looking me directly in the eye then she lowered her gaze back to the handcuffs. She rose to her feet to stand directly in front of my chair. There was a whisper of silk as Emma turned, her head dropping in submission as she offered me her crossed wrists behind her back. I didn’t hesitate, quickly locking the cold metal around her wrists. She turned her head to regard me over her left shoulder, her eyes feverish.
“You can do anything you want to me. Anything.” With a contradictory elegance she circled her desk, then flattened her body across the wooden surface. Her head hung over the edge, only inches from my aching cock. Her inviting lips broke apart in damp promise as she looked up at me.
“Anything,” Emma whispered again. “Please.”
