Overtime (10 page)

Valerie kicked her feet under her office desk, frowning at the screen in front of her. It was Thursday, three days since the vibrating panties, and she was supposed to be going through the minutes of past meetings between her boss, Jasper Declan, one of the partners in the Declan and Soames advertising agency, and the agency’s board members, but she couldn’t focus.

Mr. Declan hadn’t checked yet that morning whether she was wearing no panties and the garter belt yet, but she knew he would, soon, and the thought of being asked into his office and told to bend over as he ran his fingers up the outside of her skirt, lifting it slowly, asking if she was a good girl that day... well, it was a very distracting thought.

Mr. Declan always checked whether Valerie was following his instructions.

Valerie’s email pinged two more times, each an email with different sales numbers and updates from other admins, other people tasked with getting these sorts of things to Mr. Declan. That afternoon, they were to find out whether they had gotten the campaign for Starbucks’ new restaurant chain—potentially the biggest thing Declan and Soames had ever done in their forty-year history. Things at the office were a little tense.

She stood, pulled her tight pencil skirt down over her large thighs, and walked to the printer. She proofed what she’d printed, and five minutes later, had sent it to everyone, her main task for the morning complete. Now, while he was on the phone, she could get some other, smaller tasks done—a mailing, some meetings to arrange, a little bit of filing. Valerie relaxed a little as the clock ticked down to 10 a.m.—Mr. Declan was going to be in a meeting until at least 11, so there was no point in getting excited about her panty and stocking check until at least then.

She exhaled and began another email, setting up a meeting for the next Tuesday with some reps from a small, New York-area hardware store. For a moment, she was the old Valerie again, wearing underwear and regular tights.

Then, Jasper’s office door opened, and she could hear the phone, on speaker, a man’s voice saying something about customer engagement. Valerie turned her head and he stepped half a step out of his office, looked directly at her, and crooked one finger.

Valerie stood. The other assistants in the open-plan office all looked up and then quickly back down at their desks. They knew what a secretary getting in trouble looked like, and they all wondered what she’d done wrong.

Her heart pumped a little faster as she walked, the tingle of not knowing whether she would be rewarded or punished flickering through her. Really, she was hoping for both. The friction of her thigh-high hose rubbing together heated her up.

She entered and he closed the door behind her, gently, the man on speakerphone still droning on and on. Without speaking, Jasper sat back in his big leather office chair, leaning back with both his hands on its arms, and crooked his finger again.

Valerie walked toward him, her cushioned hips swaying with every high-heeled step. He watched hungrily.

“I’m not sure we have the numbers—“ the man on the phone was saying.

Jasper’s finger spun lazily in the air, and Valerie understood what
that
meant. She turned, pirouetting on her tiptoes, and then arching her back and slowly leaning forward, feeling her already-tight skirt pull as she did, the slit coming close to revealing her pussy, her garters making two indentations where they pulled against the flesh of her ass.

Just like every day, his fingers pushed at the hem of her skirt slowly, easing them up her thighs. Valerie could feel his breath on her newly-exposed skin, each revealed inch arousing her more, until, the moment before he bared her cunt, she felt as though there were a waterfall in her skirt.

Mr. Declan paused. He ran one finger under the suspender on her left leg, right into the cleft between buttock and thigh, and then he ran his finger down it, under the stocking itself. Then he snapped it against her flesh, not loud enough to carry over the phone.

The soft sting reverberated through Valerie’s whole body. Her cunt pulsed harder.

Finally, he pushed her skirt all the way up to her waist in one movement, baring her ass and cunt right to him. Valerie’s legs began to shake, and she swayed a little from the pressure of staying on her toes for so long, her entire weight on the ball of her foot. This position was a miniature torture of its own, the fatigue and pain mixing with the pleasure of knowing he’d touch her soon, elevating each of those to a new feeling all together.

And then, he did touch her. Two fingers, one each on the outermost part of each lip, slick with her juices, traversing up and down, flicking her clit lightly, pinching her lips, and then he was done. He tugged her skirt back down, signaling that he was done with this portion of the day, and Valerie stood with relief, rocking her weight back onto her heels.

This had gone on every day for the last three, since the first day he told her she couldn’t wear underwear in the office anymore. It was nearly a week since he’d tied her up and fucked her in a hotel room, nearly a week since she said yes to this probably-insane arrangement of submitting to her boss during the workday.

Part of Valerie still knew it couldn’t end well for either of them. Not if he was going to put his fingers in her cunt every morning, not if he was going to have her crawl around his office without even locking the door. Someone was bound to come in and catch them at their little game, and deep in the recesses of her mind, Valerie knew it. But until then, this was the best thing she’d ever done. She went home every night full and satisfied and happy, woke up every morning delighted to not wear panties.

She turned back around, and Mr. Declan pointed down at the ground. On the floor was a yoga mat, folded over itself again and again, so that it was only about eight inches long and regular width, right in front of his office chair. Valerie frowned slightly and looked at him quizzically.

Mr. Declan unzipped his pants, leaning back in his leather chair, looking like a sex-starved monarch. He reached in with his exquisite fingers and brought out his perfect cock, already at half-mast.

Now Valerie understood.

She knelt on the mat as gracefully as she could, wobbling a little as she descended, feet neatly behind her, and put her hands on his knees as her face came level with them.
 

A kleenex waved in front of her face, and she looked up. Mr. Declan waved his finger around his mouth. She took the kleenex and wiped around her mouth with it, still not really understanding. He wrote something on a post-it.

LIPSTICK, it read.

She wiped off her bright red lipstick, blushing, realizing that he didn’t want it all over the crotch of his expensive suit pants. Reasonable, she figured, tossing the kleenex in the trash can.

Then, she leaned forward, took the base of his cock in one hand, and put her newly-bare lips to the head. She felt it surge harder almost instantly, rearing up toward her like a cobra. Valerie smiled to herself, pleased that she could get that kind of instant reaction, satisfied that this man who could probably have almost anyone in New York, wanted
her
.

“—The numbers don’t really support that,” the phone on the voice was saying, going on and on about something. She wasn’t really paying attention. Instead she slowly moved her mouth over the head of his cock, savoring the salty pre-cum that trickled out, sliding her tongue along the bottom of the shaft, pulling the head back out and closing her lips again. With her hand she wiped her saliva from the head, spreading the lubricant down the whole shaft, careful not to get any on his nice gray suit.

Something tapped on his desk, and Valerie looked over to see him tapping a pen on the desktop. His head was leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. For a moment, she studied him—usually, when they were together, she was so aware of being watched, always thinking of how she looked, that it was strange that she could see him when he couldn’t see her. He looked a little older like this, a little tired, the lionlike command he always had dimmed just a little.

Then, he opened his eyes and looked down at her.

Valerie stuck out her tongue and folded it over the head of his cock, swirling it around and around, still tasting the salt droplets, smelling his musk. Again she slid the head into her mouth, feeling it meaty heft on her palate, slowly pushing herself down on it until the tip hit the back of her mouth. She sucked for a moment and then slid him back out, using her fist to pump it again.

She repeated it once, twice: swirl, slide, suck, each time moving a little faster, doing her level best to give a great blow job. Every so often she’d think that someone could just barge in—she hadn’t locked the door behind them—and part of her relished the thought of being caught with her boss’s cock in her mouth, of having someone else watching as she blew him while he was on a conference call.

The next time the tip of his cock reached the back of her mouth, she felt one hand on the back of her head, applying the slightest amount of pressure. She kept her head there for longer that time, moving her tongue in a ripple along the bottom, bobbed her head up and down again, felt the pressure on her head a little stronger as his hand pushed her again.

A few nights ago, knowing full-well that a good submissive could probably deep-throat, Valerie had poured herself a glass of wine and sat on her bed with her laptop, Googling “deep throat porn” and “how to deep throat,” caught somewhere in-between arousal and revulsion. Most porn was full of women, mascara running and slobber everywhere, having men come on their faces—in their
eyes
—and then showing it off to the camera. The instructions, on the other hand, were detailed and clinical: push down. Open your throat. Swallow when he gets to that point. To get rid of a gag reflex, practice makes perfect.

Valerie latched her mouth around the head of his cock, wondering if he was close. She licked the bottom a few times, took a deep breath, and pushed her head down toward the fabric of his gray suit. When he hit the back of her mouth she let him stay there a moment, then pushed a little harder, running right up against her gag reflex, and then she backed off.

His hand tightened in her hair.

She did it again: push down, wait, and then try harder to get past the reflex by degrees, going a little further with every stroke. By now his fist in her hair was iron-tight and his cock rock-hard. She could hear his breathing, up above her, grow rougher as he neared orgasm. The men on the phone talked on and on.

“I don’t think that’s the direction we want to go in,” he said suddenly, his grip still on her head.

“I think it makes sense—“

The hand on her head pushed Valerie down onto his cock, just a bit beyond where she’d gone before, and it took all her control not to gag. Mr. Declan sighed violently and said something else, then released her.

The men on the phone kept arguing. Now he had both hands on her head, moving his hips just a bit off of his chair, pushing himself into her mouth. Eagerly, she took it, even though she knew there was saliva running down her chin, loving the feeling that he was taking control of her, using her for his own pleasure.

Then he pushed her head onto his cock, her mouth closed around the hard member, and left it there for long seconds. Valerie swallowed once, then twice, wanting nothing more than to feel him pop into her throat, for him to experience the pure pleasure that was supposed to bring him.

“We’ll think it over,” he said.

Then he exploded into her mouth, his hands still on her head, and Valerie frantically swallowed again and again, determined to get every last drop as she felt the muscles in his cock clench and spasm, again and again. Mr. Declan didn’t make a sound as she came, just clenched his teeth and tilted his head back, the voice on the speakerphone droning on and on about this quarter’s expectations.

Finally, his hands on her head loosened, his cock went soft, and Valerie pulled her head back. Daintily, she wiped at the sides of her mouth and her chin and leaned back onto her toes, still on her knees on the yoga mat. Mr. Declan wasn’t looking at her, instead glancing at the screen of his computer and carefully stuffing himself back into his pants, but she knelt before him, waiting.

For a long time he spoke to his colleagues on the phone and not to her, explaining something about the art department and how they needed more artists and less graphic designers, as he stared down at Valerie, almost as if thinking deeply about something. Valerie watched and watched him, her knees beginning to get stiff and her ankles sore from the strange position she was holding them in, but he hadn’t told her to do anything else, so she waited.

Finally, the talk moved on to another topic, one that seemed to involve him less, and he opened a drawer in his desk to his left, sliding out a jewelry box slightly larger than usual. Valerie’s stomach flip-flopped. It could be a nice necklace or something, she thought.

Or something better, like nipple clamps, or handcuffs. No, it was too small for handcuffs, but she still liked the idea better than a necklace.