mcnaughty girl

So many years of erotic subtext in the simplest look or phrase. So many years of layered meaning and significance as I helped you put on your coat or maintained eye contact.

There’s so much good in my life. So much love. So much vitality and care and vulnerability and growth. But part of me is always feeling the absence of you.

You: It's fine, I'm in no hurry

Me: I have to wear clothes in public…

I can feel the transition from residential road to highway through the hatchback's comfort plus suspension. I anticipate the long slow turn just before the offramp. Stop and go once we're in the city. A final shift and stop in the parking garage. The driver and other passengers climb out still chatting, walking the short distance from the reserved carpool parking space to the building elevator. You unload me from the trunk, carrying my bag plus your own. Someone's going to a wedding next weekend. Someone else got free tickets to tomorrow night's game. No one speaks to me. In the elevator your buddy Darryl leans close to your ear, voice too soft for me to catch. You nod. He shifts his weight back, and I notice his eyes flick over to me. He wets his lower lip. Your biweekly team meeting never takes less than an hour. I sit quietly at your feet, underneath the boardroom table. Next to you I recognize Darryl's green and purple striped socks. Fifteen minutes in I notice a slow unzipping sound. Darryl's hands are moving slightly in his lap. He coughs and slouches down in his seat, and you nudge me towards him with your foot. I find his jeans undone, his soft cock pulled through the front of his briefs. I take it in my hand, and his hands reach and find my face, my hair. He pulls me onto his crotch, and holds me there until I take his dick in my mouth. I stay there for the rest of the meeting while you all discuss objectives and progress markers—still and quiet, soft cock hardening inside me. After the meeting we go back to your desk. I curl up on my blanket, leash trailing to the hook you've looped and tied it to. I nap. I rest my cheek on your thigh and you ruffle my hair. I drink all the water you give me, gulping from the glass each time you tip it up against my lips, excess dripping down my front like drool. You take lunch at your desk, handing me the last bites of your sandwich and cookie as you finish with them. More water. I'm squirming by the time the rest of your team return to their desks from break. You untie the leash from your desk, put my mini backpack on me, and lead me down six flights of stairs. It gets harder to hold my bladder every floor. When we get outside you bring me to a patch of open grass, facing the floor to ceiling lobby windows. I pull down my underwear and squat, lifting my dress so you and reception can see my bear ass while I piss. Back inside we wait for the elevator. You hand me an extra large kong from the bag as the car dings it's arrival. I work it into my cunt on the ride up, panties pushed to the side, and settle back in under your desk for the afternoon. A few separate times you tug on my leash while you're working. A couple soft encouragements to nuzzle my head into your lap as keyboard keys click and clack above me. Mid-afternoon you call over to your team lead, let them know you're finishing up for the day. You untie the leash, stand me up in front of you, and carefully unbutton the top third of my dress. The silvery fabric gapes open, and you frown for a moment before reaching behind me to unhook my bra and guide it over my arms and off. Better, you mutter, and wrap my leash back around your fist. We take the long route to the supply closet, winding past clusters of cubicles, stopping momentarily in the break room for you to recycle a can. Once you shut the door behind us I know it's time. Bend over. I do. Ass up, hands on the office supply shelf. Lift up your dress so I can see that fat ass. I raise the fabric and feel your hand on my thigh. You run your palm over my haunches, pushing the dress onto my lower back. Your finger traces the elastic edge of my underwear back down to where my stuffed pussy's soaked them through. Looks like you've wet your panties even tho I took you outside at lunch. That's not good. I nod and bite my lip, feeling my hips wiggle in anticipation. I hear you take one of the big hardcover notebooks off the shelf to my right, and my core reflexively tenses. Hey Siri, set a timer for 20 minutes. OK, 20 minutes and counting…

The first strike isn't too hard but lands heavy. You work up a rhythm, picking up speed and force as you go. Each hit on my ass and thighs a loud thud. By the end I start to quiver, but don't make a sound. I can hear your breathing. Your phone beeps. You carefully place the notebook back on the shelf beside me, and then reach around underneath my chest. I feel your dick hard against my ass through your jeans as you unbutton the rest of my dress and let it crumple to the floor. You place your hands against my hips and let them rest there for a moment. Panties off now, sweetheart. Your hands drag my underwear over my burning skin, letting them slide down my legs, waiting for me to step out of them on the floor. You walk to the photocopier on the other side of the small stuffy room and start pressing buttons. Bring me your panties now. No hands. I crouch down and feel my cunt lips part. Nose to the floor I grab the fabric with my teeth.