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I wonder what else they might reveal if I watched them closely enough.

By now, the thought of you has taken hold of me completely. It is no longer merely a passing curiosity, but a scene resolving in my mind with such clarity and exquisite detail that I can almost feel your presence and catch the faint sweetness of your scent, like a familiar spice carried back through memory.

You are lying on your back, your hands restrained above your head. Your ankles are held in cuffs, a spreader bar keeping them as far apart as they will comfortably go. You are wearing a bra and panties because I think I would enjoy leaving most of you covered at first. An exquisite, illicit gift I intend to unwrap slowly.

I want to watch your eyes while I touch you, to see your pupils dilate and contract, the smallest involuntary reflection of what my hands are doing to your body and what your mind is surrendering to.

My fingers would begin on the inside of your arm, tracing lightly over your skin, passing your armpit and continuing slowly down your side. I wonder whether you would like that sensation, whether the lightness would make you shiver or squirm. I would try the other side next, my fingertips barely touching you, before letting them wander over your chest and up the soft skin of your neck.

I know how ticklish you are, my girl. Still, I wonder how you would react when you cannot pull away from me, every light touch having to be felt exactly where I choose to place it.

Would you laugh? Perhaps you would twist against the restraints, trying to turn your face towards one raised arm and hide from me as much as the position allows.

No. Look at me, Sunshine.

My hand would drift lower and settle over your breast. I love the thought of its weight under my palm, and I know I would not be able to resist squeezing it. My fingers would move over your bra and across your nipples, feeling their shape through the fabric.

I think I would like feeling them hard through the fabric, holding them between my fingertips even with that small barrier still between us. I imagine pinching one gently through the material and watching the response appear first in your eyes before passing across the rest of your face.

I wonder how that nipple would feel in my mouth.

Yes, that’s my good girl. Keep looking at me.

My hand would travel down again, grazing your stomach before reaching the waistband of your panties. I would linger at the top of your mound, close enough that you knew exactly where my fingers were going, but without yet giving you what you were waiting for.

I would want to touch your pussy, of course, but I would also want to draw the moment out. I would want to watch the anticipation build in you until every small movement of my hand seemed important.

I think I would see it first in your eyes, the way they widened just a little when my fingers stopped above you. Then I would notice your mouth, your pretty lips parting as you waited to discover what I was going to do.

My fingers would move lower, passing lightly over your covered lips before moving onto your thigh. I would stroke the inside of one leg, then the other, tickling the sensitive skin and only occasionally grazing your pussy. Each time my fingers passed close to you, I would feel more of the warmth gathering beneath the fabric.

The thought of it makes my cock hard even as I write this.

I can imagine it throbbing inside my jeans, just as it is now, while I continue touching you as though I have all the patience and time in the world.

Eventually, my need to feel more of you would overcome that patience. I would lay my palm flat against your pussy and press firmly, rubbing you through your panties and pushing the damp fabric between your lips. My fingers would settle against your entrance, and through that thin barrier I would feel how ready you were.

Fuck yes. Watch me, Sunshine.

In my mind, I stand beside you and undo my jeans. I push them down, taking my black boxers with them. My cock catches under the waistband for a moment before pulling free, hard and heavy in front of you. I step out of my clothes and kick them aside.

All the while, I am looking down at you.

Those incredible eyes stare up at me, your body held open and your hands together above your head. There is something intoxicating in knowing that I can do anything I like to you, and that you are watching me decide exactly what that will be.

I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke it slowly while I consider what comes next. Long strokes, from the head all the way down to my balls, without taking my eyes from yours.

Fuck, I need to feel you. I need to feel the heat inside you.

I kneel beside you again. My left hand returns to your covered pussy while my right hand remains wrapped around my cock. I know where your attention will naturally go, and how difficult it will be for you to resist looking.

Look at me, Sunshine.

I begin exploring you through the fabric, feeling the shape of your lips and the damp heat at your entrance. My fingers move higher until I find the small, firm shape of your clit through your panties.

Ah, yes. There you are.

I rub from your clit down to your entrance and back again, slowly at first, then with a little more rhythm as I learn how your body answers me. At the same time, I continue stroking my cock, enjoying the friction in my hand and the way you are trying so hard not to look at it.

Look into my eyes, Sunshine. Not at my cock. 

Yes, good girl.

I pull your panties to one side and slide two fingers between your lips, finding you warm and slick. I press into you slowly, feeling your body give way around my fingertips.

Fuck, you feel good.

For a moment, just a moment, I imagine abandoning all patience, kneeling between your open legs, pushing my cock deep inside you and fucking you raw. The temptation is strong, especially with you lying there helplessly and looking at me like that.

Instead, I let two fingers slide deeper into you and relish the way you feel around them.

I love the heat and slick wetness closing around my fingers, and the subtle movement of your hips as you accept them. Even with the spreader bar holding your ankles apart, your knees open wider, almost as though you are trying to invite me deeper.

That’s my good girl.

My fingers withdraw and return to your clit. It feels firm and slippery beneath them, exquisitely sensitive. I move over it carefully, watching your eyes for every change, every flicker that tells me where and how you like to be touched.

As much as I enjoy the feeling of your clit beneath my fingers, I enjoy watching your expression even more, seeing your eyes expose what my touch between your legs is doing to you.

Now, open your mouth, my girl. Yes, like that. Let me see your tongue. Keep it out. Keep looking at me.

My fist is tight around the head of my cock now, my strokes shorter and faster than before. I can feel the pressure gathering at its base, the ache for release building steadily.

Everything about you is pushing me closer. The wet heat of your pussy against my fingers. The firm, slippery shape of your clit beneath them. The flush spreading slowly up your neck. The sight of your mouth held open for me.

I imagine pushing my cock into your open mouth.

And, always, the look in your eyes.

I can see that you are getting closer too. There is a moment when you try to hold yourself still, as though composure might delay what is happening inside you. Your breathing deepens, but your hips begin to move despite every effort to control them.

I want to watch you come for me, my girl. I want you to look into my eyes and let go of everything you are still holding back.

Show me what you look like when you come.

You begin to move your hips against my hand, no longer waiting for me to give you pleasure, but using my fingers to bring yourself closer. I love that, Sunshine. I love watching your need become stronger than your restraint, until you begin taking what you need from me.

I slide two fingers back inside your pussy and press my thumb firmly against your clit. I curl my fingers, searching for that spot halfway inside you that makes your whole body tighten and something wild appear in your eyes.

You are close. I can see it.

I am still stroking my cock as I watch you, and I am close now too. I desperately need to come, but I want to wait for you. I want the moment you lose control to take the last of mine with it.

Look at me.

Come for me, my girl. Look into my eyes and come for me.

I feel your pussy flutter around my fingers.

Fuck yes. That is what I want. I want to feel you begin to come on my hand while I watch it take over your face.

Your eyes lose focus for a moment as your hips thrust against my fingers. Your pretty mouth stays open, and the sound that escapes you is deeper and less controlled than anything you meant to let me hear.

Your eyes begin to roll back, but then they find mine again. Your pupils widen suddenly, swallowing more of the colour at the exact moment you go over.

Your entire body contracts as the orgasm takes hold of you. Your pussy clenches around my fingers once, twice, three times in quick succession, then again with more force. Your hips jerk against my hand and ragged little sounds spill from your open mouth as the orgasm moves through you.

I can see it in your eyes, Sunshine. I can see the moment you stop resisting what your body is doing. You are no longer trying to remain composed or conceal anything from me. You are simply feeling it, allowing every movement and every sound to happen while I watch.

That is what breaks the last of my control.

I rise onto my knees and lean forward over you, one hand still inside your pussy while the other moves furiously over my cock. My eyes remain locked onto yours.

Fuck, I am going to come.

My cock spasms in my hand, and my whole body jerks over you. An animal sound escapes me as the first thick pulse of come spills over my fingers and falls onto your skin with a soft, wet slap. Another follows, then another, each heavy splash striking you before spreading warm and glossy across your body. Some slides down my hand and gathers at my fingertips before dropping onto you, all while I continue looking into your eyes.

Did you notice the moment I lost control?

My breathing is ragged. My body shudders as it forces out the last of it, smaller pulses now, but still thick enough to land with a quiet splat against your skin.

And still I cannot look away from you.

It is your eyes, Sunshine. Always your eyes.

It is the way they expose you to me, showing me everything you feel even while the rest of you tries to stay composed. It is the thought of watching the last of your restraint disappear from them, until your soul is laid bare under my gaze.

Is it any wonder, then, that when I cannot touch you, my mind must turn north and find you anyway?

I know what he means. I know that look, and I know one word from me could stop everything.

Instead, I move into the narrow space between his chair and the desk. As I stand between his knees, I have the ridiculous urge to smooth my skirt, as though my appearance is still the problem. My nerves are strong enough to make my knees feel unsteady, but I stay exactly where I am.

Anyone outside this room would see his name on the door, me standing between his legs, and exactly the kind of relationship people are warned not to have.

The thought sends a dark little thrill through me.

He bunches my skirt around my waist, and his hands slip underneath, warm and large against my thighs. I brace my hands behind me as he leans closer, his face almost level with my breasts. His fingers search under the gathered fabric, find the waistband of my panties and hook into it. 

The elastic drags slowly over my hips. For a moment, the fabric between my legs stretches and pulls against me before slipping free and sliding down my thighs to my knees. The small, illicit tug makes my breath catch. My blouse stays buttoned and tucked, my black pumps are still on, and from the chest up I still look like I could walk into another meeting.

Below my waist, I’m bare except for my panties caught around my knees. He pulls them down to my ankles, then over one black pump and the other, and I shift between his legs to help him free them. As I move, the lips of my pussy slide smoothly against each other. The unmistakable slickness brings a quick flare of embarrassment, followed almost immediately by another rush of heat.

My body’s getting wetter because I know he’s about to lay me back across his desk and spread me open exactly where someone could still knock on the door.

The nerves and arousal twist together inside me.

He puts his hands on my hips and pushes me back until I’m sitting on the edge of the desk. Then he adjusts me with calm, deliberate pressure, drawing my hips forwards until they’re positioned exactly where he wants them.

He rises from the chair, filling the narrow space between my knees. One hand moves up the line of my throat. His fingers stroke the side of my neck, pass gently over my jaw, then slide into my hair near my temple. The almost tender touch sends an involuntary shiver through me. Then his thumb slowly crosses my throat and his hand closes firmly around my neck.

He holds me there for a moment, looking down at me, before guiding me backwards onto the desk.

He lowers me carefully, but the possession in his grip is unmistakable. I know who’s controlling the pace now, and the knowledge tightens low inside me.

The polished surface is cool through my blouse. Its hardness follows my spine as he lowers me back across the desk, slowly and carefully, until the far edge settles under my shoulders and my head tips off the other side.

I lift it without thinking.

His palm comes down high on my chest, warm and steady. He isn’t holding me down. He’s telling me I can let go of the tension, and after one more breath, I do.

My neck relaxes. My hair falls towards the carpet, and the whole room turns strange around me: pale ceiling, upside-down windows, the dark chairs in front of his desk. The office door slips completely out of sight.

My stomach tightens. I can’t keep watching the handle now. I can’t reassure myself that no one’s coming. It’s just me, presented and exposed on his desk for him, safe only because he’s paying attention to everything. I have to trust that he’s watching the door for me.

The chair creaks softly as he sits again between my hanging legs. His hands slide under my thighs and lift them.

I try to help, pulling my knees up and keeping them apart while my muscles tighten under my blouse. The change in position opens me completely. With my legs down, I could still pretend there was something left covered, something he couldn’t see. Now there’s nothing between his eyes and the most private parts of me.

It takes only a few seconds before my thighs start to shake. The harder I try to look controlled, the more clearly my body gives me away.

He takes their weight across his forearms.

My hips and back are supported, but my head hangs off one side and my legs float above the other. My hands grip the edge of the desk. Nothing at either end of me has anywhere to rest. I’m stretched across the middle of it, arranged so carefully that the position feels more exposing than being tied down would.

He pulls the chair closer between my open legs. One hand stays wrapped firmly around my thigh.

Then the motor starts, and for one absurd second I wonder if I might be too heavy for it.

The desk lifts me slowly through the upside-down room. The hum seems far too loud with my body lying on top of it. My hair sways under me, the edge shifts slightly under my shoulders, and my raised legs grow heavier in his arms as the desk carries my open body up closer to his face.

I feel his breath, warm against the wet skin between my thighs.

Fuck, I hope I cleaned properly.

He draws in a slow breath, and the way his hand tightens around my thigh makes the worry dissolve into heat.

The desk stops.

For a moment, he holds me there, his breath warming the very centre of me. Then the motor hums again and lifts me one final centimetre.

It’s the whole careful arrangement that gets to me: the cleared desk, the monitors pushed aside, the height adjusted until my body rests exactly where he wants it. He hasn’t brought me here and worked it out as he went. He’s pictured this before.

The last tiny adjustment only confirms just how precisely.

His beard brushes the inside of my thigh first. I shiver at the rough drag of it against my soft skin, and at the knowledge of how close his mouth already is.

His fingers slide through the wetness between my lips and gently open me. He holds me apart without pulling the hood of my clit too far back, stopping at exactly the point I like.

He remembers how to touch me, and that recognition moves through me almost as strongly as the first touch of his tongue.

He starts at my entrance, broad and slow, gathering my wetness before dragging his tongue along the whole length of my pussy. He comes towards my clit from below, pauses there for a second, then turns slightly towards the side I always prefer when I touch myself.

He doesn’t hurry back.

He follows the same path again, slow enough that I can feel where he is and know what’s coming next. Each stroke gives my body time to wait for the ending, and each ending leaves me more sensitive before he starts again.

My hands are wrapped around the edge of the desk, knuckles white with tension. I try to keep my thighs still as his hand rests on my pelvis. More than anything, I try to stay quiet, because somewhere outside this office I’m still a respected professional with a reputation for good judgement.

A chair scrapes sharply in the corridor.

My whole body freezes. I can’t see the door, and from this angle I can’t tell how close the sound was.

At the same moment, his lips close around my clit.

He sucks gently but firmly, just for a second, while the tip of his tongue presses against it inside his mouth.

My stomach lifts before I can stop it. My knees pull in against his arms, and a small, helpless sound catches in my open throat.

I swallow it almost straight away. I force myself still again, clinging to the hope that I’ve hidden how hard the surprise and the suction hit me.

For one breath, I almost believe I have.

. . .

The movement she believes she concealed travels through every place I am holding her.

Her knees tighten against my forearms. Her pelvis lifts into my hand. Her clit pulses between my lips, against my tongue.

I fucking love the way she twitches for me.

The chair startled her. The suction turned the shock into arousal.

I know the difference. When fear pushes too far, she pulls away from me. This makes her open further. Even so, I wait through one more breath before I trust what I am feeling.

I release her before the pressure becomes too much and return to the long path she enjoys. My beard drags across her wet lips as I move back into position. She reacts first to the roughness and then to my tongue.

I know the taste of her pussy, the particular warmth and salt of her arousal, and I am greedy for more. The way she tried to swallow that little grunt tells me how completely she is responding.

I move my tongue from the side she prefers and slip it under the hood of her clit. Her thigh tightens immediately against my forearm.

Too direct.

I ease away, stroke the opposite side once, then go back. Her breathing eases. I try two quicker strokes, but she tightens instead of opening. I slow down again, and the tension changes into a deeper tremor.

This position is teaching me new things about her. With her head hanging off the far side of the desk, she cannot turn away to hide a broken breath or curl around a strong sensation. Her suspended legs betray every increase in pleasure before she can contain it. The height I chose lets me keep the exact angle without making her move towards me.

I feel every response before she can hide it.

Outside this room, she is composed, respected and difficult to unsettle. Here, she is spread open across my desk and coming undone under my tongue. The contrast sends another possessive surge through me and makes my already hard cock throb.

I know who was still working when I closed the door. I know the cleaners start at the far end of the floor. The time available to us is limited, but I will not let that make me careless or rushed.

Her legs are growing heavier. I take more of their weight, press one hand firmly over the soft mound above her pussy, and keep the other under her thigh.

She does not need another test.

She needs the lower angle, the long movement, extra attention towards one side, deeper contact when her clit becomes too sensitive, and suction only when her body is ready for it.

I stop searching.

I hold her hips in place at the edge of the desk and give her the rhythm that makes her body answer me.

. . .

The pattern changes, but he still doesn’t speed up, and that’s what makes it impossible to resist.

His tongue starts lower than I expect, moving slowly over my entrance before turning towards the side of my clit I always rub when I touch myself.

How does he know?

His beard scratches against the inside of my thigh before each return, a rough warning that makes my body anticipate his mouth before it reaches me again.

Somehow he’s built this out of everything he remembers about me. It can’t be some trick that works on any woman. This is mine: he knows the direction that reaches me, how much pressure feels right, the rhythm that lets pleasure collect exactly as it should. Being known this well makes me feel exposed in a way the position itself doesn’t.

He presses his tongue deeply into me.

My muscles tighten around the small intrusion. He works his tongue as far into me as he can, moving it around with slow, deliberate pressure, his face buried between my thighs and his beard rasping over skin that’s already slick and tender. It isn’t the bright, concentrated pleasure he gives my clit. This is lower and fuller, a deep pressure gathering inside me before spreading out in a slow, heavy pulse.

My hips roll towards him before I can stop them, pressing me more firmly against his mouth. A low sound slips out of me, warmer and more exposed than the one I swallowed before.

His hand closes firmly over my pelvis, holding me steady at the edge while the movement passes through me.

Then he starts the long stroke again.

It moves from low down, up through the wetness between my lips, carrying the deeper feeling from my entrance towards my clit.

The first stroke pulls the fullness upwards with it. The second finds my body already waiting for him to come back. By the third, my thighs are trembling before his tongue even reaches my clit again.

I keep my knees apart and grip the desk harder, trying to help him hold me without showing how quickly the position is wearing down my control. My stomach tightens under my blouse. My black pumps sway uselessly in the air, absurdly proper while his mouth works between my legs.

Should’ve worn the fucking ankle straps.

He simply takes more of my weight.

One hand supports my thigh while the other presses firmly into the mound above my pussy, holding my pelvis against the edge. The pressure of his palm just above my pubic bone seems to drive every movement of his tongue deeper into me, making the pleasure fuller and harder to escape. There’s no impatience in his grip and no expectation that I should somehow stay perfectly posed for him.

He put me here and he’ll keep me here, so I don’t need to manage anything.

The relief of that pushes me far too close to letting go completely.

Something rattles somewhere outside the office.

I try to lift my head, but the movement only strains my stomach and sends my hair swinging under the desk. I can’t tell whether the sound came from the corridor just outside or from farther away near the service lift.

His chair doesn’t move. His mouth keeps working me with the same slow patience, as though nothing in the building has happened without him noticing it.

A flicker of worry tries to pull my attention towards the sound, but then his tongue finds that spot again, and the thought falls apart before it can properly form.

My legs start to pull inward. He contains the movement without forcing them wider, letting me tighten while keeping me from closing him out.

Even now, when I’m bare and shaking across his desk, he remembers that opening me farther wouldn’t make the pleasure stronger. He doesn’t need to expose every part of me as much as possible just because he can.

His lips close around my clit again.

This time he draws it gently into his mouth and sucks while his tongue presses and moves against it, taking all the slow pleasure he’s built and pulling it into one bright, unbearable point.

My lower belly goes tight under his palm. My knees pull towards his shoulders, and my head drops farther off the desk as a raw, hoarse sound breaks out of me, half moan and half helpless grunt. It comes from somewhere low in my body, too sexual and too uncontrolled to soften before it fills the quiet office.

His hand tightens over my pelvis the moment he hears it. A flush of embarrassment burns through me, but it doesn’t pull me away from the pleasure. It makes everything feel even more exposed, because the response in his grip tells me he knows exactly how close I am.

He releases my clit before the sensation becomes too sharp.

When he starts the long, wet stroke again, it nearly finishes me.

His tongue gathers the wetness between my lips and carries it slowly from my entrance back towards my clit, spreading the pleasure out again when my body’s already struggling to contain it.

He doesn’t chase the sound he pulled from me. He doesn’t suddenly go harder or faster just because he knows I’m close.

Jesus Christ, please just let me come!

He gives me the slower sensation my body can keep taking, pressing his tongue inside me when the direct contact becomes almost unbearable, then drawing it back up from below along the side of my clit.

Every time he repeats it, I have less chance to recover.

The office flickers in and out around me: the air conditioning, a lift bell, something heavy being moved somewhere far away. Then the next stroke takes me and everything else disappears.

The room tilts. My hair brushes against something below, the ceiling blurs above me, and his hands are the only part of the world that stays solid.

I tighten my grip on the edge of the desk even as I stop trying to keep the rest of my body still.

The first contraction starts low inside my pussy, a tight little clench around the pressure of his tongue. For a second, I think it’s only another reaction to the stroke.

Then it happens again, stronger, and a moan breaks out of me.

My clit pulses against his mouth. My thighs pull inward, and my hips lift into the hand already holding them down.

He keeps exactly the same pace.

There’s no pause I can use to get control back. There’s no sudden change I can brace for. His mouth moves in a constant rhythm while my body starts answering him faster than I can contain it.

Oh fuck, I’m going to come.

I can’t choose when. I can’t stop it now, and fuck, I can’t stay quiet. Something inside me is about to burst.

His tongue presses against my clit again, and a series of hard, fast contractions tears through me.

My legs try to close, but he supports their weight and keeps me from shutting him out. My hips jerk against the hand holding me at the edge, but he holds me through every contraction without letting me twist away from his mouth.

I arch across the hard desk because I can’t curl forward. My chest lifts, my throat stays open, and the orgasm runs through the whole stretched length of me with nowhere to soften it or hide.

The sound that breaks out of me is far too loud.

I hear it, and some distant part of me knows I should be embarrassed, but I’m shuddering too hard to care.

Another wave starts before the first one’s finished. My pussy clenches under his mouth, my clit throbs against his tongue, and my head shifts farther below the edge as each contraction pulls through me.

His hands keep me steady. His mouth stays on me through every pulse, keeping the pleasure so intense it almost hurts.

The room disappears again. There’s only his mouth and the waves still breaking through me, each one seizing my whole body and wrenching another hoarse, helpless sound from my throat.

When the peak finally starts to ease, he softens the pressure before my body can pull away, but he doesn’t let go of my legs.

I’m still stretched open across the raised desk, my skin warm against the surface that felt so cold when he first laid me down. A drop of wetness tickles my ass as it runs down and cools between my cheeks. I can smell myself faintly in the air, warm and musky.

My skirt’s bunched around my waist, my blouse is still neatly buttoned, and the monitor arms wait on either side as though the room could become an ordinary office again at any moment.

At the far end of the floor, the service lift opens.

The sound reaches me through the last small contraction, and I know he judged the timing perfectly.