#ms co.

Ms. Cobel holds the door open for you, a new experience, and you nervously step inside. Ms. Eagan is sitting behind her desk, wearing a pleasant smile. One you’ve seen in countless photos. Strangely, there’s a table in front of her placed perpendicularly to her desk. Since it’s in the spot you would normally stand when talking in Ms. Cobel’s office, you awkwardly stop next to it.

Ms. Cobel closes the door behind you and stands of to the side. You shoot her a nervous glance but her expression has yet to change. It rarely does.

“I would like to personally congratulate you on your efforts yesterday,” Ms. Eagan says.

“It’s what anyone would have done, ma’am,” you say meekly.

“Unfortunately not,” she says.

 You aren’t sure how to respond and you send Ms. Cobel another glance. She now has her hands clasped together in front of her. You copy the stance.

“Loyalty is always rewarded at Lumon,” Ms. Eagan says continues. “Sit on the table.”

“The…table?” you ask hesitantly.

“We wouldn’t want Ms. Cobel to kneel on the hard floor, now would we?” Ms. Eagan says with that same pleasant smile.

You have no idea why Ms. Cobel would need to kneel on the floor but you shake your head and obediently move to sit on the table. Bizarrely, Ms. Cobel guides you to sit on the edge facing the window, leading you to have to turn your head to look at Ms. Eagan. Your legs hang in the air and you cross your legs. Half to keep some semblance of professionalism and half so you don’t accidentally flash Ms. Cobel.

“Look at me,” Ms. Cobel says and you do immediately.

She steps closer, her skirt brushing your knees. Your hands flex in your lap. She’s rarely this close, despite your own desires, and she isn’t holding anything. What could the reward possibly be?

One hand hooks under the knee of the leg you’ve crossed on top. She gently lifts it and uncrosses your legs. You let her. Ms. Cobel will sometimes move you around when you’re in the way and not quite getting the clue. Your excitement when it comes to observing can make you a little oblivious to anything else. You don’t think too much of it, even with Ms. Eagan watching, until her hand dips under the edge of your skirt.

“Ms. Cobel!” you half-gasp, half-protest as you grab onto her hand and stop her.

“Settle down.”

You gape at her. This is not you getting too excited about a result, and yet she’s giving you that exact expression.

“Place your hands on the table,” Ms. Eagan commands.

Your head snaps to look at her and embarrassment floods through you as you realise what she just saw. Then you process what she said. Your eyes flicker nervously between her and Ms. Cobel but you do as she says. You’d never disobey the next in line for Lumon, let alone Kier’s heir. Ms. Cobel places her hands on your knees and gently opens your legs again. 

You can’t say you’ve never thought about her touching you. There’s rarely a night where you don’t daydream, in the safety of your bed, of what your mentor would be like if she touched you. But Ms. Cobel is so professional you had never dreamed of it becoming a reality. And your boss touching you like this is meant to be wrong isn’t it? Yet the head of the company is in the room, watching as your boss touches you however she likes.

You hold your breath as one hand creeps under your skirt. It’s an effort not to close your legs again as she gets closer to your wet heat but you manage. You still startle when her fingers brush against your panties. You squeeze the desk tighter when she finds the wet spot forming on it. Her fingers circle the spot and you have to swallow a whimper. Her fingers are right above your entrance.

“You are free to express yourself,” Ms. Eagan says.

You twitch. Her smooth voice combined with Ms. Cobel’s fingers on you is almost too much. Your eyes flick to her for a moment but quickly skitter away when you see where she’s looking. It’s not at your face.

“This is a reward,” Ms. Cobel says. You meet her eyes and the slight approval there as you opening your legs wider. “Enjoy it.”

She makes it sound so simple that you nod. She pulls your panties aside and runs her fingers through your dripping folds. A shiver runs up your spine. She gathers your wetness for a moment before nudging at your entrance.

“You’ve done so well,” Ms. Cobel says.

Your breath catches in your throat. 

“Yes,” Ms. Eagan agrees, “You’re performance has been highly-rated.”

There’s a slight expression shift in Ms. Cobel’s face but you can’t quite read it. You also can’t bring yourself to look at Ms. Eagan with your mentor’s fingers almost inside of you. 

Ms. Cobel circles your entrance one last time before carefully pushing two fingers inside. You whine quietly when she doesn’t stop until she’s three knuckles deep.

“You’re taking your reward well,” Ms. Cobel says, lower this time. “You’re behaving perfectly.”

Another whine escapes you, this one sounding closer to a whimper, and you squirm slightly on her still fingers. They move and you gasp as they begin to slide out of you. You try to open your legs wider, a needy sound escaping you, when you think she’s going to pull out all the way. You moan when she pushes back inside instead. Her pace remains slow and steady. It’s a struggle not to grind down on her fingers, not to beg for more.

“Express yourself,” Ms. Cobel says firmly and her thumb finds your clit.

You press into her hand eagerly as your head tilts back with a moan. You stop trying to hold back. You’ve been given leave to enjoy the reward as you will, so you do. You moan as Ms. Cobel fucks you and whimper when she swipes firmly with her thumb over your clit and try to grind down on her fingers every time they’re completely inside of you. Ms. Eagan would have faded into the background if it weren’t for the sound of her breathing. It’s gotten unsteadier and louder with every noise you make. 

You turn your head and force your eyes open. Her eyes are stuck to where Ms. Cobel’s hand disappears under your skirt. One of her own hands has disappeared below the desk and you swear you can see her arm moving. You buck harder into Ms. Cobel’s hand.

“See what your good behaviour does?” Ms. Cobel asks, too quietly for Ms. Eagan to hear. You nod hurriedly, nails digging into the wood of the desk as you get close to your high. “Such a good thing.”

You cry out as you come, clinging to the desk desperately as Ms. Cobel guides you through it. A stifled moan comes from the direction of Ms. Eagan’s desk and you have to lean on Ms. Cobel for support as you shudder around her. 

You slowly relax into her as your high leaves you, forehead against her shoulder. The lingering tingles making your legs weak. You only straighten up when she pulls her fingers away. She pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and you watch with slight mortification, and a hint of longing, as she wipes her hand clean. Ms. Eagan is entirely composed when you look over at her, both hands back in front of her on the desk.

You smooth out your skirt nervously. Your hands are slightly sore from how hard you were clinging to the desk. Ms. Cobel steps back and gestures for you to get down. You do, leaning on the table at first to make sure your weak legs won’t embarrass you.

“Do not speak of this reward outside of these walls,” Ms. Eagan says. “It does little to make the other workers jealous.”

“Jealousy is not a virtue Kier holds dear,” Ms. Cobel concurs.

You nod. It was doubtful that you would without the warning (how would you even begin?) but now you’ll be sure to mind your tongue.

“Thank you, Ms. Eagan,” you turn to your mentor but you can’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Cobel.”

Ms. Cobel brushes the back of her fingers against your cheek, just for a moment.

You gently open the door. The same sight as always greets you. Ms. Cobel sitting at her desk, hands folded in front of her. You stop in front of her, hands once again clasped tightly, and wait.

“This is not a preamble to the Break Room,” she says and your shoulders relax. “However, it is about some concerning behaviour you’ve exhibited recently.”

The tension immediately returns. Concerning behaviour? You’ve never been accused of that before. The cause for your trips to the Break Room tend to lean more towards blatant infractions.

“Have I done something wrong?” you ask nervously.

“It will depend on the cause of the behaviour,” she says and you nod in understanding. “You’ve become restless, unfocused and,” her eyes scan your body with a look you can’t recognise, “squirmy.”

Oh. Your gaze drops in embarrassment. You don’t know exactly what it is but you know where you feel it. You know the names for where you feel it too; vagina, pussy, cunt. But there isn’t really a professional way to say that. 

“It’s a feeling I get sometimes. I don’t know why,” you say quietly.

“A feeling where?”

“My stomach,” you say.

“Your stomach,” she says flatly. You nod, your curved shoulders giving you away. “A stomach bug does not have the same symptoms as the ones we are currently discussing.”

“My…lower stomach,” you try.

Her expression doesn’t change. She just stares at you in silence. You only last a few seconds before it becomes too much and you start tugging at the bottom of your shirt. 

“Between my legs,” you finally admit just as quietly, gaze fixed firmly to the floor.

“I see,” she says and leans back in her chair. “That is quite concerning.”

Concerning in an affects-your-work way or concerning in a worried-for-your-health way? Your eyes flick to hers for a moment but you still can’t read her expression.

“This is something that we will have to be investigate,” she says and stands.

You eye her nervously. “Investigate how?”

She doesn’t answer you. She moves to the wall and removes a first aid kit.

“I thought Mr. Milchick was our first aid officer?” you ask as she places it upon her desk.

“This is a more delicate matter. It has been noted that women feel more relaxed when this matter is dealt with by another woman,” Ms. Cobel says.

“Okay,” you nod and fidget nervously.

She hasn’t explained what the matter is. How sick are you? If she noticed, did the others? If they did why didn’t they say anything? It can be hard talking about things that are a result of the outside world but if you’re sick enough for Ms. Cobel to intervene surely they would have said something.

She opens the kit and pulls out a pair of gloves. She pulls them on slowly and when she lets go of the bottom of the glove it snaps back against her wrist with a loud smack. You swallow.

“Bend over,” she says, the exact same way she says everything.

The casualness of it makes your brain second guess the meaning. But no, you heard right. She waits, watching, and you notice how dry your mouth is. You take a hesitant step closer to her desk before leaning down and holding yourself up with your hands.

A hand lands between your shoulder blades and you jolt in surprise. You think this is the first time she’s ever touched you. Actually, you think this is the first time anyone’s touched you on your back at all. 

“Lower,” Ms. Cobel says and presses down.

You obey. She doesn’t stop until you’re front is firmly pressed against the desk. 

“Ms. Cobel?” you ask in a small voice.

“Stay there.” Her hand smooths down your back and then curves over your hip.

Her hand continues until it reaches the bottom of your skirt. You tense slightly as she slowly lifts it to settle about your waist. You try to relax, even as her gloved fingers find the waistband of your panties. The feeling that makes you ‘squirmy’ is back. You want to ask her what she’s doing but you’ve been on the severed floor long enough to know you are only ever told what they want to tell you and no more.

Your panties drop to the floor and you want to bury your face in your arms but when you try to move Ms. Cobel’s hand returns to your back, hard enough that it feels light her nails are digging into your skin.

“I believe I told you to stay still,” she says.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cobel,” you murmur, something like embarrassment flaring through you.

She doesn’t respond. Her hand returns to your hip, purely so it can run down the curve of your ass and to the wetness growing between your thighs. She doesn’t pause. Two fingers run through your dripping folds. You gasp, hips jolting at the unfamiliar feeling. You’re surprised at how much your cunt enjoys it. She’s barely touching you. 

“An appropriate amount of lubrication,” she notes. You don’t know if you should be embarrassed or not. “Perhaps a bit more than the situation warrants.”

Before you can try and parse out if your should be embarrassed by that, her fingers dip lower and nudge something that makes you twitch. Something that makes you want her to press. You don’t have the words for it but you want more. You want it deeper.

As if she’s reading your mind, she slowly pushes one finger inside. You tense at the feeling of something entering you for the first time. It feels strange but far from bad. That same feeling that’s been following you not only returns but grows. She slowly pulls out before pushing back inside of you. You can’t steady your breathing. The feeling of stretching is disappearing, to be replaced by something much more hot than the dull ache that’s been plaguing you. She repeats the motions enough that you’re struggling to stay still. The fire inside of you is growing and you don’t know what to do with it. It’s torturous.

She doesn’t warn you when she uses a second finger. She pulls one out and pushes two in. A high-pitched gasp leaves you and you cling to the desk. Ms. Cobel makes a vaguely interested humming noise and then her fingers curl.

A noise you’ve never made before, loud and embarrassing, escapes you. You cover your mouth with one hand. Yes, she’s looking to see what the problem is and the problem is pleasure but surely you aren’t meant to be enjoying it this much? She still doesn’t make a comment. Her fingers slide in and then out of you, adjusting their angle slightly, and curl again. This time they touch something that sends sparks across your vision. You arch involuntarily, your hand muffling your cry. She does it again and your whole world shrinks to the hot pleasure. Something above where her fingers are is touched and another embarrassing noise escapes you.

“Good,” she assesses. 

The feeling inside you flares brighter. You feel something happening. Something coming closer, building inside of you. You don’t know what it is but you know you want it. You ache for it. 

Just as your about to reach it, she pulls her hand away. 

You barely swallow down a desperate “no”. You don’t want the pleasure to stop but it isn’t like she can do this all day. There isn’t an endpoint to this feeling, it only grows or lessens. You’re going to finish the meeting feeling like this no matter how long she continues. 

The understanding doesn’t stop the desperate want inside of you.

“Your reactions seem normal,” she says as she peels off the gloves. You blink slowly as you try to come back to yourself. It takes a moment but you manage to push yourself up onto shaky legs. You’re too overwhelmed to be relieved that you aren’t sick. “But they will need to be monitored. It’s easy for something like this to become a larger issue.” She throws the gloves in the bin.

“Do you mean this will happen again?” you ask, and your voice doesn’t come out as calm as you were hoping.

She said your reactions are normal so hopefully the…positive reaction you had won’t be something she feels the need to correct. She doesn’t answer your question. Unsurprisingly. She doesn’t like redundant questions.

“Straighten yourself out,” she says as she sits down.

You look down and try not to be too embarrassed at how rumpled your clothes are. You quickly pull on the end of your shirt to straighten it and smooth out your skirt. She waits until you’re done to say,

“Dismissed.”