bdsm dynamic à la secretary 2002 with that one photoshoot of frank in there button up and black tie. i trust you specifically w this idea because i know you r gonna execute it perfectly 💋💋
hey so. hey. so like. yeah so like. yeah so like yeah. mhm yeah. so moral yeah un-yeah. thank you for this baby. yeah. yeah. kisses yeah. uhm yeah xox
"miss? in here."
you sit at the oak desk. the skirt isn't tight, its fine. it's just long and keeps your legs together so you can't move as fast as you think he'd want you too. you look over your shoulder at his office door. the door isn't dark- the room glows a soft orange. you move through to his space.
he isn't imposing. he actually seems semi-pathetic. in a way. but he knows you, all parts of you. the weirder ones that should be more private are splayed out in front of him like a dissected frog. you stand at his doorway and he beckons you over with one finger as he looks down at the pile of paper.
"what did you eat last night, miss?" you look to the ground.you then recount the contents of your food diary that he instructed you to keep. he nods and beckons you closer again- until the stretched wool of your pencil skirt-bound tight over your thighs, is pressed into the opposing edge of his desk.
his shirt is perfectly pressed, his tie black and long. you can tell he's lived a life. the tattoos that scatter his body are charming and sweet. but he is so perfectly stern with you. you place your hands on the table like he has instructed you to do 1 million times before.
submission is easy for someone as insecure as you- but trust is harder. to trust frank with you weakness, your need. is the scariest thing you can imagine. so you squeeze your eyes tight as he slides the pile of paper in you eye line- then walks slowly around the table to stand behind you and rubs a warm palm into the arch of your spine.
"you misspelled 13 things, miss-" and you nod as you feel one hand stay on your back- the other raise itself over the plush of your ass. he made you buy the skirt for a reason. sure it does wonders for your waistline- it's the heels that make your ass look this good anyway.
"you need to fix it, ma'am" and you nod again, reaching for a pen from the pot. there's a framed picture of you on his desk- you're holding a lily and smiling. after your first night together, talking something stupid into the wee hours of the morning.
he kicks your legs apart so your head is pushed down toward the lacquer of the desk. you begin making the edits to transcript- as he hits a blow over your backside. you try not to struggle against him as the zipper on your skirt shudders with the force. he hits until the paper is finished. you counted until 25- and wept until 30.
the skirts zipper breaks. frank notices the cool lilac of your panties and he shudders- takes a step back and grabs his crotch to quell his needs.
"sit-sit on the desk-sit on the desk and let me see- let me see, pull- pull the skirt up miss-show me, show your boss. you-you won't touch me, I just-just need to see this-let me-let me see"
