anythingulike_69
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2010
- Posts
- 524
"Everett!"
The shrill, demanding tone of voice alone was enough to send interns scurrying around the outer offices of NewsBeat magazine, wide-eyed winces all around as each scrambled to look busy. It sounded like the clock was already ticking on the latest in a long line of executive assistants to Ms. Samantha Noelle, Editor-in-Chief, and no one else was eager to step into her sights.
Office door flinging open, Samantha strode quickly out to her assistant's desk, noting the empty seat behind it. Glancing around with a glare, she pointed a long, perfectly manicured finger at the first person she saw. "You!" she demanded, "Gina!"
The girl ducked her head, seeming to shrink in on herself. "Joanna, Ms. Noelle, " she murmured.
"What?" Samantha stared down at the girl.
"Y-yes, Ms. Noelle?"
"Where the hell is Everett?"
"You sent him to track down the Sanderson research for you, ma'am. Remember? He left about an hour ago."
"Fine. Take these to Carol in Accounting," she plopped a file folder into the girl's open hands, "this to Bob Jackson down on the third floor," another file, "this one to Susan Richards in HR," another file, "and this one needs to be on Sam Ryan's desk. NOW!" She tossed the final file onto the pile and turned to stride back to her office without even looking , high heels clicking across the floor.
"Any person who steps foot in my office for the rest of today will be spending tomorrow in the unemployment line!"
When she finally looked up from the paperwork on her desk, the outer offices were dark and quiet, and she realised several hours had passed, but her frustration had not eased. She stood and walked over to her private bathroom. Quickly washing her hands, she paused a moment to study her reflection. "No, Samantha, this has got to stop. You are not going to do this."
She could feel her nipples tighten, puckering, and the tiniest little throb in her clit.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered again, even as she lifted her arms to release her long chestnut curls from the tight twist she wore it in to cascade freely down her back. Shaking her hair loose, her fingers moved quickly of their own accord to work the tiny buttons of her silk blouse open, dropping it off her shoulders. No one would have guessed at the sheer lace and satin cincher she wore underneath, binding her waist tightly, exaggerating the round swell of her hips.
Samantha slipped her bra off, tugging her nipples up before letting her breasts bounce back down. Though naturally heavy and looking even larger on her slight frame, they were still full and rounded, with perfect, dusky rose nipples standing proud and pointed.
Reaching behind her back, she slid the zipper on her skirt down, and with a small shimmy of her hips, let the skirt fall to the floor. Left standing clad only in her heels, cincher and matching lace panties, Samantha scowled at the dark chocolate eyes of her reflection. "One day this is going to go horribly wrong," she warned herself before turning to the small closet stocked with toiletries, towels, a clean suit and a small locked chest.
That risk would not stop her now. Not when the need was already flaring. That risk was part of the thrill. The risk of discovery, of potential humiliation, of being at the complete mercy of whomever might discovery her, was the reason playing like this was so much more satisfying in her office.
"Still," she muttered, picking up the locked box and carrying it into her office and setting it on the small end table next to the long leather couch, before going to lock her office door with a quick click. "There's risky and then there's downright stupid."
Striding back to the seating area, she settled on the couch, gasping slightly at the momentary shock of cool leather against her heated skin. Unlocking the box, she opened it and pulled several small items out and headed back into the brightly lit bathroom. Setting the pile on the small vanity, Samantha lifted a butter-soft black leather collar and reached up to buckle it snugly around her throat. Two delicate chains hung from a ring at the collar front, ending in a pair of nipple clamps. Leaving the chains dangling loose between her breasts for the moment, she ran her fingers over the soft leather and gave the ring a sharp tug, feeling an answering throb in her core.
Next came the ring gag, buckled tight, forcing her mouth wide open, doing nothing to muffle her soft moan.
Samantha stared for a moment, the woman in the mirror so at odds with her usual corporate image. Which was the real Samantha Noelle? Did she even know? Did she want to?
Turning away from her reflection she picked up the final item from the counter. She pressed the not yet vibrating egg deep into her cunt, already slick with her juices and grabbed up its remote before heading back out to the sofa. Almost ready.
Lastly came out a wide spreader bar with thick leather and chain cuffs at either end. Settling on the low heavy coffee table in front of the sofa, Samantha bent to buckle a heavy leather strap around first her right, then her left ankle, forcing them apart. She glanced at the floor, and then gripped the table under her for a moment. The table was riskier, but riskier meant more helpless, and more helpless meant a faster, more intense climax. She whimpered softly around the gag. More intense was definitely what she needed tonight.
Placing her phone on one end of the short table in case of an emergency, Samantha climbed up to kneel on the other end. Fondling her breasts and tweaking her nipples for a moment, she lifted each of the chains on her collar in turn and tightened a clamp around each of her nipples with a shuddering groan.
Her clit throbbed, only the spreader bar keeping her from pressing her thighs together. Bending low, the pale globes of her ass now lifted high, she secured the hand with the vibrator remote into the cuff next to her left ankle. Keys clenched tight in her fist, she twisted and closed the last cuff around her free wrist.
Fully bound. Helpless.
Samantha pressed the remote and the vibrator buzzed to life. Her entire body shook, straining against the tight leather hold. Her eyes clenched shut, forehead pressing against the table. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Too much. She panted, writhing, shuddering . Too fast. Can't…
She fumbled with the remote, but it was too late, the first climax slamming into her as she clenched and cried out, fingers spasming futilely as she dropped both the remote and keys.
Before the shuddering had even settled, the relentless vibration was already pushing her toward the edge again. Phone. Thank god she'd keyed in her emergency message before she started. All she had to manage was to send it.
She whimpered, hips bucking of their own accord, juices trickling down her thighs as she stretched impossibly toward her phone, pressing her chin against it. She barely heard the soft chime of a message sent at the same moment as another climax exploded through her, ripping a cry from her throat.
Her body jolted, sending the phone skittering to the floor, but it didn't matter. The message was sent to her best friend and bondage mentor. "Emergency at my office. I need the help only you can give." Evie would understand exactly what that meant.
Samantha moaned, fighting to catch her breath as the vibrator continued to buzz, once again pushing her higher and higher. She glanced over the edge of the table at her phone, looking for Evie's affirmative response. Only the name flashing on her phone, the name she just sent her emergency message to, was somehow not Evie's but Everett Johnson, her executive assistant's.
She was bound, helpless, exposed and the only help possibly coming for her was… "No, no, no, no, Noooo…" she screamed as the most powerful orgasm yet pounded through her, her body arching and straining against her self-imposed bonds.
The shrill, demanding tone of voice alone was enough to send interns scurrying around the outer offices of NewsBeat magazine, wide-eyed winces all around as each scrambled to look busy. It sounded like the clock was already ticking on the latest in a long line of executive assistants to Ms. Samantha Noelle, Editor-in-Chief, and no one else was eager to step into her sights.
Office door flinging open, Samantha strode quickly out to her assistant's desk, noting the empty seat behind it. Glancing around with a glare, she pointed a long, perfectly manicured finger at the first person she saw. "You!" she demanded, "Gina!"
The girl ducked her head, seeming to shrink in on herself. "Joanna, Ms. Noelle, " she murmured.
"What?" Samantha stared down at the girl.
"Y-yes, Ms. Noelle?"
"Where the hell is Everett?"
"You sent him to track down the Sanderson research for you, ma'am. Remember? He left about an hour ago."
"Fine. Take these to Carol in Accounting," she plopped a file folder into the girl's open hands, "this to Bob Jackson down on the third floor," another file, "this one to Susan Richards in HR," another file, "and this one needs to be on Sam Ryan's desk. NOW!" She tossed the final file onto the pile and turned to stride back to her office without even looking , high heels clicking across the floor.
"Any person who steps foot in my office for the rest of today will be spending tomorrow in the unemployment line!"
When she finally looked up from the paperwork on her desk, the outer offices were dark and quiet, and she realised several hours had passed, but her frustration had not eased. She stood and walked over to her private bathroom. Quickly washing her hands, she paused a moment to study her reflection. "No, Samantha, this has got to stop. You are not going to do this."
She could feel her nipples tighten, puckering, and the tiniest little throb in her clit.
"This is a bad idea," she whispered again, even as she lifted her arms to release her long chestnut curls from the tight twist she wore it in to cascade freely down her back. Shaking her hair loose, her fingers moved quickly of their own accord to work the tiny buttons of her silk blouse open, dropping it off her shoulders. No one would have guessed at the sheer lace and satin cincher she wore underneath, binding her waist tightly, exaggerating the round swell of her hips.
Samantha slipped her bra off, tugging her nipples up before letting her breasts bounce back down. Though naturally heavy and looking even larger on her slight frame, they were still full and rounded, with perfect, dusky rose nipples standing proud and pointed.
Reaching behind her back, she slid the zipper on her skirt down, and with a small shimmy of her hips, let the skirt fall to the floor. Left standing clad only in her heels, cincher and matching lace panties, Samantha scowled at the dark chocolate eyes of her reflection. "One day this is going to go horribly wrong," she warned herself before turning to the small closet stocked with toiletries, towels, a clean suit and a small locked chest.
That risk would not stop her now. Not when the need was already flaring. That risk was part of the thrill. The risk of discovery, of potential humiliation, of being at the complete mercy of whomever might discovery her, was the reason playing like this was so much more satisfying in her office.
"Still," she muttered, picking up the locked box and carrying it into her office and setting it on the small end table next to the long leather couch, before going to lock her office door with a quick click. "There's risky and then there's downright stupid."
Striding back to the seating area, she settled on the couch, gasping slightly at the momentary shock of cool leather against her heated skin. Unlocking the box, she opened it and pulled several small items out and headed back into the brightly lit bathroom. Setting the pile on the small vanity, Samantha lifted a butter-soft black leather collar and reached up to buckle it snugly around her throat. Two delicate chains hung from a ring at the collar front, ending in a pair of nipple clamps. Leaving the chains dangling loose between her breasts for the moment, she ran her fingers over the soft leather and gave the ring a sharp tug, feeling an answering throb in her core.
Next came the ring gag, buckled tight, forcing her mouth wide open, doing nothing to muffle her soft moan.
Samantha stared for a moment, the woman in the mirror so at odds with her usual corporate image. Which was the real Samantha Noelle? Did she even know? Did she want to?
Turning away from her reflection she picked up the final item from the counter. She pressed the not yet vibrating egg deep into her cunt, already slick with her juices and grabbed up its remote before heading back out to the sofa. Almost ready.
Lastly came out a wide spreader bar with thick leather and chain cuffs at either end. Settling on the low heavy coffee table in front of the sofa, Samantha bent to buckle a heavy leather strap around first her right, then her left ankle, forcing them apart. She glanced at the floor, and then gripped the table under her for a moment. The table was riskier, but riskier meant more helpless, and more helpless meant a faster, more intense climax. She whimpered softly around the gag. More intense was definitely what she needed tonight.
Placing her phone on one end of the short table in case of an emergency, Samantha climbed up to kneel on the other end. Fondling her breasts and tweaking her nipples for a moment, she lifted each of the chains on her collar in turn and tightened a clamp around each of her nipples with a shuddering groan.
Her clit throbbed, only the spreader bar keeping her from pressing her thighs together. Bending low, the pale globes of her ass now lifted high, she secured the hand with the vibrator remote into the cuff next to her left ankle. Keys clenched tight in her fist, she twisted and closed the last cuff around her free wrist.
Fully bound. Helpless.
Samantha pressed the remote and the vibrator buzzed to life. Her entire body shook, straining against the tight leather hold. Her eyes clenched shut, forehead pressing against the table. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Too much. She panted, writhing, shuddering . Too fast. Can't…
She fumbled with the remote, but it was too late, the first climax slamming into her as she clenched and cried out, fingers spasming futilely as she dropped both the remote and keys.
Before the shuddering had even settled, the relentless vibration was already pushing her toward the edge again. Phone. Thank god she'd keyed in her emergency message before she started. All she had to manage was to send it.
She whimpered, hips bucking of their own accord, juices trickling down her thighs as she stretched impossibly toward her phone, pressing her chin against it. She barely heard the soft chime of a message sent at the same moment as another climax exploded through her, ripping a cry from her throat.
Her body jolted, sending the phone skittering to the floor, but it didn't matter. The message was sent to her best friend and bondage mentor. "Emergency at my office. I need the help only you can give." Evie would understand exactly what that meant.
Samantha moaned, fighting to catch her breath as the vibrator continued to buzz, once again pushing her higher and higher. She glanced over the edge of the table at her phone, looking for Evie's affirmative response. Only the name flashing on her phone, the name she just sent her emergency message to, was somehow not Evie's but Everett Johnson, her executive assistant's.
She was bound, helpless, exposed and the only help possibly coming for her was… "No, no, no, no, Noooo…" she screamed as the most powerful orgasm yet pounded through her, her body arching and straining against her self-imposed bonds.