This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

"Bye, John. See you tomorrow. I'll have those figures for you, and we can go over them before the meeting."

"See you, Rich."

John watched his senior associate leave the room. It was stuffy, the lights were buzzing, and he was tired. He looked at his watch and sighed. There was no point phoning home now. He was already two hours and twelve years too late by his wife's expectations, and he had no intention of pretending to apologise to her. If she hadn't been fucking her therapist, he might have made an effort, but she was, and he wouldn't.

He sat back in his chair, loosening his tie. A layer of day-old sweat was suffocating his skin, and his clothes smelled slightly sour. He needed a good wash, but there wasn't time. He had another meeting, and all the gods that could be called upon could not help him if he was late to this one. He sat in the stale air for a moment, looking out of the window into the growing city lights of the deepening evening. He couldn't remember what fresh air felt like.

He caught a view of himself, back-dropped by linen-coloured walls, and sallowed by the fluorescent lights. He looked old. Really old. He was only thirty-eight, but he felt seventy. He looked down at his papers, and dejectedly gathered them into a messy pile. With a heave, he got up, and stuffed them into his briefcase. He was getting tired of the immense weight of the company resting on his shoulders. There were three directors, but he often felt very alone. He briefly wondered about taking a holiday, and then chuckled to himself.

How absurd, he thought. The last time he'd been away for a week, with the phone turned off, there had been a mass walk-out at one of the factories. It had taken months to sort it all out again. Besides, just a few hours in the presence of his shrewish wife was bad enough, let alone days. She was acid on a paper cut, that one.

No, no holidays for John. He wandered out of the room, glancing at his watch. Too early, and he would pay for it. Too late, and he would be scarred for life. Literally.

He wandered down the hallway, past the empty receptionist's desk, through the walkway of the computer booths, and back again. He stood by the waiting area, and checked his watch. It was time.

He strode past the receptionist's desk once more, and turned the corner to the corridor of his own office. He felt the adrenaline kick itself into action, and he began to breathe just a little bit faster. He stood there before the door, staring at his name in block letters.

"John G. Clark, Managing Director."

Mentally, he removed the sign from the door, and lowered his eyes to the floor. He shrugged off his authority, and placed his briefcase on the beige carpet by his feet. His shoes dully mirrored back the blob of his own head. It was an image that registered in his mind, but it could not take shape unless his imagination took charge of it. And he was not in any place to take charge of anything.

He was not John any more, a man of power and confidence. He was Hers.

He knocked timidly on the door, his knuckles feeling the shock of greasy wood banging against his bones through the thin skin. He waited a moment, and gently, shyly, opened the door, sliding himself into the room.

He closed the door with his hand behind his back, eyes still gazing at the floor. And then he stood there, head down, shoulders low, hands by his side.

"You looked at me this morning." A velvet voice, sweet and dangerous, crawled around his left ear, kissing the skin. He gave a little start, and quickly corrected himself to stand still again. He was right-handed, and he knew that she stood to his left on purpose. He always felt more vulnerable with her there.

"Stand on your spot." Her voice soaked the air with that caramel velvet, thickening the atmosphere and sliding over his cock beneath his trousers. He felt it twitch, and he prayed he wouldn't get hard. The last time he got hard before he was allowed, he had paid for it dearly.

Immediately, but slowly, as if she would pounce on him if he moved too fast, he took a few steps forward and stood before his own desk. But it was not his desk now. It was Hers. He could see there were some things lying on the pine wood, but he did not dare to raise his eyes up to look.

He heard a soft whoosh, and her breath cooled his left ear, which was burning with anticipation. The day's sweat lay like a layer of oil over his face, and fresh sweat began to work its way out of his pores. Little beads began to grow on his nose and forehead. Again, he felt his cock twitch. He could feel the blood leaving his fingertips and toes, all rushing to his groin. Mentally, he tried to dam the flow from his thighs and waist, but the building pressure and concentration made him twitch more.

"I saw you looking. You know you were bad, don't you?"

He did not move. He took a deep breath in through his nose. Her scent was in the air, an intoxicating cloud of vanilla sugar. A trickle of sweat ran down from his hairline in front of his ear. The swelling tide of blood was now surging at the base of his cock, and his balls were beginning to swell.

"Look on the desk."

He looked, and felt fire licking through his groin. He saw black nipple clamps, a string of anal beads, a riding crop, and a large, white cream cake decorated with cherries. John began breathing through his mouth, deepening gasps, and he bit his lip as he stared at the objects. Sweat began to trickle down his back.

"Don't you dare get an erection." The voice was sinister and low. He felt a hand snake around from his left and grab his testicles through his trousers. Fingers squeezed his thickening scrotum as he closed his eyes. Thrilling fear coursed through his body and made the throb in his cock grow. He tried to think of anything he could that would take his mind off what was happening, but it made it worse.

The fingers squeezed tighter.

"I'm warning you..."

He was now right on the edge of pain, and visions of his nuts popping like chestnuts on his rising fire flitted across his mind. Suddenly, the fingers left. An imaginary imprint of their presence surrounding his balls still squeezed him. He was almost disappointed.

"Take down your trousers and pants."

The new sweat kept rolling, trickling over his scalp through his short hair. He unbuckled his belt and pushed down his trousers and pants to his ankles. He felt foolish and silly, and he was glad of the dress shirt he was wearing, which just covered his flushing skin.

He still stared at the objects on the desk.

He gasped as two hands flew round from behind him, either side, with a large pair of scissors. One hand grabbed a corner of his shirt by his waist, and the other roughly sheared through the cotton with the scissors. The same happened to the other corner of his shirt, the scissors again removing it. As quickly as it began, it was over.

John stood there with his eyes shut tight, shame burning his face as the air burned his now semi-erect cock. He felt his shirt tail grabbed from behind, and heard the shunking sound of the blades running through the thickness of the bunched cotton. Now his ass was on display, too. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips as the air whispered tormenting giggles over his exposed flesh. The humiliation of his pants round his ankles, and only remnants of his shirt left, he knew he had nowhere left to hide. She was lounging in his mind, laughing at his pathetic weak will, and sneering at his helplessness.

And it made his cock grow harder.

John's breathing was ragged with fear and arousal.

"Control yourself." His eyes snapped open, looking at the floor again. He purposefully slowed his breathing, trying to will the throbbing back out of his cock.

SLAP! SLAP!

A hand had smacked each bare buttock in quick succession.

"Spread your legs."

As he spread them, a hot hand thrust through and grabbed his scrotum again. He could feel her breath, hot and slow, against the top of his crack. His buttocks clenched hard as he felt a burning tongue tip give one light, torturously slow lick from the top down to where his anus was.

The tickle was horrifically wonderful, and sweat from his face was now beginning to trickle down onto his chest. A tiny trickle of pre-cum mirrored it, gently beginning to wend its way down his fully hard shaft. He could feel it.

"You're a bad boy."

He didn't dare move.

The fingers on his balls gripped tighter, making them bulge. Cold breath blew onto the wetness of his crack. Fingers walked around his hip, slowly and swerving, finally running through his short pubes. Then, deliciously, they walked along the side of his shaft, and pinched the now-retracting foreskin. It was just a little nip, but it grew harder and tighter until it began to sting, as the fingers around his scrotum became a metal vice.

He could feel her large breasts clad in rough lace pressing against his thigh, her hands making his body burn with need of relief.

Just before he cried out, she let go abruptly. He stood there, with his cock as hard as it could be, dark and throbbing. His balls were high and tight, wanting to explode.

"Close your eyes."

He closed them.

He waited, and the seconds felt like minutes, until real minutes felt like hours. He was just on the edge of unfulfilled anticipation, the slight softening of his cock just beginning, when he felt a tiny, cold trail running up the underside of his shaft. He was close to blowing right then and there.

"Naughty, bad boy. I told you not to get hard. And all I can see is a big, fucking hard cock defying me."

SWISH!

The sound of the crop slicing through the heavy air made him flinch, even though it didn’t touch him. He stood still as quickly as he could. Again, the end of the crop ran up the underside of his shaft.

"I should teach you a lesson."

FWIP!

The tip of the crop shallowly bit the side of his cock. Oh god, thought John. If he blew his load now, it was over. Forever. He thought of anything he could to take his mind elsewhere. Images of accounts and conferences and crap art and his ugly mother-in-law ran screaming through his head as he tried to gain control.

"Open your eyes."

His eyes opened, blinking hard and fast, watering with the strain of concentration.

"Cake."

He looked at the cake.

"Fuck it."

As quick as he was able, with his trousers and pants hampering him, he shuffled over to the desk, pulled the enormous cake to the edge, and plunged his cock into it.

"Aaaah!" He pumped his cock into the cake, fighting against the burning cold inside it, but pounding it by instinct. The cake was still half frozen in the middle, shards of ice crystals scraping against his angry red glans as he plunged in and out.

THWACK! THWACK! The crop bit into his buttocks as he pumped into that glorious icy cream cake, the cherries sliding off it like a landslide of lusty virgins rolling in the white wheat with the field men.

THWACK! THWACK! He grunted with every thrust, feeling the bites on his ass. The cake should have been breaking up, but it was still holding as he was about to squeeze his own pent-up cream into the centre.

THWACK! THWACK!

"Nnnnn..."

THWACK! THWACK! John collapsed over the mess of cake in an explosion of oozing cream and spunk over the pine.

The crop continued to swish onto his buttocks as he bent over the desk, knees weak and hands holding on for support. He was breathing heavily, gasping and feeling fire in his cock and balls, and backside.

He saw a small hand lay the crop on the table, and pick up the anal beads. He watched as the small string of spheres in increasing sizes was pulled through the creamy, spunky mixture. The length of the string bobbled over the top of his just-exposed head as it peeked out from the centre of the mess.

The hand and the bead string disappeared from view. The icy inside of the cake was shrinking John's balls as they tried to hide away from the cold, and his cock grew smaller with the relief and chill.

He felt two fingers smear cream between his cheeks and all over his tight little hole. Then, gently, he felt the first of the beads press against his puckered hole.

"Bend over."

He bent over, relaxing into the feel of the beads pushing further inside him, sometimes being dragged back out a little, before being inserted again, deeper and deeper. Soon, they were all the way in, the largest of them snuggled tightly just inside his anus, teasing and being hugged by his little ring.

The hand that had smeared cream over his anus reached between his legs for more cream, and then began massaging between John's hole and balls. Fingertips gently trod on the firm skin, as another hand began pulling and pushing the anal beads in and out of him again.

Despite his balls being now painfully cold, and his cock shrinking quickly, his buttocks burned fiercely. The beads and fingers teasing his nerve endings made John want to turn around and have his way with his tormentor. But he knew that he would pay far more dearly than a full-on cock-whipping, which, if he was honest with himself, he hoped he would receive one day.

On this day, however, there were other things at hand. Nipple clamps, specifically. No longer was his ass being pleasured, nor his perineum. He felt the rough lace back at his side again, and kept his eyes shut as a hot mouth was applied to his nipple. Her tongue flickered over it intermittently, sucking and biting hard until the nub was large and deep red. Then the clamp was applied, cold metal pinching the thin skin, and he gasped as he felt the screw being tightened. In seconds, his nipple was burning like his ass.

He felt her move around him, his cock still buried in the cake explosion, and she did the same to his other nipple. Her hot, wet mouth sucked hard, with teeth scraping and biting. Cold, hard metal clamped down and tightened onto him.

"Open your eyes."

He opened them. He looked at the mess he had made across the desk as he felt the crop on his skin once more. The end traced up and down his ass crack, wiggling tickles from side to side, and pushing between his thighs to gently poke his scrotum and prod the end of the anal beads.

His cock began to rise once more, not so much a phoenix from the ashes, as a noodle from a cold cream sauce. It was humiliating to see his penis look so small in the middle of the large cake, with the throb of his ass cheeks blaring out the fact that he was half-naked with a woman staring at his bareness from behind. And the thought made him harder than ever.

THWACK! THWACK!

He took some more stinging swats from the crop on his buttocks as he watched his cock swelling again. Every time he clenched his beacon-bright ass, the beads teased his tight tunnel. Ah, but he wanted to grind...

The crop was laid on the table.

"Look up."

She was now standing across the desk from him. He did not dare to look her in the eyes, but he could look at the rest of her. He could only see her from the top of her hips upwards. Short and wide, she was wearing a red and black lace corset which was cinched in at the waist. For somebody so dumpy, she had a hell of a figure. Her hips were broad and strong, but her waist was strangely small. Her ribs rose up at a steep, widening angle, and were hidden from view by an enormous pair of breasts that looked as if they wanted to spill over at any moment.

John's cock rose higher, the rush of blood burning away the residue of the quickly defrosted cake innards. She was beauty incarnate to him. Just as he loved to lie back in a sinkingly soft-cushioned chair, he loved to plunge his cock into soft, plump skin. He liked to grab handfuls of flesh, and feel his own trim hips bounce off large thighs and a rounded pussy mound. That slapping sound was as delicious to him as the cake on his cock.

"Are you a good boy now? Did you take your whipping like a big boy?"

His cock was at full attention now, and he clenched his buttocks rhythmically to feel the beads inside him. He fought the urge to tug on the nipple clamps as they bit into his skin. The pain was excruciatingly wonderful. All he could do was feel; scorching ice, burning cold, humiliating desire... This was the time when all control was given to somebody else, who knew what he wanted, and what he needed. And fuck, did he get it!

All he wanted in that split second was to dive across the desk and bury his face between those large, pale breasts as they bulged over the lacy cups. But he didn't dare. He had left his authority at the door, and he awaited instructions.

"Lie on the desk."

Careful not to touch the crop, he climbed up onto the desk. His face burned as he felt her eyes watching him get up there clumsily, his trousers and pants still around his ankles. He finally lay there, with the cake by his head and blobs of crumby cream smearing underneath him. He stared up, watching the large shelf of her heavy breasts rising and falling with her breathing.

At home, he had trouble keeping his stiffy up when he lay on his back. However, lying there on the cool desk, smeared with spunk and cream, with blood rushing around his body furiously, he had a rock-hard cock displaying itself at a jaunty angle. If he could have seen himself, he would have made a joke about the cock-eyed North Pole. But there was no room for laughter here, and his nipples were on fire. The cool desk was a blessing to his ass, but more blood seemed to rush to his clamped nubs, and it was uncomfortable.

Her hand stretched out over him, the palm face down, and she wriggled her fingers. They looked wet. As she lowered them down to his mouth, he realised that they were covered in her own juices. She glazed his lips with the tangy nectar, and tugged sharply on his nipple clamps. He managed to hold back his shout, and squeezed his eyes shut with the strain of it, licking his lips greedily.

"Open your eyes."

He opened them. He heard the squeak of his large chair as it was moved closer to the desk, and then felt her hands pressing down on various parts of his body as she clambered up onto the desk. The top of her head appeared into view briefly, only to be hidden from sight by her large breasts looming into the frame. She straddled him, her short, thick legs barely touching the desk as she rested her weight on his waist. She leaned forward, smothering him with her cleavage.

John inhaled and exhaled as much as he could, his nose and mouth surrounded by soft, yet firm flesh. The lace of the corset seemed rougher against his cheeks, and her skin was a silken sheet of sweet fragrance. He fought against raising his hands to squeeze her.

She pressed down onto his face so that he couldn't breathe. He didn't want to breathe. He told himself he would die there if he could, and he didn't fight for oxygen.

He felt bereft when she quickly moved away from him, and cooler air slapped his sweaty face. He felt her heavy body wriggling down him towards his cock, and his hand automatically reached for her. In an instant, she tugged harshly on his nipple clamps, causing him to flex his hips and cry out a little. She pushed him back down, and he was met with a face full of spunky cream as she pushed cake into his mouth.

"Be a good boy. Be quiet. Don't move."

He clamped his lips shut, tight like the vices on his nipples. She didn't move for a minute, and he felt the heat and weight of her meaty thighs and hot pussy on his hips. He knew her holes were very close to his cock, and he was in agony of enforced stasis.

She began to move again, gently. He could feel her hot, wet juices being mixed with the cream on his skin as she moved back and forth, pushing herself a little lower. It wasn't long before he could feel her slit beginning to hug the base of his cock. He felt a plump, wet lip on either side of his shaft, moving silkily up and down him, mixing and mingling soggy morsels of cake with her delicious pussy juices.

He swore she could read his mind. He felt her shift her weight completely, and she stood up over him. He heard the heavy clack of her heels and watched her round, majestic hips swing up over his body. She straddled him, and when she stopped walking, her big, smooth legs towered over him. Her ankles were deceptively slim, clad in black stockings and held up with black ribboned suspenders. With her straddle, he could peek between the padded bulges of her inner thighs, and see her bare, swollen, cream-smeared pussy.

He gazed up, open-mouthed.

Let me die right now, he thought, with that fat little pussy in my face.

"Face-fuck me."

She lowered herself down, knees pushing outwards as if she would leap-frog off the desk. Her upper thighs came closer to his face, and she rocked her swollen lips before his eyes.

He could smell her.

Little crumbs of cake and blobs of cream decorated her smooth lips, and her inner scent spilled over his face in tantalising invisible wisps. Her lips were wide open, and he could see the head of her juice-coated clit peeking at him. This was the only time she seemed cheeky to him, when they were alone, with her pussy splayed open and vulnerable to him. She could put the fear of the gods into him, but she could also give him heaven.

Oh my fucking god, he thought. Her knees moved inwards, and she knelt on them, bringing her dripping hole down onto his mouth. His nose rubbed against that wonderful little button of hers, and her weight was lowered in entirety onto his face.

John's face was completely enveloped in her scalding heat, her cupcake skin baking her juices into his sweating pores. He couldn't breathe, although he wanted to, just to inhale more of her. His tongue lashed out, rising up into her wet tunnel. His nose nuzzled against her clit, and he screwed his face up tight to try and get more movement. He thrust his desperate tongue up inside her as fast as he could, flicking it from side to side.

She rocked on his face, and he could just about hear her sighs and moans as they reverberated through her body. His ears were clamped between her fat thighs, just as his face was now clamped between her oozing, creamy labia. His hands came up underneath her thighs, and grasped handfuls of her huge ass. He massaged her cheeks as she let him lick her out deeply and furiously. He felt her move forward so that she could raise herself off his face a little to let him breath, but he strained his face backwards so as not to lose contact with her.

She wriggled into his face and moaned her pleasure loudly. He was light-headed and feeling faint, but he adored the feeling of his head pressing into the wood underneath her bulk. He heard her cries get louder, and she suddenly leaned back, taking his cock in one hand, and she held him tight. She gave little pulses as she moved her hand up and down his shaft.

John couldn't control himself any more, and his legs raised him up so he could thrust into her hand as he hummed in ecstasy into her hole. He felt her stiffen and thrust down her large hips, holding his head tightly clamped between the cushioned pads of her big thighs.

That was it. His own hips thrust upwards, and a huge rope of pearl shot up into the air, followed by hot, fast dribbles of cum over her squeezing hand as she held him. She leaned backwards onto his shoulders so he could gasp as he emptied out everything he had.

John lay there, beneath her, eyes shut, smelling, tasting and feeling heaven pressing his body into the desk. Her weight made the nipple clamps dangerous agony, and it brought him round faster as she released him from them. He hadn't realised she had climbed down off him until the fire of the blood rushing back into the starved flesh of his nubs snapped him back to reality.

He winced as she gently rubbed on cool cream she scooped up from the mess on the desk. She helped him sit up carefully, and held him upright from behind until he could sit up alone. She let go, and stood back. Silence hung in the air for several minutes. All he could feel was the throbbing of his nipples and ass, and the little welt on the side of his now-soft cock.

Once more, her velvet, dangerous voice crawled around his ear from his left.

"Did I tell you to grab my ass when I was sitting on your face?"

Fear crept up from the pit of his stomach. He didn't dare reply.

"Since your whipped bottom cannot teach you to do only that which you are told to do, then perhaps your whipped cock will."

Again, silence deafened him. It was a full twenty minutes before John realised she had gone. He removed the anal beads, and humbly cleaned up the mess in his office with cloths and cleaner from the caretaker's cupboard. He locked the special items away, and scraped as much cream as he could off his trousers. He sighed, smiled, and gave up. The trousers would need to be dry-cleaned. He walked over to the cupboard where he kept a spare change of clothes, and tidied himself up before going home. That was another shirt written off, but what a way to do it!

***

"Morning, John," said Richard, cheerily.

"Hi, Rich."

"God, another day of keeping the devils at bay, eh?"

John muttered a non-committal response, and shifted in his chair. His ass was still burning. He grinned to himself, and settled down to work.

He was rifling through the accounts, listening to Richard's commentary on the latest office politics, when the rattle of the tea trolley broke into his thoughts.

"Hey, Queenie!" Richard was up in a second, nosing over the trolley. "What cakes have you got for us today?"

"Queen cakes, sir. Sponge and sultanas, nice and squishy, butter cream icing. Not bad, even if I do say so myself."

"Queen cakes from the cake queen, eh? Lovely. Can I have two?"

"Yes, sir. You may have what you wish, no two ways about it, sir."

John heard the rattle of the plate, and the clink of the coffee cup. Richard sat back down, slurping his coffee noisily.

"Will you be wanting anything today, sir?" The low voice crawled around his ear, sweet, soft and smiling.

John did not look up, and replied nonchalantly.

"What's that? Oh. I'll have whatever you want to give me, Queenie. Thanks." He kept his nose in his papers. Instantly, a cup of coffee and a plated cake appeared from his left.

"There you are, sir. Don't work too hard, or you'll have no energy for playtime."

Richard laughed loudly.

"Damn boy doesn't have time to play, Queenie! Don't encourage him. Next thing you know, he'll be wanting a holiday or something. We can't have that, can we?"

"Right you are, sir. Good morning, sir. And good morning, sir."

"And a good morning to you, Queenie."

"Good morning, Queenie." John heard the rattle of the tea trolley again, and looked up, thinking he could get a parting glimpse of sexy, round ass.

Her eyes knocked his breath out from across the room. She lowered her face a little, and looked out from under her brow. She gave a little nod, and carried on with her refreshment round.

"Tough old bird, that one. Been around since I was younger than you," said Richard. "Always heard a few whispers about her, but I could never actually get to the bottom of what people were talking about. I bet she knows a few secrets... Well, let's get these figures sorted."

John shifted in his chair again, smiled, and settled down to work.

This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.