Scene 1

"Are you all fucking stupid!" I was shouting. Couldn't stop myself. I'd put this team together, promised we'd be the people to get this shit done. Greg, my boss, had his fresh enema grin plastered on his face when I got the project. I thought he was jealous. But no! He knew! The bastard knew.

This was a trap.

Changed deadlines, conflicting expectations, and ignored requests for clarity. Greg muttered if I couldn't handle the heat, maybe I should go back to the kitchen. Like I was living in the 50s. Should I take all this out on the office? No. Absolutely not. But I couldn't stop. I was shaking. My fingers dug into my palms. My breath grew shallower and harsh.

"I needed this report yesterday. What the fuck do you mean next week..."

Paul spoke. His voice steady but words cautious. Like he was worried about me.

"We can't make a report until we've got the data," he offered oh so fucking reasonably.

"And why don't we have it?" my throat burned. I was full-on screaming. My cheeks flushed. I could tell because they burned. The pounding in my head reaching full orchestration. "Never mind. Get out. All of you get out!"

And they did. Fleeing. Going through the doors, leaving me alone in this barren corporate coffin of a conference room. Because no one actually cares. No one gives a flying fuc-

"Lydia."

Paul again. His voice didn't falter. He was a weird fucker. No question. Round — fat, if I'm being honest — balding, with thick black glasses, he always seemed to be cleaning. A joke. He should be a joke. We even tried to make fun of him. But he didn't care. Always had a grin as if he had the secret to life hidden behind the smile. A helpful word of encouragement to anyone who looked down.

"Fuck you still doing here?" I hiss. My breathing escaped in short, vicious spurts. Not nearly enough to fill my lungs. The conference room had started to tilt. "Are you deaf and dumb?"

He ignored me.

"Breathe." His voice had dropped. Low and calm. Commanding, almost.

"Is that your advice?" I managed a strangled laugh. "What a fucking genius. Here's one for you. Stop sucking back the cheeseburgers and hit a StairMaster."

HR would hear about that one, I'm sure. But I got what I wanted. The concern on Paul's face darkened. So much for his friendly advice. This fat fuck could go fuck himself-

Whatever I expected wasn't what happened. Paul suddenly stood directly before me. Those dark brown eyes narrowed. It never occurred how much taller he was. My back bumped into the conference table. There was no place to move. His left palm swooped behind my neck, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pulled. Shock forced me to gasp before his other hand wrapped around my throat.

Every inch of my body stilled. There was no question of resistance. I could feel my pulse beating against his fingertips, my head becoming clearer as he held it still. My own hands wrapped around his wrist, accomplishing nothing. No matter how hard I pulled, he didn't even flinch. His eyes never left mine. His expression started cold but slowly thawed into predatory awareness.

"Better. Now-"

He loosened his grip around my throat ever so slightly.

"Breathe."

I did. All the burning air escaped at once. I began to cough, but he tightened his fingers once more, and I got it under control.

"Good. Again."

This time, I let out a slow, controlled exhale followed by an equally measured inward breath. My yoga lessons were coming back to me. My entire chest expanded, pushing against his forearm.

"Three more times."

I tried to nod but found he wouldn't allow even that. The pounding in my forehead had cleared, replaced by an entirely different kind of pressure. An intense but sticky pulse between my legs. I wanted to press them together and suffocate that incoming sweetness. But his knee, between my own, kept me not only off balance but unable to attempt relief.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I'd been screaming not a minute ago, and now I was staining my panties to portly Paul Bunyan. How the hell did I get here? What else could happen? I realized I had no idea...

So, I did what I was told.

With every inhalation, the current between my legs spiked, and then, when air left my body, that electricity spread to every nerve ending in my body, especially my breasts. My nipples were always sensitive. But now I could feel them, actually feel them, trying to pierce through my clothes.

"And three... Good job, Lydia."

He let go of my hair first, letting it fall and gently stroking it to ensure no strands tangled. He then stepped back without letting go of my throat. Even with his arm fully extended, I couldn't make it as much as budge. Not that I tried. He slowly let go, releasing one finger at a time.

"What do we say?" he prompted.

"Thank you," I muttered.

He touched his ear and cocked his head. "What was that?"
My voice found its old power. Unstrained by the fury from earlier. "Thank you, Paul."

"That's my girl. Now. You've got two options, Lydia." His hands dropped to his side, thumbs hooking into his pockets. His goofy smile returned as if nothing had happened. "First, open that door and head home early. You're in no place to focus on work. Get a good bottle of red and have Ben draw you a bath. Enjoy a little private time."

He said my husband's name without a trace of awkwardness. And I imagined returning home and dealing with everything there. Dinner, his boring ass day, the kids...

I realized I was waiting for him to tell me my second choice.

"Or..." my voice failed me again. So quiet it barely passed my lips. But Paul heard.

"Or- you walk over to that door. Lock it. And crawl back on your hands and knees."

I considered debating. Providing a counteroffer. What if I simply sucked his cock or let him cum inside me. The varied options of what I wanted flashed before my eyes. But before I could utter a word, he shook his head, turned me towards the exit, and slapped my ass hard enough to launch me forward. "Pick one or two, Lydia. This isn't a committee."

My ass stung as I walked towards the door. Picking up speed. I could escape now. Call HR? Fuck that. I should call the cops. I hadn't asked for any of this. He... he....

The sound of the lock clicking brought me back to reality. At first, some part of me thought he'd somehow gotten ahead and trapped us together. But no. He still stood at the back of the rectangular conference room. It was my hands testing the knob to make sure it would not open.

Paul gently tapped the top of the table. It stretched the eternity between us. "Climb on top and crawl."

I managed a furious glare before kicking off my 600-dollar shoes. My skirt ran on the conservative side. Black, stripped, and a little over knee-length. So, I had to pull it up before I began. I could feel the fabric sliding upward, showing off of my legs. A jolt of pride mixed with gleeful exhibitionism. My legs were toned, and my still stinging ass was to die for. I'd worked hard, and frankly, the work didn't seem appreciated. Here, I hid them because I used to think of myself as a professional. And at home, Ben... didn't take his time.

"Very nice, Lydia." He stepped to the side so he could see my full profile. His approval fueled my swagger. I let my back arch before I reached my hand forward for another 'step.' I undid my jacket button, letting my breasts fall free of the blouse.

"Cerulean blue. Excellent choice. It suits you."

"So you like it?"

Who said that? Not me. It couldn't be. Too low, guttural, slurred. But it was. I felt the words. Tasted my cherry lip balm as I bit my bottom lip. I had to see him stutter or flush. If I embarrassed him, this... spell... or whatever the fuck would be broken.

"I don't know yet," he answered without a hint of a blush. "First, I have to see your panties. But we'll get there."

"And if they look good. What happens?"

"You get a treat."

A treat. I grinned. So hard my face started to hurt. But he slapped the end of the table impatiently, and I realized he'd been waiting. I hurried and when I arrived, he sat in the leather armchair. We were face-to-face.

"Sit up. On your knees."

I did. Now able to look down at his face, I tried to reclaim my authority. But he didn't look smaller. If anything, he now seemed like some judge, appraising me on stage.

"Remove your jacket, fold it, and place it in front of you."

My chest thrust out as I pulled the blazer from my shoulders. He lazily caressed my cleavage with his eyes, his fingers intertwined together. They lay professionally on the table before me.

"Now, the shirt."

There was no need to undo the buttons as slowly as I did. Or at all. The blouse could be flung on and off with no trouble. But I wanted him to suffer at least a little. Feel a tenth of the frustration which burned my skin. The office air teased my nipples, irritated against my pale blue bra. I placed the folded ivory blouse atop my jacket and began to reach behind to unhook my straps.

Paul held up a hand.

"Not yet. The skirt first."

I wouldn't break eye contact with him. So keeping those earth-brown orbs in my sight, I smoothly, like a fucking dancer, pivoted so my body faced parallel to his. I then leaned back all the way until my shoulders felt the hard wood of the table. I hooked my fingers between my hips, and the strangling fabric then lifted. The skirt caught momentarily on the curves of my ass, but the slow reveal was what I wanted. He could see me be revealed. A matching set of cerulean panties soaked into a darker shade of blue.

"Do I get a treat?" I purred.

He stood and circled the table until he stood, seemingly upside down, over me.

"Lie down. All the way, Lydia. Rest your back, ass, legs, and head on the table."

Obedience now came before thought. I'd already taken two breaths before wondering what came next.

"Roll on your stomach."

I did. As I shifted, those large hands took my face again. Gently this time and lay my cheek on the table so I saw clearly.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Done.

"Bend your knees so your feet are as close to your hands as possible."

Easy.

The belt flew from Paul's pants with a speed I couldn't have imagined from him twenty minutes ago. I felt them wrap around my ankles and wrists in seconds. A short tug announced the finish.

"Try to escape."

I did. At first for show, but quickly realized he had me. Trussed up like an animal.

"I can't."

"Excellent. You've been very good, Lydia. Such a talented little slut deserves a treat. Do you want a treat?"

"Mmmm," I manage a moan.

"In English, Lydia," he said and stroked my hair.

"I want a treat," I responded with absolute authority.

"And what do you want? A piece of chocolate? A gift card?"

"Please... please...."

"You get nothing if you can't say the words."

"I want your cock!"

It was inches from me. I could see the bastard straining against his slacks. Paul's left hand reached down, unbuttoned, and pushed. Silk boxers strained, holding back my prize. He rubbed the fabric against my face. I managed to catch the silk between my teeth and tried to rip.

"Such enthusiasm. Oh, you're special, Lydia. I'm willing to bet you could make me cum. Am I right? Of course, I am."

He finally freed his dick. A thick head dripping precum was all I managed to see before he took my hair in his hand again.

"Breathe, Lydia. Breathe deep."

I got two lungs full of air before he thrust and cut off all remaining oxygen.

He offered no time for adjustment. This wasn't a blow job; I didn't have that kind of control. He was fucking my face. My jaw ached from keeping wide, and I felt him brutalize the back of my throat. Air arrived in sweet, short bursts. But even then, I remembered my promise.

So, after a few moments, I learned how to anticipate his furious thrusts. In response, I sucked, sent my tongue along his shaft, and scrapped my teeth on his skin when I wanted air. He groaned, then laughed, going harder. His breath finally seemed to be catching, his words coming out in ragged, harsh grunts.

"Jesus, better than I imagined... Fuck. Such a lovely little mouth. I love fucking these pretty little lips. Bet you want to swallow my cum, don't you? Suck it right down?"

I couldn't speak or even nod. So I hoped he could feel my agreement. My need to drink up every drop.

"FUCK!" and he exploded. The harsh saltiness erupting in currents, giving me just enough time to gulp down every full swallow.

After a few final twitches, his cock stilled, and I found air again. He slowly pulled out, and I made sure to give one final lick so he'd put his cock away nice and clean.

"Perfect, oh my perfect fucking whore. I could spend all day using your body. But... I've got a job."

A gentle smile returned to his face for a moment.

"But since you did so well. I'll give you this for free."

I felt my legs fall from their capture. Even as my hands were quickly re-tied. Without thinking, I pushed my face and chest into the table so I could lift my ass into the air. He had free use of anything. I didn't have to tell him; he knew. I felt his head at my soaked entrance. His hands squeezed above my hips. He was so sweet, allowing me to get ready. But all I felt was pride. I'd made him hard again. So fast, because he couldn't get enough of my pussy.

His first thrust slid right in. So wet, I bet the cubicles outside heard my squeal when he pulled out. I moaned at his absence. My insides felt out of place, like they needed to be moved aside.

"More, please," I begged.

He obliged.

I came at least three times. At least, that's as far as I got before I stopped counting. The last one sent a shock so hard and fast through me, I collapsed on my side, eyes rolling further back with each aftershock. Paul let me enjoy the moment, seeping onto the table as he pet my hair.

"Good girl. Such a very good girl."

We stayed like this for a few minutes before he helped me get dressed. As soon as the door opened, my eyes adjusted to the too-bright lights of the main floor. We were just Paul and Lydia again.

"Don't worry, boss, we got this." He flipped me a thumbs up with a grin. "And remember, when the world gets too hard... slow down and just breathe.