The vacancy left by Bill's month-long overseas assignment has been a palpable ache, a long, melancholic exhale in the daily rhythm of my existence. Now, he was finally home, though still bound to his office by the unyielding tendrils of his work. I lounge against the doorframe, observing him as he paces, the phone glued to his ear. His voice is a soothing, steady hum, interspersed with nods and occasional arches of his eyebrow like a conductor leading an orchestra only he could hear. I step softly into his study, standing before his desk, my eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the carpet, hands clasped behind my back, awaiting his acknowledgment.

"Good evening, Sir," I murmur when his gaze finally finds mine, his expression morphing from intense concentration to tender warmth, like the first ray of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.

"Good evening, my love. It's wonderful to see you," he responds, his eyes leisurely exploring my form, clad in a pair of form-fitting leggings and one of his pristine white dress shirts, hanging loosely on my frame like a stolen cloak. "I've missed you, but I thought you were already lost in dreams for the night."

"I couldn't find sleep," I confess, finally lifting my eyes to meet his, the depths of his irises swirling with a mix of love and desire. "May I undress you, Sir?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, yet charged with anticipation, like the electric potential before a storm.

"You may undress me – completely, and savor the process," he replies, his voice laced with a deep, familiar yearning, like the resonance of a cello's lowest string.

"Yes, Sir," I whisper, edging closer to him, my fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt, feeling the well-worn fabric against my fingertips. I lift it over his head, revealing the sculpted landscape of his shoulders and the defined lines of his chest, the faint scent of his cologne, and the musk of his skin filling my nostrils. I let the shirt drift to the floor, a forgotten relic, and begin to unfasten the button of his jeans, my fingers brushing against the warm, taut skin of his abdomen. I slide them down along with his boxers, unveiling the chiseled contours of his powerful legs, the faint dusting of hair catching the soft light like a halo.

"Good baby," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his throat, like the distant echo of thunder. My hands tremble slightly as I gather his jeans, still warm from his body, and add them to the growing pile of discarded clothing. I look up at him from beneath my lashes, a shy smile playing on my lips. "May I take you in my mouth, Sir?" I ask, my voice barely audible, yet laden with eagerness.

His eyes darken, the pupils dilating like ink blots on parchment, and he growled, "My sweet baby knows what I like, and that's the perfect way to start." I watch as his gaze locks onto me, a predator fixated on its prey. As I slowly sink to my knees on the plush carpet beneath us, the fibers press into my skin like a thousand tiny caresses.

I reach out, wrapping my hand around his length, feeling the smooth, hot skin against my palm, the pulse of his heartbeat throbbing against my fingers. I start slowly, licking up and down his shaft, the salty taste of him exploding on my tongue like a revelation. I swirl my tongue around the purple, engorged head, feeling the ridge beneath my tongue, a monument to his desire. I take him into my mouth, inch by inch, feeling my throat constrict and relax as I accommodate more of him, a dance of submission and surrender.

His breath hitches, and he groans, "God, baby, you're so good at this. You love being a good, hot, sloppy cocksucker, don't you, Michelle?" His fingers thread into my hair, gripping tightly, and I can feel his nails digging into my scalp, a sharp, delicious pain. "Just for me."

I mumble, "Yes, Sir," around him, my mouth full of his flesh, a sacred communion. My cheeks hollow as I start to suck, the obscene, wet sounds of my mouth on him filling the room like a symphony of debauchery. I gag slightly as I take more of him, the excess saliva dripping down my chin, making my skin slick and shiny, a testament to my devotion. His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly, and I can feel his body tense, a coiled spring ready to release, as I continue to worship him with my mouth, a supplicant at the altar of his desire.

I can feel him growing harder in my mouth, throbbing against my tongue as I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper. His grip on my hair tightens, guiding my rhythm as I bob my head up and down his shaft. The sounds I'm making are obscene - wet, slurping noises that fill the quiet office space.

"That's it, baby," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "Look at me while you suck my cock."

I lift my eyes to meet his, maintaining eye contact as I continue working him with my mouth. The intensity of his gaze makes me whimper around him, sending vibrations through his length that make him curse under his breath.

"Fuck, Michelle. I've been dreaming about this mouth for weeks." His thumb traces along my stretched lips where they wrap around him. "You're so beautiful like this, on your knees for me."

The taste of him, salty and unique, fills my mouth as I continue sucking on his cock, taking as much of him as I can. Bill groans above me, his grip on my hair tightening even more. "That's it, baby," he hisses out. "You know how much I love your pretty little mouth around my cock." His breathing becomes labored, and I can feel his hardness pulsing in my mouth.

I moan around him, his words sending heat pooling between my thighs. After a month without him, I'm desperate to please, to remind him of what's been waiting at home. I work him deeper, relaxing my throat to take more of his impressive length, tears forming at the corners of my eyes from the effort.

"Enough," he commands suddenly, pulling me off him with a gentle tug on my hair. "Stand up."

I obey immediately, rising to my feet on slightly wobbly legs. My lips feel swollen and sensitive, glistening with saliva. Bill's eyes travel down my body, lingering on the way his shirt drapes over my curves.

"Take that off," he orders, his voice deep and controlled. "I want to see what's mine."

My fingers work at the buttons, revealing inch by inch of skin as I maintain eye contact with him. When the shirt falls open, I let it slide from my shoulders to the floor, leaving me in just my leggings. Bill's eyes darken with approval and hunger.

"All of it," he commands.

I peel the leggings down slowly, bending at the waist to push them past my knees, giving him a view that makes him inhale sharply. When I straighten, completely naked before him, his gaze is almost physical, a caress that makes goosebumps rise on my skin.

"Turn around," he orders. "Hands on the desk."

I comply, positioning myself as instructed, the cool wood beneath my palms a stark contrast to the heat coursing through my body. I hear him move behind me and feel the warmth of his presence as he approaches.

His hand lands on my lower back, pushing gently until my spine arches deeper. "I've thought about this moment every night I was away," he murmurs, his other hand tracing the curve of my ass, squeezing possessively. "Thought about coming home to my beautiful girl, so eager to please me."

His palm connects with my flesh in a sharp slap that makes me gasp. The sting blooms across my skin, followed by the soothing caress of his fingers. "Did you miss me, Michelle?" Another slap, harder this time.

"Yes, Sir," I breathe out, pressing back against his hand. "So much."

"Show me how much," he demands, his fingers dipping between my thighs, finding me embarrassingly wet. "God, you're soaked just from sucking my cock."

I whimper as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them expertly against that spot that makes my knees weak. My head drops forward, hair cascading around my face as I push back against his fingers.

"Please, Sir," I whisper, my voice trembling with need. "I need you inside me."

"Patience," he growls, adding a third finger and pumping them slowly, deliberately. "You'll take what I give you when I give it to you."

His free hand grips my hip, holding me steady as he works me open, his thumb circling my clit with maddening precision. I'm already close, my body wound tight after weeks of separation and longing.

"Not yet," he warns, sensing how close I am to the edge. His fingers withdraw completely, leaving me empty and aching. "You don't come until I'm buried deep inside you."

I hear him position himself behind me, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He teases me, sliding along my wetness without entering, making me whimper with frustration.

"What do you need, baby?" he asks, his voice thick with dominance. "Tell me."

"You, Sir," I plead, pushing back against him. "Please fuck me. I've been empty for so long."

He rewards my begging by slowly pushing forward, stretching me deliciously as he enters me inch by agonizing inch. My mouth falls open in a silent cry as he fills me completely, his hips flush against my ass.

"So tight," he growls, gripping my hips with bruising force. "Still perfect for me."

He pulls back until just the tip remains inside before thrusting forward hard, the force pushing me against the desk. I cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface as he sets a punishing rhythm.

"Did you touch yourself while I was gone?" he demands, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, pulling my head back. "Tell me the truth."

"Yes, Sir," I confess breathlessly, each thrust driving the air from my lungs. "But it wasn't—ah—wasn't the same."

"Show me," he commands, slowing his pace to torturous, shallow thrusts. "Touch yourself how you did when you were alone, thinking of me."

My right hand leaves the desk, trembling as it slides between my legs. I find my clit, swollen and sensitive, and begin circling it the way I did on those lonely nights, imagining it was his touch instead of mine.

"That's it," he praises, watching intently as he continues to fill me with measured strokes. "Were you this wet for your own fingers?"

"No, Sir," I gasp, my circles becoming faster as the familiar tension builds. "Only for you. Always only for you."

He groans at my confession, his thrusts becoming deeper, more urgent. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes through his study, mixing with our labored breathing and my increasingly desperate whimpers.

"I can feel you getting close," he murmurs, leaning over me until his chest presses against my back, his breath hot against my ear. "Your pussy is squeezing me so tight, baby. But you know the rules."

I do know the rules. I've known them for two years, and they're burned into my very soul. I slow my fingers, fighting against every instinct screaming at me to chase the release that's building like a storm in my core.

"Please, Sir," I whisper, my voice breaking. "May I come for you?"

His hand covers mine, guiding my fingers in the exact rhythm he wants, his hips never faltering in their relentless pace. "Not yet," he breathes against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "I want to feel you fall apart completely when I give you permission."

A sob escapes my throat as I fight against the wave threatening to crash over me. My entire body trembles with the effort of holding back, every nerve ending on fire as he continues to drive into me with calculated precision.

"Such a good girl," he praises, his voice thick with approval. "Fighting so hard for me. This is what I missed most—your perfect submission, the way you give me everything."

His free hand slides up my torso, cupping my breast and rolling my nipple between his fingers. The added sensation makes me cry out, my back arching impossibly deeper as I press into his touch.

"Sir, please," I beg, tears of desperation sliding down my cheeks. "I can't—I need—"

"Shh," he soothes, though his mercy is laced with cruelty as he pinches my nipple harder. "Just a little longer."

His rhythm changes, becomes more erratic, and I know he's approaching his own limit. His breathing is ragged against my ear, his body tense behind me. The hand covering mine presses down harder, forcing my fingers to circle my clit with renewed intensity.

"Look at you," he growls, "desperate and begging. Is this what you thought about while I was gone? Being bent over my desk, stuffed full of my cock?"

"Yes," I gasp, beyond shame now. "Every night."

He straightens slightly, one hand gripping my hip while the other tangles in my hair, pulling my head back until our eyes meet over my shoulder. The vulnerability of the position and the intensity of his gaze make me whimper with need.

"Now," he commands, his voice like gravel. "Come for me now, Michelle."

The permission breaks the dam inside me. My orgasm crashes through me with devastating force, my inner walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure radiate outward. I cry out his name, my vision blurring as my body convulses beneath him.

"That's it," he praises, his thrusts becoming desperate as he chases his own release. "Fuck, I missed this. Missed you."

He drives into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a guttural groan. I feel his release, hot and pulsing inside me, as he collapses forward, his weight a comforting pressure against my back. We stay connected like that, both of us trembling and breathing heavily, as our heartbeats gradually slow to a more normal rhythm.

Bill presses soft kisses along my shoulder blade, his lips warm against my cooling skin. "You're incredible," he murmurs, carefully withdrawing from me and turning me in his arms. His eyes, soft now with post-orgasmic tenderness, search mine. "Are you okay?"

I nod, still slightly dazed from the intensity of my release. "More than okay, Sir."

He smiles, brushing a strand of hair from my face with gentle fingers. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Without warning, he lifts me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as he carries me toward the master bathroom. I nestle against him, inhaling his scent – cologne, sweat, and sex – feeling utterly safe and cherished in his embrace.