“Do you want me to take my clothes off?†she asked.
“Yes,†he replied, leaning back in the big leather chair. “Do that for me.â€
She nodded, but did not look at him. Staring past him, at the grey panorama of the city beyond the window, she allowed herself a thin smile as she reached for the top button of her blouse. She ran her fingers down her front, deftly popping each of the buttons in turn. When she’d gone all the way, she performed a dainty pirouette. Her skirt swirled upwards, and she dropped her arms to her sides, so that the blouse slipped off her shoulders and down her arms. She let it fall but deftly snared it with the toe of her shoe and kicked it towards him. He caught it, sniffed its perfume, and dropped it casually onto the carpet beside him.
“Don’t stop,†he said.
She unfastened the catch on her skirt and drew the zip downwards. She swivelled her hips and the skirt slumped around her feet. She stepped out of it. With a graceful curtsy and a sweep of her arm, she fetched it up and tossed it to him. He dumped it on the crumpled heap of her blouse.
“Keep going,†he commanded.
She lifted one foot until just the tip of the stiletto heel touched the floor, levered the shoe off and pushed it to the side with her foot. She did the same with the other. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees but keeping her head raised and her eyes level with his, though not connecting. She hesitated for a few seconds, not wavering but letting the anticipation build in him. Then she straightened her body and lifted her shoulders, drawing her hands up her thighs until her fingers reached the tops of her stockings. She fondled the little white bows on the front suspenders. (While she preferred pantyhose, she almost always wore garter belt and stockings in the office. She knew that pleased him.)
He said nothing but licked his lips.
She unclipped each of the tiny bows, swaying a little to the silent rhythm of the music playing in her head. She felt the light pressure on her thighs ease as the stockings lost their support. She rolled them leisurely down her legs, all the way to her ankles, bending her body until her hair swept frontward in a golden cascade. She did not take them off, but abruptly stepped forward until she was standing almost over the man. She kicked up her right foot to rest it in his lap. Surprised by her sudden move, he glared for an instant, as she wiggled her toes, before removing the stocking. He caressed her slim calf and slender ankle. She was proud of her legs. She kept in shape and she liked to show them off. He liked that too.
When he had taken both of her stockings, she moved in even closer, until he could reach out and undo the clasp on her garter belt. The stretch fabric recoiled and the unshackled girdle bounced onto the floor behind her. She shivered as he ran his fingertips over her thighs, tickling the insides with his manicured nails. His hands came to rest on her hips, over the flanks of her panties.
He looked up at her but did not speak. She reached behind her back to unfasten her brassiere. She tugged the straps from her shoulders but did not pull it away, letting the cups hang for a moment on her breasts. He wrenched it from her chest. He fondled the empty garment, like it was a trophy, before discarding it with the rest of her clothes.
She was panting, softly but deeply, from the feelings welling up within her. She was close enough to rest her hands on his broad shoulders. She felt the texture of his jacket. It was sleek, fine-tailored and expensive.
He began to play with her panties. He inserted his fingers under the side bands and suddenly plucked them away. She gasped as she felt the elastic break. She shrank back, but his hands had moved round behind her, grabbing her backside. He squeezed the flesh so hard that she only just managed to stifle a yelp as he pulled her to him. As she toppled forward, he let go of her rear end and seized her shoulders, forcing her down until she was sprawled on her stomach across his lap. The twilled fabric of his trousers was tickly on her naked loins; the cool, slick leather of the chair’s arms was queerly sensual against her breasts. With one hand he tenderly stroked her hair, and with the other he caressed the bare skin of her back and shoulders. Her breathing quickened and she felt a pleasurable tingling inside her.
He gently tapped her on the elbows and, knowing what he wanted of her, she put her hands behind her back, crossing her wrists. He began to wrap something around them, and it was not until he pulled the knot tight that she realized he was using her brassiere. She hoped it would not ruin the delicate lacework. The lunch break had already cost her a good pair of knickers.
She felt his fingers at her throat and winced. He was merely untying her scarf – the last piece of clothing still on her – but he must have felt or sensed her flinch, because he softly patted her head before placing the folded silk over her eyes. He brushed away a few errant strands of her hair, made moist and sticky by the beads of perspiration on her brow, before securing the blindfold.
He took hold of her shoulders once more, and lifted her body off his. She understood and raised herself to stand beside his seat. It was not an easy thing to do, with her hands bound behind her back, and he did not assist. But hardly had she managed to gain her balance and stand erect when she felt herself being nudged forward. Sightless, she shuffled carefully past the chair, until the tops of her thighs came into contact with the edge of the big oak desk. His hand was on the back of her neck, pushing.
Dreading what might be next, she started to protest, but her words were smothered by a hand over her mouth. The other hand he planted under her backside, but it was to her relief that she got his message and climbed – slithered, really – onto the smooth, cold surface. It had not been cleared, and as she lay on her belly along its length, bits and pieces of desktop paraphernalia pressed into her skin.
He looped something round her ankles, cinched and knotted it – one of her stockings. He lifted her feet and brought them up to her backside. When she resisted, trying to keep her legs straight, he laughed at the futility and jabbed the backs of her knees with his fingers until she complied. He used her other stocking to bind her ankles to her wrists, leaving her helpless. She wanted to wriggle and squirm in her bonds, to show her defiance, but the objects on the desk under her body gnawed into her unprotected flesh. She whimpered and lay still.
Nothing more happened for a while. She could hear his breathing – above her own gasping breath and thumping heartbeat – but could not see what he was up to. She guessed he was standing back, studying her naked body, admiring his handiwork, wondering what he should do with her. She felt a thrill and a chill as she contemplated the possibilities; but instead he began to untie her. When he had done so, leaving her blindfold on, he helped her to sit up, on the edge of the desk.
“Lunch break is almost over,†he whispered. “The rest of the staff will be back soon.â€
She sighed.
“Stand up,†he ordered, “and turn around.†He removed her blindfold, and she blinked back the glare of the early afternoon sun peering through the windowpane. She turned and looked at him. He was adjusting his jacket. Their eyes met. She smiled and he grinned. She gathered up her clothes and arranged them on the desk. She put on her bra, garter belt and stockings, and mourned the loss of her panties. She scrunched them up into a little ball, found her purse and crumpled them inside. She hitched up her skirt, smoothed out the wrinkles, and buttoned her blouse.
“Back to work,†she said.
“Yes,†he replied.
She sorted and straightened the things on her desk.
“Don’t forget to check my appointments,†she said.
“No, ma’am.â€
“And remember, I need those reports by the end of today.â€
“Yes, ma’am.â€