This was not happening, I told myself. But no matter what I told myself, it continued to happen. And, despite the fact that I was scared out of my mind, I was also uncontrollably aroused. There was a little part of me, that small heart-skipping pulse in my veins, that had never fully left. Upon seeing just what Asher Landseer was capable of, that part grew, stretched, until it was all-encompassing and demanding.
Asher smiled, watching me wriggle on the table, unable to escape him. He looped a finger into my pantyhose and peeled them down to my knees.
"Sir!" I screamed. "Asher! What are you—?"
This was not proper business protocol! But he didn't seem to care much about that at the moment. He focused on me entirely, his steady, watchful gaze never leaving my eyes as I looked back at him.
"You destroyed my book," he said, his voice full of anger and passion. "Everything is a mess. Pages scattered on the floor and the binding undone. I believe it's only fair that I do the same to you."
At the time, I had no idea what he meant. I only knew that there was a strong and powerful man standing before me who commanded attention.
No longer fully wearing my pantyhose, my smooth, arousal-slick folds grew cool, exposed to the chill, central air-conditioned air. Asher paid that no mind, though. He flipped me around, grabbed at my skirt with one hand, unzipped the back with the other, then pulled the entire thing off of me. Tossing it to the ground, he did much the same to my heels, and then flipped me over once more.
With one arm, he wrenched me towards him and pulled my pantyhose even lower, towards my ankles, forcing me to spread my legs so that my crotch was pressed hard against his business suit. His hands sought the buttons of my blouse, undoing them. When I tried to stop him, he frowned at me and then ripped the whole thing off. The buttons that had remained done flew into the air and scattered around his private meeting room.
The idea struck me, some out of context thought, that I should clean those up for him, but then my mind snapped back to the reality of the situation. I was laying on his table, legs spread around his hips, wearing only my bra and partially wearing my pantyhose. A quick glance to the side showed my blouse, skirt and heels scattered on the floor, much like the loose pages of his expensive book.
"Remove your bra," he said.
I hesitated. He sounded so fierce, but the look on his face was one of calm confidence, like he never expected me to defy him, never expected anything but obedience.
"Mr. Landseer," I said, voice wavering, coming out as more of a squeak. "You're married."
"Remove your bra," he repeated.
I sat up enough so I could reach my hands behind my back. My stomach tightened and when I moved I felt the zipper of his pants pressing against my wet, exposed p**sy. He watched me, relished in seeing me dispose of one of my last articles of clothing. I don't know why, but once I unsnapped my bra and pulled my arms through the straps, I tossed it to the floor haphazardly, letting it join the mess with my other clothing.
"You deserve punishment," he said. "Do you not?"
I nodded fast, heart quickening. Shivers from the cold passed through my body. Or, that's what I wanted to think at the time, but his presence had me hot and flustered. There was no possible way I was cold right now with my body quivering in a heat of excitement. Here I was, some unknown women from the cleaning staff, and a temp for the day at that, almost entirely nak*d on billionaire CEO Asher Landseer's private office table.
In the blink of an eye his hand cupped my sex. His fingers pressed against my pubic mound, forcing me to acknowledge their presence, and I arched my back and let out an unintentional moan.
"How do I punish you when you're clearly enjoying this?" he asked. "Shall I remove this distraction first so we can begin your punishment?"
"Sir?" I asked. My breath felt like a fog, escaping my lips and covering my face in a warm, wet haze. Everything was a blur, like I was looking through an unfocused camera lens.
He never answered, didn't bother to respond with his ideas. Instead, he snaked his thumb lower, spread my moist folds with his finger, and then pressed inside of me. My h*ps bucked upwards instinctively and I gasped, caught off guard. My f**king God, I thought, is he going to take me right here?
And, if he did, would I let him? Would I moan for him, accept his hard erect c*ck inside me? Some part of me despised the idea, disliked the treatment, but only a small part. A larger part wondered at him, wanted him to take me on his meeting table. Wanted him to...
He was married. I couldn't, I...
Asher's thumb bent and he pressed against the pleasure spot inside my intimate tunnel. My body betrayed my intentions, ignored the thoughts of his wife, his marriage, and the wrongness of this, and bent to his will. He wrapped his other fingers around my p**sy, treating me like just another object, something he owned. With his middle finger he teased at my clit, pushing me higher towards the precipice of pleasure.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head and my body tightened, muscles clamping down for the long haul. There was no long term for this, though. Asher knew what he was doing, and he did it well. His fingers expertly toyed with my sex and encased my crotch. It felt so strange, so different. I was exposed to the cool, office building air, but his hand radiated a warming heat that spread from my aroused slit to the rest of my body.
And then his fingers brought another kind of heat. A tingling sensation raced through me, the blissful beginnings of an impending orgasm. My p**sy clamped down on his thumb, holding it in me, spasming around his intrusion, and the rest of my body soon followed suit. I squirmed in the throes of ecstasy, not even caring that I was openly displayed on his meeting room table. It was private, anyways, with the glass wall only showing through to his personal office. That shouldn't have made a difference, shouldn't have made the situation alright, but my mind wasn't thinking rationally at the moment.
He allowed me to ride through my pleasure, grinning at my squirming self, before removing his hand from my crotch. I lay on his table, a hot mess, completely breathless.
"Up," Asher said. "Now that your distraction is eliminated, I expect you to accept punishment."
I scrambled off his table, fell to my knees, and looked up at him. This man, Asher Landseer, had just brought me to cli**x like it was nothing, and was staring at me as if he'd done nothing in particular. Another day at the job, another...
"Now," he said. "Having finished my business meeting early, I find myself with some free time. I came back to my office, intending to read, but then you destroyed my book."
"I can repay..." I started to say.
"The cost isn't the issue," he said. "That—" He frowned and looked softer for a moment, as if he were remembering something. "That book was special to me."
I gulped. I'd never meant to destroy the book in the first place, and I understood a rich man would own expensive things, but now that I knew it was more than that, I felt horrible. I wanted to apologize, to hug and console him, but...
"Do you like Dante's Inferno?" he asked, all of a sudden.
"Yes," I said, the answer squeaking out of me.
"What? Be confident in your answer."
"Yes," I repeated myself, though I didn't think I sounded any less timid. I rose to my feet, standing before him.
"Why?" he asked.
Huh? "Why what?"
"Why do you like it?"
"The—" Was this conversation really happening? I stood there, mostly nak*d, talking to a young, billionaire CEO about why I liked a certain piece of literature. I would never be able to understand this, no matter how long I lived.
But, maybe that was the point. I'm not sure. I did feel a little better talking with him like this, though. Like if I could show him that I understood the book and tell him why I liked it, he might forgive me just a little bit for what happened. And then I could forgive him for... and...
"I enjoy the symbolism," I told him sincerely. "I think it's nice that the story starts off in the depths of Hell, with Inferno, but by the end of Divine Comedy there's some redemption and Dante brings us to Heaven with Paradiso. The rhyme scheme is also incredibly impressive. And the fact that he retained such a strict format through 14,233 lines? I find that amazing."
"Indeed," Asher said. I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face, but it was gone before I knew it. Had I imagined it? Yes, possibly, but...
"I enjoy that line," he said in a passing conversational tone.
I looked at him, confused.
He frowned and shook his head, though it seemed more teasing than chastising. "One ought to fear those things only that have power of doing harm. The others not, for they are not dreadful," he said, reciting one of the parts of the poem he'd read aloud before, the one on the page that he'd tossed aside before...
My God, I thought. I was really just on his table, I was really just nak*d, and... I looked down at myself, confirming my nudity. Somehow just now realizing it, or realizing it again, I tightened my legs and fidgeted, trying to cover my body with my arms.
"Stop," he said, a command. I dropped my hands, dumbstruck. "The best punishments are those that make you reflect and that make you uncomfortable. Part of yours shall be to finish cleaning my office as you are."
I stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"I never repeat myself," he said. "Never."
I did not give in, ever. I wasn't the type for it. I always questioned everything, and expected no less from anyone else. Why should I mindlessly move through life like a drone?
This is how I always thought, but then why was I now stepping around his office, feather duster in hand and actively dusting while wearing only my pantyhose which I'd pulled back up after he'd finger f**ked me to an orgasm? Wearing almost nothing felt nice, though, oddly. Freeing. The cool air became a little less cool as I grew accustomed to it, and I relished in the sexiness of my body.
This man, Asher Landseer, the married CEO of a billion dollar corporation, had wanted me. While I cleaned his office, I tried to catch his attention, bending over this way and that, arching my back and pressing out my br**sts in hopes he would look at me. But it didn't work?
Some doubt slipped into my mind. He hadn't actually said he wanted me. No lustful words escaped his lips as he coaxed me to orgasm. Nothing of the sort, actually. In fact, now that I thought about it, he said he was only doing it to remove a distraction. But... no... that couldn't be it, could it? Except, it must be.
The idea sunk in. I wasn't some absolutely desirable woman. I couldn't tempt a billionaire away from his wife. This was business, plain and simple. I'd destroyed his book and he meant to punish me for it, and that was it. Well, he'd done a good job of that. I felt embarrassed for even thinking I could have garnered his attention.
I moved through his office, dusting without trying to be sexy, steaming in my own thoughts, annoyed. He thought he was all that? Oh, I could do better. Maybe I'd push his bookcase a little, send the whole thing crashing to the ground, see how he liked that. What would he do then? If one destroyed book equaled one smoldering cli**x, what would a whole bookcase involve? I shuddered thinking about it.