EPISODE 3: The Boss’s Secret
The office was empty, but it still breathed with her.
Soft light spilled through slatted blinds, cutting across the sterile, grey-like blades, teasing flesh. Aaron stood frozen beside her desk, cock painfully stiff beneath his slacks, heartbeat stuttering with frantic worship disguised as fear. Each pulse reminded him that he did not belong there. Yet every part of him demanded to stay.
Ms. Larrabee. The queen of incredible cruelty. Every man in the building devoured her presence with quiet reverence, but none dared speak it aloud. She was married, powerful, and untouchable. Her eyes gave nothing. Her lips, sculpted and stern, knew no softness. Only commands.
But Aaron had seen more. He caught an illicit glimpse earlier that day beneath the brutal glow of fluorescent office lights. Her heels kicked off casually as she crossed her legs, baring delicate toes painted in pale blush and revealing stockings—sheer, floral, impossibly elegant—vintage seduction beneath austere power. She was every forbidden fantasy wrapped in silk and steel. She never smiled. She didn’t need to.
Now, in the hush of after-hours, he stood at the edge of insanity, staring at the drawer.
Her drawer.
He hesitated. For a moment, his reflection in the black monitor across the room begged him to stop. He ignored it.
The scent hit first. It invaded his senses viciously, curling through his skull and anchoring itself deep in the animal part of him.
Not perfumed. Not artificial. No mask. Just hers. The intimate signature of her day’s movement—heated thighs, faint musk, teasing traces of sweat where her body had lived, pressed, clenched. Cotton, silk, lace… folded with the kind of careless grace only a woman like her could achieve. These were not fresh. They were real. Used. Still damp where heat met pressure. Still clinging to the story of her body.
His hand trembled as reverence and sickness warred inside him. He chose black, a modest cut, humble yet somehow more devastating in its simplicity. As his fingers closed around them, he felt the ghost of her warmth.
He pressed them to his face. Inhaled. Deep. Desperate. The sound that left him was nothing short of broken worship.
Control melted. Dignity shattered. His soul fractured like stained glass, catching the sunset.
He moaned low, freeing his cock with trembling urgency, pumping in strokes driven by obsession rather than need. The panties muffled his gasps, soaked in the evidence of his unraveling. Every squeeze, every sniff, every surge of pleasure carved him hollow. Hollow… and starving for more.
The desk—once her domain of power—became his altar. He spilled fast. Shamefully fast. Thick ribbons of sticky release stained the desk’s edge and spattered across the grain like confessions he could never take back. His seed mixed with the soft threads of the panties, soaking his disgrace into her world. It was filthy. Unholy. Perfect.
But it wasn’t enough.
It never would be.
Just as his orgasm dulled his mind, the cruelest sound shattered him.
The click.
The office door.
“Aaron?”
Her voice cut through the still air. Ms. Larrabee. Smooth and lethal. Like silk gloves concealing sharpened knives.
He spun in frantic horror, cock still half-hard and exposed, cum cooling against sensitive flesh, panties clutched in his traitorous fist.
She stood framed by the doorway, shadows and moonlight making her look like something sculpted from dark fantasies. There was no shock, no rage, only amusement curling the corner of her lips. A smirk promised pain and pleasure intertwined.
“Well,” she purred, closing the distance with an elegance that melted resistance. Each step silenced the office more than the last. “I was going to ask why your reports were late. But this…”
Her fingers slipped around the panties like a lover reclaiming stolen lingerie. She lifted them gracefully, slowly, pressing them to her nose and breathing in him and her combined. Her tongue darted out, tasting the edge like testing prey.
“…explains everything.”
Aaron’s knees buckled inward. Terror? Humiliation? No, it spiraled deeper. He wanted this moment to consume him whole. He wanted her cruelty. He wanted her disapproval. She wanted the dark promise flickering in her eyes.
Her smirk deepened. A slow, deliberate carving of dominance across her perfect face. She spoke softly, but her words slammed into him with ruthless weight.
“You’re going to be very useful to me after hours, aren’t you, Mr. Aaron?”
He tried to speak. Nothing came. His throat, dry and tight, betrayed him. He could only nod faintly, a puppet stripped of strings but still desperate to perform.
She didn’t need his answer. She already owned it.
With wicked nonchalance, she turned and disappeared into the dark hallway, the panties now hers again. The door shut behind her, sealing Aaron in the suffocating silence of his disgrace.
He stood alone, trembling, aching. But deeper than ache… he bloomed. Craving the leash, he never knew he would beg for.