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“Tomorrow, when?” I asked.
“By ten.”
“Ten?”
“Yes, ten. Get here early for a change and get some work done… you waste enough hours as it is, Skye Sinclair.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll see you at ten tomorrow morning,” he dismissed me without offering any further explanation. I guess he didn’t have to. My cold chills went on for hours afterwards and I had no explanation why. I added him to the list, I had to after that remark, You waste enough hours as it is, Syke Sinclair. Might be innocent. Might be incriminating. Might be a fairly logical comment for an efficiency expert.
***
By the time I left, just after six o’clock, I’d had mixed messages from four office icons, all of which might have pointed to my mystery man. Confusion reigned. The only solution I had for this critical situation was between my thighs. My bare pussy pressed against the seat of my car, dampened the fabric just as it had dampened the fabric of my desk chair. As I drove home, I thought of my panties stuffed inside my desk drawer, easily visible to anyone who opened it. Anyone could stumble on them… anyone looking for a pencil pull could open the drawer and wonder why the research assistant had left a pair slightly soiled black panties in her desk. Sure, the possibility that someone would discover them was probably remote. More likely, whoever was behind the email messages would have an easy way to know if I was following his orders. If it was a test, I suppose I passed.
Riding home, the reminder of my lust throbbed between my legs. The ache hurt. As I pulled into the parking garage of the apartment building, I pressed my fingers to my crotch and began to play with myself. I couldn’t wait. Stopping the car in my assigned stall, I leaned back and continued to play with my wet pussy. Looking down, I could see my breasts pushing against the fabric of my blouse, and my nipples hard and poking through the silk. A few efficient strokes of my fingers against my clit, a few more… “Gawd yeesssssss,” I quietly murmured, panting, groaning, hoping I wouldn’t be seen as I came. Because of my long day of frustrated arousal, my need was great and I came hard, belly grinding in powerful spasms, pussy spilling wet stuff on my hand, “Acccccccccchhhhhhhhh, yessssssssss.”
I collapsed into the seat, breathing heavily for some seconds, then I stumbled from my car and stumbled up the stairs and into my apartment. Closing the door behind me, I locked it, bolted it and attached the connecting chain—as if any of that would keep the lusty demons off my back and out of my crotch.
Chapter Three
I had my dream dates everyday with [email protected]
Masturbate at your desk, just as you’re finishing lunch. Email when you’re about to come.
By ten the next day, I was desperate for this message, about to email him demanding he pay attention to me. And then, this little missal arrived to insist I do exactly what I knew I had to. So titillated by the assignment, I barely gazed about to see if it was safe before my fingers dove for the pulsing wetness between my thighs. I was little more than a blatant whore, churning my groin against my hand, which zeroed in on all the right places. Naughty me, I didn’t want to come too soon… I wanted the sensations to linger, to gain intensity before it spilled free. The fact of my vulnerable position only increased my excitement. Of course, I’d stop if someone suddenly appeared from between the files, or along the back corridor. But no one did. Fifteen minutes of beautiful sensation brought me to the perfect peak, and just as I was about to let the explosion rip, I remembered the whole of the master’s message. Email when you’re about to come.
Damn him! I said to myself as I pulled my hand away.
Now, please! I quickly typed and sent my message.
Yes. Right. Waiting for permission was part of the game. I backed off a dozen times… spending nearly twenty minutes teetering on the edge of oblivion before the man finally emailed back.
Stop now. You’ll get to come when you’ve earned the right.
No, no, please! I shot right back.
His reply seemed almost instantaneous. Maybe the game’s up before it’s even started, Miss Skye Sinclair. Follow the rules, or quit.
Sorry… but can’t I please come?
Sorry, Sir, he corrected me by return mail, apparently having decided that I needed to address him more formally, and no you can’t come now. You’ll have to wait. In the meantime, no coming without permission. I own your body, your mind, your soul. That’s the first rule of submission. You get this one, you might make yourself worthy of a master.
I hated him for denying me… but it was as I asked. It was as I had imagined. Exactly. Denial, creating a pulse of sexual excitement I could hardly contain. Men—a man—who won’t put up with my BS… who forced me to obey. That was the gist of my personal ad.
Be careful what you pray about, what you dream, what you imagine, what you dare to think. From somewhere beyond my memory the warning flew in as a reminder. I had to decide, was this what I really wanted?
***
The messages that followed my lunchtime masturbation got more specific, more intrusive, more pointed.
End the affair with the computer tech. End all your affairs.
The order was short and precise.
Yes, absolutely, it was time to end my fling with Roddy—although it wasn’t easy pushing him away.
Tell him you have another man. What? Was he in my brain, reading my mind?
