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1
Every day is a new day, Susan Chalmers tells herself as she nervously totters her way to the CEO’s office. She’s wearing blue heels to go with the demure blue dress she is wearing. As much as she tries to suppress it, her gut is bubbling with apprehension again.
Why do I let him get to me like this? Why why why?
As instructed by Channing Crawford, she is not wearing any panties. But she has added sheer black stockings today, which are held up by a pair of black garters. These are her own embellishments. He had not specifically requested that she should wear them.
She realizes that she subconsciously wants to please him, and it is not only because of the Vice-President job. It’s like wanting to please a revered school principal or a favorite uncle. You want him to shower you with attention – to say “Good girl” and “Well done”.
She realizes too that she reverts to a younger, less confident version of herself whenever she is with Channing.
Not good.
Ms. Radcliffe is seated behind her desk, talking into the phone.
“Yes, Mr. Crawford. Yes . . . yes. Oh, she’s already here.” She flashes Susan a bright smile. “I know, she’s always punctual. A terrible habit, I’m sure.”
She laughs coquettishly.
Susan observes this with mild envy. She does not have this easy, lighthearted camaraderie with Mr. Crawford. In fact, she’s not even sure she has camaraderie at all. If he weren’t so alluring, she would not have cared so much. But she cares. She cares deeply.
Ms. Radcliffe puts down the phone.
“Go right in,” she says, “he’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s a very pretty dress you’ve got on today. I have to warn you – many girls here have tried, but he’s not easily impressed.” There’s a twinkle in Ms. Radcliffe’s eye.
Color creeps into Susan’s cheeks.
I wonder how much she knows.
“Thank you,” she says again, and pushes the doors open.
She swore she wouldn’t be affected by him. After all, he has spanked her and fucked her thoroughly yesterday. She has swallowed his cock as far as it would go into her throat, and yet, she feels the blood draining from her head as she gazes upon him.
Channing Crawford raises his vivid blue eyes to hers, and her knees almost buckle. She finds herself falling into those pools – those depths upon oceans of mesmerizing blue. Oh my God. What is happening to me? Angrily, she tries to shrug it off. He doesn’t care for you. You’re only a sex doll to him. Don’t waste your time – he isn’t worth it.
She just wishes he isn’t so damned handsome and magnetic. She just wishes she doesn’t get that fluttery, hollow feeling between her legs every time she looks at him.
I can handle this. This is a purely business arrangement.
Yes, she has to keep telling herself that.
“Pretty dress,” he remarks.
“Thank you.”
“Come over here and let me have a look at you.”
Obediently, she does as she is bid. She goes to her customary place – beside him behind the desk. He swivels his chair and appraises her with undisguised interest. She studies his features, marveling at the fine curves and lines of his cheekbones and nose.
“You’re wearing stockings,” he observes.
“Yes.”
“They are very pretty. I didn’t ask you to wear stockings.”
“No.” She’s uncertain now. Should she have worn stockings? Should she have checked with him first?
“And yet you did.” He doesn’t seem angry. Amused, more like, in the way the sides of his mouth turn upward. “Why?”
Why indeed.
She swallows. “I just they would look . . . nice, sir.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He leans back in his chair. “Lift up your dress.”
She is expecting this, and so she tugs up the blue hem of her dress, revealing the coppery triangle between her legs. She is aware that the white, white skin of her thighs and lower belly contrasts starkly with the black garters around her waist and her stockings.
He draws in a sharp breath. A thrill of gratification butterflies within her. She always likes it when she elicits a reaction from him. He is so forbidding otherwise – so distant and unfathomable. It is nice to know that he is flesh and blood like everyone else.
“Good girl,” he says appreciatively. “You’re good at following orders. So you’re punctual, obedient and you have initiative. All good characteristics for a VP.”
Oh? Is this whole thing some sort of character integrity test?
She isn’t sure about anything, of course.
“Thank you,” she says. She wishes he would touch her. With her dress hiked up like this and the garters emphasizing her bare pussy triangle, she feels more naked than she would be if she were truly naked.
Reading her mind, he reaches between her legs.
“Spread your thighs,” he commands.
She opens her legs, making sure she stands on a broader base. His fingers burrow in between her pussy lips and her personal water tap starts up again. She feels the trickle starting deep within her – a little sluice of desire and need.
Oh yes, it always starts this way.
Her fingers compress the hot little nub of her clit. She squirms, and he looks up at her face. She is very flushed.
“You like this, don’t you?” he says.
“Yes.”
“And do you like this?” His voice takes on an edge. He digs deeper into her furrows, sending a spasm of pleasure straight into her womb.
“Ohhh,” she cries despite herself.
He watches her face carefully as he continues to finger the folds of her pussy. He plays with her sticky nether lips, lifting them up and letting them snare his fingers as they close wetly in again. He runs the pulp of his index digit up and down her clit, shooting exquisite tendrils of pleasure all throughout her groin.
She whimpers and clutches hard at the hem of her raised skirt.
When he roughly shoves two of his wet, cud-strewn fingers into her pussy hole, she gives a little squeal.
“Just so you know,” he says, “this room is soundproofed. I’ve had the walls and doors made that way.”
She tenses as his fingers rub against her back vaginal wall. He’s seeking her G-spot. He finds it, and she holds her breath as he pauses upon it. She wants him to massage her there – to make her squirm with the sheer ecstasy of it, to render her weak and breathless and aching with hunger and desire, to make her arch her back and throw back her head and scream as she claws at his shoulders and hair.
But he doesn’t. He removes his fingers instead, all the while burning her face with his sizzling eyes.
“You like it a bit too much,” he says. “That’s not good. Your climax should be your reward, not an appetizer first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” she says meekly. Her head whirls and her pussy still aches with unfulfilled need.
He raises his sticky fingers to her mouth. She can smell her own pungency – that fishy, earthy scent of wantonness.
“Suck them. Taste yourself,” he says.
She takes his fingers into her mouth and sucks them. She sucks them as she has sucked his cock yesterday – with a raw desperation. She wishes he would put them into the needy passage of her pussy again. No man has ever stirred her libido this way before. No one.
When he decides she has had enough, he withdraws his wet, saliva-slicked fingers. His expression is one of bemusement.
“I have something for you,” he says.
He pulls out the lower drawer of his desk and retrieves two objects. He shows them to her.
“Do you know what these are?”
“No.”
“You have never seen them before?”
“No, sir.”
“I forget. You are an innocent. Come closer and keep your legs apart.”
She shuffles closer to him.
He seizes a wedge of her right pussy lip. He ensnares her tender flesh with one of the objects. It’s a clamp in the shape of silver teardrop – much like a clipped earring. It is painless but relatively firm. The teardrop dangles from her labia, exerting its gentle gravity upon her tender flesh. The sensation is subtle and yet slyly erotic.
Her entire pubis clenches. She has never experienced such a sensation before.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“It’s . . . strange.”
“Strange is good. You need to come out of your shell more. Try different things, and not just during this week.”
He repeats the process with her left pussy lip. Now both teardrops cling to her pussy, separated only by her clit – which is nudged and stimulated in ways she has never previously imagined by the clasps of the twin silver pendants. The metal is now warm, nourished by her flesh.
“I want you to keep these on all day.”
“You mean walk around in the office like this?” she says, aghast.
She can scarcely imagine it – she doesn’t even think she can walk with them. Having the clasps rub against her clit is a constant reminder of her servitude – the two teardrops gently swaying from her pussy lips and nudging her inner thighs.
Ohhhhh.
“Yes. Walk with them. Sit with them. If you try to close your legs on them, you will find them quite intrusive. So I would advise you to keep your legs slightly open at all times.”
“B-but I have meetings to go to.”
“Then go to them.” His intense eyes arrest hers. “In no time at all, they will become second nature to you. You do not have to worry about them causing your labia any damage. These clamps are designed for long-term use. Now try walking around with them. Hold your skirt up and take a circuit.”
