Manhattan Master (3 page)

Your oiled fingers slide
down over my throat, over my breasts. You pull at my bound nipple,
and I try to say yes. It comes out garbled around the
gag.

From my position, I can see
you from the waist down as you sit back, Your hands go to the
zipper of your pants. My mouth starts to water as you unzip, and
the hard, smooth column of your cock springs out. In spite of all
my fantasies, it looks better than I ever hoped, thick and
ridged.

You move your chair
forward, my body fitting easily between your thighs. The angle of
my head and mouth is perfect. As you press forward, my open mouth
slides neatly over the firm, throbbing head.

I groan as your thick shaft
pushed into my helpless mouth. The harness holds my head still as
you rock your hips, fucking my mouth, rubbing the smooth oil all
over your cock, smearing it on my lips each time you pull out for
another thrust.

With a groan I close my
lips on you as much as I can, tasting you and the oil mingling in
my mouth. The heavy, musky mass of you, shaved and smooth, brushes
against my face.

To my disappointment you
pull out, leaning over to smile at me.

"I'm starving, and that
Colombian place sometimes runs out of food early," you say. "I
think I'm going to leave you here while I go get something to eat.
Want anything?"

My eyes widen. You wouldn't
leave me here alone like this, naked and cuffed, unable to even
close my mouth.

Would you?

I stare at you and try to speak, but I
can't. I pull my head, but the harness doesn't budge. My arms can
only move a few inches either way.

"My advice is that you
should stay very quiet," you say. "Someone might come investigate,
thinking I have a mouse. You wouldn't want them to find you like
this, would you?"

Your fingers trace my
mouth.

"You're practically
drooling. Kind of hard to swallow like this isn't it?"

You stand up and push your
chair close enough to mostly hide me. I hear your voice, muffled
and far away on the other side of the desk.

"We really are having a
problem with rats in this building. This morning I saw a big one
under the bookcase. If something scampers up your leg, offer it a
lick of that sweet little pussy."

I can't stop the little
squeak of fear that leaves my throat. You're probably teasing me
about the rat, but the problem with you is that I can't always read
you. Your chuckle falls on my ears.

The door opens and shuts behind you.
Silence falls in your office, and I'm left alone to wait. For how
long, only you can say.

Under the desk I have no
view except of your chair and a thin slice of the windows behind
your desk, looking out at sky. I hear the subdued noises of a large
office at lunch time, and the dim roar of the traffic far down on
the street.

What have I gotten myself
into? It's Friday. You could leave me here over the weekend and
give the cleaning crew the weekend off. You're the only person in
the world who knows where I am. Even my best friend doesn't know
where I am this weekend.

Again I feel that strange
surge of trust. Somehow no matter what kind of games you lead me
into, I know I'm safe with you.

It begins to seem like a
long time already, but it's only been minutes since you left. How
to entertain myself while you're gone? I test the harness, the
steel cuffs. I won't be going anywhere without a key.

I try to rearrange myself
to kneel more comfortably. It doesn't help, and the expensive
hardwoods are making my knees ache. You think of everything, so the
lack of padding is no mistake. You want me to feel this discomfort,
to be aware of my body in every way.

My mind drifts to the past.
I remember the long phone conversations between us. All the times
you've come to Atlanta to take me to dinner, to the theater, down
to the ocean. The heat was always there between us, the tug of
attraction.

But in spite of that
desire, or maybe because of it, you held yourself back. Other than
a few brief hugs and one kiss on the forehead, you never touched
me. I was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with me,
but now I realize you were testing yourself more than
me.

"I want you completely,"
you'd finally said on that last trip to see me two weeks ago. "Come
to me in New York, Gabrielle. I need to know if you can give
yourself to me in the way that I need. And if you can't, there's no
point in going further."

Now I'm here, and the fear
and excitement are almost unbearable. I want you, to be owned by
you, to please you. I want to be everything you want in a woman,
not to disappoint you.

Dampness is on my face from
not being able to close my mouth. You spoke the truth. It's hard to
swallow with the prongs propping my mouth open. My shoulders are
starting to feel uncomfortable, and my knees are slowly bonding to
the floor.

The oil you smeared still
clings to my mouth. The scent/taste of your cock fills my mouth and
throat. That tiny taste of you spins my mind in all sorts of
directions. What would it be like to have that inside me, filling
me until I screamed…

The sound of the door
opening interrupts my thoughts. I hurriedly try to compose myself,
ready to greet you with a look of reproach for leaving me
alone.

Then my sense of smell
warns me. It isn't you entering the office.

Who would dare to sneak in
here without so much as a knock? I hear footsteps approach your
desk and cringe back into the shadows. What if the intruder has
business on this side of the room and finds me instead?

The door opens again. A
second scent joins the first. Definitely a woman's perfume. There's
the rustling the sound of papers being shuffled on your
desk.

I start to get pissed on your behalf
at what sounds like blatant snooping. Then I hear a husky female
voice, low and breathless, a single plea.

"Fuck me. Right here, right
now."

My mouth would drop open if
not for the gag. There's the unmistakable sound of a zipper being
ripped down, the rustlings of a skirt being lifted. A dull thud
sounds over me, like someone being dropped on your desk. There's a
sharp inrush of breath from the unknown woman, then rhythmic
grunts.

Holy hell. They're going at
it on your desk over me. The low grunts of the man intermingle with
the softer moans of his partner. What kind of office is
this?

Office decorum be damned.
There's a heated, whispered litany of filth from the man, probably
into the ear of his partner. The appreciative little squeals from
her tell me this isn't their first time.

A long, drawn-out groan,
and then another, signals that both intruders have finished. Hard,
from the sound of things. Talk about a quickie.

After a moment of panting,
there's a hasty sounds of clothes and papers being rearranged. The
smell of perfume and heavy musk of sex are in the air. The door
opens and shuts in a hurry, leaving me alone again.

My thoughts are in a
scramble. Who the hell was that? More importantly, I realize how
much I want you to take me on that same desk. Not the fast, hurried
affair I just heard, but long and slow, positioning me in every way
you can on the wide, dark wood.

The door opens again.
Whatever happened to hanky-panky in a convenient broom closet? But
I hear the difference in the step. These are the firm strides of
the rightful owner of this office, not the hesitant steps of
intruders.

Your shoes appear as you
reach your chair, pulling it back and settling in. You peer under
and smile at me, as though you find me here like this every
day.

Now your coat is gone, your
tie loosened around your throat. You look casual, sexy, and smug.
That's exactly the expression. The cat who got the
cream.

"Did you miss me?" you ask,
stretching your foot between my thighs, rubbing the tip of your
shoe against my hot flesh. It comes away wet.

"I guess you did. You must
be thirsty. Want something to drink?"

I nod, realizing how very
thirsty I am. You kneel in front of me, holding a bottle of Evian
to my open mouth. I expect you to remove the prongs, but you smile
and shake your head.

"Tilt your head back and relax your
throat. You won't strangle. Your body knows what to do with it.
Trust me."

You insert the tip of the bottle into
my mouth, squeezing. A stream of the cold, delicious water hits the
back of my tongue. For an instant my throat tenses. Then as you
promised, my reflexes take over, and I gulp without
thought.

Your fingers trail over my
lips, wiping away the water splashes. My body throbs as your
fingers perform this casual, intimate service. It's so easy to
imagine those fingers entering other places in my body, preparing
each opening for things to come.

"I brought some ice cream,"
you say. "Just let it melt over your tongue and take it like you
did with the water."

You offer me a soft,
melting spoonful of strawberry ice cream on a little plastic spoon.
My eyes meet yours as my tongue extends to catch it, working the
sweetness with my tongue.

Your voice is husky again.

"So many times I sat across the table
from you, or next to you while I was driving. I imagined that sweet
tongue licking just like that. But it was my cock, not ice
cream."

A knock startles us both.
In one motion you sit up and roll forward, unzipping yourself. Your
hardness appears again, and you press forward and into my
mouth.

"Come in," you call.

I freeze under the desk as
the door opens. The taste of your musk and strawberries fills my
mouth, a heady combination that makes my head spin.

A man enters and greets
you, but I barely hear the exchange over my head. There's only you
in my mouth, the low rumble of your voice over my head. Your
composure is incredible, not a change in tone or
inflection.

An evil part of me can't
resist. I give you my hardest, slowest lick, feeling you twitch in
my mouth. Your voice never misses a beat.

Then the visitor says
something that claims my attention.

"Nice dress. The blue must
bring out your eyes. You cross-dressing now?"

Oh no. My dress, draped
over the visitor's chair. It probably looks cheap and discarded in
the rich surroundings of the office.

"My wife asked me to drop
it by the cleaners," you say.

I tense under the desk.
Wife? Oh God, please don't tell me I've misread you somehow. I can
deal with almost anything you throw at me. A wife isn't one of
them.

The voice laughs, but it
holds no real humor.

"Right. Like you'll ever
marry, Mr. Fuck and Run. You got a girl in the closet, is that
it?"

All at once I realize that
as he's talked to you, I've developed an instant dislike for him.
There are many things in his voice, none of them very
likeable.

"No. She's under the desk
taking care of me right now," you say in an off-hand tone, dropping
the empty cup into the wastebasket.

I grow very still, wondering where
this will go.

"Stick to the first story,"
the visitor advises, and again his tone makes the hair prickle on
the back of my neck.

The door opens and closes
behind him as he leaves without saying good-bye. I'm not sorry to
have him leave. There was something about him…

You move inside my
mouth.

"Sorry, that was uncalled
for, but I couldn't resist. I have few phone calls to make, then
we'll go back across the street. I promise you a dinner you'll
never forget. What do you say?"

I'm never going to forget
the afternoon. That's for sure.

Wordlessly I nod. My
nipples tingle at the thought of the return trip to the hotel and
what may happen when we arrive. I remember the toys, sitting mute
in the darkened room.

You pick up the phone and
then pause.

"By the way, was anyone in
my office while I was gone? A man and a woman, maybe, on my
desk?"

I nod again.

"I probably have ass prints
on my desk now. I caught them once, but I was a good guy, laughed
and told them to use it anytime I stepped out. So they
do."

You pause, and I hear a
grin in your voice.

"You think I should tell
them about my hidden camera? That I sit back later and watch
everything they do?"

My laugh around the
mouthful of you comes out as an unladylike snort. Nothing gets past
you.

Then my laughter dries up.
I've stripped and performed like a whore in this same office. I
don't know where the camera is either.

My stillness must give my
thoughts away. You chuckle and begin to dial.

"I love that about you,
Gabrielle. You're no dumb blonde. Don't worry, no one will ever see
you but me. What we have is only for us. I'm selfish when it comes
to you."