Your First Day

You walk familiar hallways to a familiar office, stopping a few times for the requisite colleague weekend updates.  Your eyes drift through the glass walls of the boardroom as surrounding voices lament the heat.  It seems there’s a new face on the team.

While it technically isn’t your first day of work- you’ve been with the company for years and are just stepping into a new opportunity- it is definitely hers.  You recognize the team she is meeting with and vaguely recall mention of a recent restructure.  Her posture is relaxed and confident, her features attentive as she listens to the team lead.  She makes a comment through a smile lined in wine coloured lipstick, and the team laughs. 

Her meeting adjourns in tandem with your hallway conversation and everyone flows into their next items of the day.  She gathers her things, then catches you staring.  Her eyes hold yours as she stands.  You notice her posture soften somehow as her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away.  She tucks a stray blonde curl behind her ear self-consciously, and you see the ghost of a smirk across her lips before she walks through the opposite door.

You’re not one to mix business with pleasure, but you do enjoy a game of tug of war.  You find yourself decidedly pleased that your teams work closely together.

Your first meeting is in your office with your boss, who shakes your hand and welcomes you back into the fold. He gives you an overview of the current state of your portfolio, team performance, and immediate priorities.  You are familiar with most of it, but find yourself energized by the opportunity to sink your teeth into her the core business.  

Your boss doesn’t notice your smirk at the visual of your bite marks on her ample, reddened ass passing through your mind- mostly because his attention has shifted to the woman walking through your office door.  Her.

—

You stand as she walks into the room.  She’s wearing a knee-length green dress that hugs every single one of her considerable curves. The threat of her cleavage is enough to make you consciously focus your gaze on her face.  This time her eyes can’t quite meet yours; while she projects confidence standing tall in her heels with her shoulders back, the softness in her posture that you noticed earlier is even more clear.

Your boss introduces you to her but oddly doesn’t use her name.  You reach out to shake her hand and hear her sharp intake of breath when your hand grasps hers.  Her eyes refuse to meet yours, instead staring at your hand as if it were made of flame.  You ask her name, throwing a friendly sideways comment at your boss about his manners.

She takes a deep breath, collecting herself with some effort.  She finally looks at you, eyes sparkling as she says “I suppose that’s for you to decide, Sir.”

Your boss quickly alleviates your confusion (though considerably aggravates what lives inside you) by explaining that there have been some ongoing discussions about managing workplace stress, and they are in the process of trialing a number of strategies.  During the restructuring she was hired to run a team parallel to yours, but with smaller numbers and a smaller scope.  She leads company directives at 60% time, and the remaining 40% of her time is dedicated to employee wellness, specifically yours. There can of course be overlap, at your discretion.

She stands with her wrists crossed behind her, legs hip-width apart- a perfect execution of Wait position. Her eyes remained trained on your hands, which are now at your sides.  That ghost of a smirk is back on her vivid lips.  

Your boss notes that she will report to him, but take direction from you- you have limitless control of her during the workday.  Your needs will take priority over her work, though he kindly requests that you find opportunities to let her focus on both priorities.  He notes that she has already consented to the full scope of her role, but of course you have the option not to participate in the trial. 

Your laugh makes her jump, revealing how tense she is.  Your agreement soon follows, and your boss leaves you to get acquainted with your new colleague.  

—

You close the space between you in one stride, saying nothing.  You are close enough to smell her- her perfume, her hair, her need.  Her eyes are trained on your lips, her breathing fighting to remain relaxed.  You tuck that errant curl behind her ear, and lift her chin.

“Look at me.”

She obeys instantly and you feel her posture soften more as your eyes meet.  

“You want this?” you ask, her chin still in your grasp.

“Yes, Sir,” she breathes.  

Your hand moves from her chin, travelling down the side of her neck, across her shoulder, to her breast.  Her breath hitches as you squeeze, but her eyes don’t leave yours.  Your hand travels further down, reaching around to cup her ass- it’s more than a handful.  She sighs as you squeeze harder.  

You pull her head back by the hair and recenter her gaze on you.  Your hand moves from her ass to her core, your fingers feeling her need before even reaching her clit.  Of course she isn’t wearing panties.  You test her- gently at first- teasing a whimper from her lips.  She swallows a moan as you drive two fingers into her cunt, thrusting a few times to make a point.  

“Open your mouth,” you growl.  She obeys, her eyes a silent plea for more.  You spit in her mouth, and she doesn’t swallow.

In one fluid motion your fingers are on her tongue.  She sucks herself from them, tongue swirling in a way that makes your cock twitch.  The sparkle returns to her eyes as your fingers reach for her throat- tears well, but she doesn’t flinch. 

Satisfied with your initial inspection, you motion her to the chair at your desk.  You reach into her dress, freeing her breasts from the fabric.  You tease her nipples, please to see how responsive they are.  You leave her exposed as you sit behind your desk.  

Your boss has left the final piece of her contract on your desk.  Your tone changes to casually professional as you ask her about limits and consent parameters.  She sits up straighter, her breasts remaining uncovered as she casually folds her hands in her lap.  Her earlier confidence slowly infuses back into her tone as she answers your questions.  She asks about your expectations and needs, her questions direct and unapologetic.  You negotiate the parameters of your first week with the efficiency of experience on both sides.  

When it’s time to sign, you realize the section with her name remains blank.  

“Your name?” you ask, gesturing to the contract with your pen.

“You own me, Sir.  You decide my name,” she replies.  

You write Slut on the contract, and she signs without hesitation.

—

Your phone alerts you of your next meeting.  “When is your next meeting, Slut?” you ask.

She bends to get her phone from the table, her breasts swaying.  “Not for another hour,” she replies.

“Good- under my desk,” you order while undoing your belt and pants.

You remove your belt entirely as she settles herself under your desk.  She places her hands behind her back and relaxes her shoulders.  You loop the belt around her neck, pulling it tight and drawing her head to your hardening cock.  She pulls back slightly, testing the limited slack on the belt as it tightens at her resistance.  She looks up at you, a smile on her painted lips. 

“May I suck your cock Sir?” she asks politely.

You take your cock out and slap your length across her face twice.  “Yes, Slut.  Keep the noise to a minimum, and don’t stop.”

You feel her lips close around you just as your second in command enters your office.

You hold her by the chin as she wets your cock, swirling her tongue around every inch of you.  You gently (and reluctantly) pull her off long enough to stand and shake hands.  Your colleague makes a knowing comment about the trial having started, but to her credit doesn’t otherwise remark on your state of undress.  

She provides you with largely the same updates that your boss already has, which allows your focus to be split between her and Slut.  You sit back in your seat, pulling on your belt to get Slut back on your cock.  You force yourself all the way into her throat, holding the belt tight until she tries to pull away.  You feel her throat constrict around your head as she fights for air.  You mentally count to three before you give her a breath.  You release the tension in the belt just enough to take your cock out of her throat, but not enough that it’s out of her mouth.  She tenses as she figures out how to breathe, taking extra care to be quiet- then works her tongue around your shaft as if communicating her gratitude.

You oscillate control, tightening the belt as you listen to updates, then allowing Slut some autonomy as you give direction to your colleague.  You can feel Slut’s spit pooling on your balls; you take your cock out and lay in on her face as a silent order to clean you up.  You would hear her slurping spit if you hadn’t ordered her to be quiet. 

Her tongue is tentative on your balls, her mouth gentle.  When you tighten your belt, she responds by sucking harder.  You steal a glance down while your colleague searches for something on her laptop, and see that your soaked cock is starting to smear Slut’s mascara.  She doesn’t seem to mind as she looks up at you, tongue out- a silent invitation to fuck her face.

You stuff yourself back into her mouth, pulling the belt tight and wrapping your hand around her head for good measure.  You hold her on your cock until she coughs, her body tensing and flailing back.  You don’t relent, holding her head still as your cock invades deeper.  You pull your hips back just enough for her to cough once and breathe in, then assault her again.  Her earlier quiet is unravelling, which is fine because your meeting is over.  You thank your colleague, setting a check in meeting for later in the week.  Her gaze lingers on your desk- the clear source of the gagging noises- before she leaves the room.  

As soon as the door closes, you grab Slut by the throat and thrust into it.  You’ve almost entirely worn away her resistance, and can feel her becoming yours with each surrendered breath.  She looks up at you, her eyes a mixture of apprehension, adoration, and acceptance.  The last pieces of her relax, and you are left with a true cock sleeve.  You drop the belt in favour of a two-handed approach, one on her throat and one on her head, thrusting your hips deep into her face.  She opens her throat, gurgling your cock.  When she gags, you feel it ripple through her body from her toes, her throat eventually squeezing your cock as her body fights for the control that her mind has already surrendered.  You pull her off, give her a breath, and put her back to earning her name.

You hear her phone buzz for her next meeting.  You pull her off your cock and match her glazed expression to her face and hair, emptying your balls onto both.  You take her chin in your hand, carefully wiping the cum on her face into her open mouth.  She is panting, her lungs greedy for each granted breath.  You help her stand, noticing white gag spit glistening on her still-exposed breasts.  You take care to adjust her clothing back to its original state, and brush your cum through her hair so that it’s less noticeable. You think to wipe away the ruined mascara, but elect to leave it.

She watches your actions with detached complacency, clearly still trying to find steady ground.  You take her face in your hand and lick her lips before kissing her deeply.  Your tongue dances with hers, dragging her back into the moment.  You bite her lip sharply to help her land, and see focus return to her eyes.

“You have a meeting, Slut.  Don’t be late, or there will be consequences,” you growl into her ear.  

“Thank you, Sir.  I won’t disappoint you,” she replies.  She picks up her phone, runs her hand through her cum-soaked hair, reapplies her lipstick, and leaves your office.  You’re still thinking about how hard you’ll have to hit her ass for it to match her lipstick when your next meeting arrives.

—

The next couple of hours pass without incident.  You enjoy the hell out of knowing that she is somewhere in the building with half-ruined makeup wearing your cum, but the workday churns on as you get up to speed.  Lunch finally arrives, and you head down the hallway in search of her.  You find her laughing with a couple of her teammates in the hallway.  They see you coming before she does, and offer you friendly hellos.  One of them lets you know that they have an update for you on a current issue; when she hears your voice as you reply you can almost feel the hair stand up on the back of her neck.  Her reaction is visible only to you- only to someone who has granted her breath, felt her need, tasted her surrender.  

You come up behind her, wrapping your arms around her to cup both breasts as she continues chatting.  Her voice hitches just for a moment, but she recovers quickly and continues as if you aren’t even there.  She continues to make some suggestions about solving an issue while you reach one hand down her shirt to pinch her hard nipple.  She doesn’t react, so you pinch harder until you get a noise that is somewhere between a moan and a squeal.  “Your office, now,” you growl in her ear.  

“Yes Sir,” she says respectfully.  “Send me the letter when you’ve drafted it and I will take a look before it goes out,” she says as a farewell as you are already leading her down the hall.

When you get to her office you direct her to her desk and don’t close the door.  “This is going to be quick because I have a lunch meeting,” you say as you unbuckle your belt.  You move her lunch and some files to the side before you bend her at the waist and push her down onto her desk.  You lift her dress, taking a second to admire her ass.  You recall your errant thought about sinking your teeth into her ass, and take to your knees.

A surprised moan escapes from her mouth as you bite her soft skin.  You bite hard enough that her back arches, any effort to escape thwarted as your fingers drive into her cunt. You bite her again, creating a mark to match the other side as you hear her wetness on your fingers.  You stand to admire your marks, your hand on her back pressing her into the desk as your fingers claw an orgasm from her.  Her knees completely give as her body quakes, your fingers relentless in their pursuit.  She is still spasming as your cock drives inside her.

She is warm, wet, and completely malleable as she rides the high of her orgasm.  You fuck her hard and fast, driving her hips into the desk hard enough to bruise.  She is freely moaning, enough that a few colleagues come to the door to check on her.  When they see you behind her spread legs and soft ass, some of them watch for a moment while others carry on.  You don’t mind either way, and she’s too lost in you to realize.

You can feel your orgasm building and grab a handful of her hair to arch her back.  Your hardened cum in her curls makes your cock throb, threatening to explode.  You pull out of her, side-stepping her quivering body to unload into her salad.  You help her to stand, adjusting her clothes and seating her in her desk chair.  You arrange her files and lunch where they were, your cum already blending into the salad dressing.  She notices, and smirks.

You bend to kiss her, and spit on her face for good measure.  “Don’t wipe it off,” you order.  

“Yes Sir,” she replies.  

You didn’t specify whether you were referring to the spit or the cum, but somehow you know that she was referring to both.

“Enjoy your lunch,” you say from the door as you watch her take the first bite.

—

When you pass her in the hallway, you stop to put three fingers as far into her throat as you can.  When she meets your eyes with a smirk, you take them out, wipe her spit on her face and carry on.  

You have a meeting together that afternoon; she spends it sitting on your cock, rocking back and forth.  She’s surprisingly articulate for having your cock in her cunt, and you begin to realize that she’s actually quite smart.  You fill her before the meeting ends, and have her sit in the chair next to you with her legs spread so that you can watch your cum leak out of her cunt.  She somehow manages to still get her point across, and the team leaves to carry out her direction.

You walk into her office to have your cock sucked before what you know will be a tense meeting.  She’s on a virtual call with external clients, but mutes her mic and turns her video off to service you.  Every now and then she pulls off your cock to contribute to the meeting; when your cock isn’t in her mouth it’s slapping her in the face as she speaks.  

—

Your last meeting of the day is even more tense than you expected, and you can feel yourself growing frustrated.  You are halfway through your usual coping techniques (turning off video to fix your face, pacing the office, deliberately relaxing your muscles, imagining yourself mercilessly using a good whore) when you remember- you have a good whore at your disposal.  You send a message to Slut demanding her presence.  She quietly slips into your office moments later.

You mute your mic and gesture her toward you.  You tell her to undress, and she obeys.  She stands in front of you, assuming Wait pose for the second time that day.  You rise from your chair as two colleagues argue a long-dead point, and stand in front of her.

“Do you remember your safe words, Slut?” you ask as you knead her breasts.

“Yes Sir,” she replies confidently.  She squares her shoulders and relaxes her posture in response to your quiet frustration.

Without another word, you hit her in the ribs with a closed fist.  Surprise washes across her face before it’s replaced with a smirk.  You hit her again, just a few inches lower.  Again, back in the original spot.  She meets your eyes, lips parted slightly to accommodate each inhale as your fist connects with her muscle.  You circle her, selecting targets all over her ribs, torso, and back.  Each thud is met with a gasp, and when you can see her eyes they’re sparkling.  You’re using considerable restraint as usual, but land a few more intense blows just to test her reaction.  She inhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch.  Her smirk becomes a smile.

The sudden release of energy tempered you long enough to go back to the meeting and make a couple of points.  Slut remained in the background, visible to all on the call.  You turn to her to ask what she thinks.  She asks you a couple of questions, then shares her perspective without hesitation.  The two of you talk through the issue with far more efficiency and insight than those on the call, and far more nudity on her part.  

A few moments pass before you stand again.  You can feel her full attention on you, her eyes never leaving yours.  You kiss her until she relaxes into you, then pull back and spit in her face.  You roughly palm her cunt and squeeze, feeling her wetness on your hand.  You slap her face with it.

Her eyes betray surprise, but she recovers quickly and sets her jaw.  She meets your eyes in surrender or quiet challenge- you aren’t sure.  Either way, you reach back down to coat your hand in her, and slap her again.  

You hold her breast in your hand, massaging the soft skin.  You deliver five hard slaps with an open palm to her breast, all in the same spot in quick succession.  She struggles to maintain her stance, arms coming to her sides as if to wave you off before she thinks better of it.  She resumes her posture after each blow, and soon you are focused on the other side.  You pinch and pull her nipple until she moans, then deal out five more open palms to her tender skin.  You return to your meeting without a word.

The meeting has turned from tense to time wasting, and you sign off after telling them to get a plan together before they call you again.  You return to Slut, who is ready to absorb the last of your day.

“Offer them to me,” you order.

She unfolds her hands from behind her back and lifts her reddened breasts to you.  You can see reluctance, but she fights through it and meets your eyes.  You raise both hands above her offered breasts, reveling in her tension. You bring both hands down with force, drawing a primal yelp from her.  She drops her breasts, taking a step back from you to recalibrate.  

“Again,” you growl.

She returns to her stance, slowly finding the courage to lift her breasts to you.  You can see broken blood vessels already, and know that by tomorrow’s morning meeting there will be a rainbow of colour.  

“Four more,” you promise.  “Four more and you’re done.  Count them.”

She grips her breasts tightly to filter her fear.  When you bring your hands down onto her skin, the sound of the slap is swallowed by her scream.  

This time she takes two steps back, her arms folding over her injured breasts in a protective stance.  

“Count,” you remind her.  You need to occupy her mind before you lose her.

“One,” she squeaks out as she hugs herself.

“Good girl.  Again,” you order.

With obvious difficulty she comes back to you, planting her feet.  She places her hands under her breasts, the war between her body and mind clear in her hesitation.  As soon as she raises her breasts to you your hands release more than the day’s frustration into her.  

This time you earn tears.  

She bites her lip to staunch the tears, but one has already escaped.  Her hands cover her breasts again, soothing the bruising skin.  She takes a few deep, centering breaths, before whispering, “Two.”

You say nothing as you watch her struggle to get back in position.  Her breath is ragged as she fights the tears, but she offers herself to your hands again.  You don’t hold back.  

“Three,” is a choked sob.  The floodgates open as she loses control, stepping back and curling into herself as the tears threaten to overtake her.  Her body is shaking, her mind clearly fighting for control of her fight or flight response. You give her time to win.

“Last one,” you encourage as she holds her breasts for you.  Her tear soaked eyes look up at you, begging for mercy in whichever form you choose.  You choose to give her mercy in the form of escape as you land your final blow with considerable strength.

She crumbles, but you are ready.  You catch her, her sobs heaving from her depths.  You smirk as she whispers “Four,” into your chest before she lets her tears roll through her.  Her body shakes in your arms as you reach between her legs.  Her soaked cunt welcomes your touch as you rub her clit.  Her sobs quiet into tear soaked tremors as you soothe her.  She gives you her weight as her knees weaken, trusting you to catch her as she falls.  Her orgasm is tears, bruises, spit, and squirt.  She’s a beautiful mess.

You gently sit her in your desk chair and pull out your cock.  She’s floating, completely unaware of the mess you’ve made of her.  You add to it, soaking her face in your warmth as a final autograph on a masterpiece.

—