Slave To The Boss

The floor shakes as his voice rumbles in echo; he has arrived. Vibrations travel up my legs, my resolve to fight shatters. With a client two steps behind, he opens his office door smiling. I sit, spread legged, atop his desk, my stilettos piercing the cushions of the guest chairs, pantiless and bare to view, hair down, glasses bridging my nose, breasts overhanging a bra balcony, nipples announced against silk, biting my lower lip. For all my protests against the rope bindings, I remain where he left me, wet and waiting.