The Attorney’s Secret Asset
The air in the law office was thick with the scent of mahogany and expensive cologne. I had come for a legal consultation, but the tension between me and Mr. Sterling had shifted into something far more primal. He didn’t look up from his paperwork when I entered, his voice cold and commanding. “Kneel,” he ordered, “push the chair aside and get under the desk.”
I froze for a heartbeat, the sheer audacity of the command sending a jolt of electricity through my spine. Before I could process the shock, his voice snapped again, sharper this time. “What are you waiting for? Do I have to force you?” Driven by a sudden, overwhelming need to please him, I dropped to all fours, sliding into the dim sanctuary beneath his heavy oak desk.
I could see only his legs and the sharp crease of his trousers. I heard the metallic slide of a zipper, and then his member was free, thick and demanding. He ordered me to take him, and I obeyed instantly. The taste was intoxicating, a mixture of salt and power that I had craved without even knowing it. I worked diligently, my tongue swirling around him, though he remained frustratingly soft at first.
“I am at a crossroads,” he murmured, his voice vibrating through the desk. “I need you at my service, for my sole use and pleasure. You are exactly the kind of creature I’ve always wanted, but I need to hear you say it. Tell me you wish to be my property.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “I desire it, sir,” I whispered, looking up at the underside of the desk. “It is a dream to be at your feet, awaiting your orders.”
The moment the words left my lips, he surged to life. It was as if my submission had acted as a catalyst, his erection filling my mouth with sudden, explosive force. He gripped my hair, his knuckles white, pulling me rhythmically against his pelvis. We were in the middle of a bustling office, yet he was utterly composed, the risk of discovery only adding to the heat of the moment.
When the telephone rang, I flinched and pulled away. The sound of his palm striking my cheek echoed through the room. “Who told you to stop?” he hissed. “I can handle a call while you provide me pleasure.” The feeling of being used, of being a mere tool for his satisfaction, sent me into a frenzy of arousal. I returned to him with renewed vigor, listening to his heavy sighs as he conducted business with a professional tone while I worked beneath him.
As the call ended, his grip tightened, pushing me deeper, forcing me to take every inch of him. I felt the tension peak, and then he released a hot, thick torrent that filled my mouth. I swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of his victory. But he wasn’t finished. He remained poised, and soon a second, warmer fluid began to flow. He commanded me not to waste a single drop, and I obeyed, accepting every part of him as a mark of his ownership.
After he dressed, he beckoned me to sit in the chair. His eyes were calculating. “An important client is arriving,” he explained. “He is a man of… specific tastes. I want you to go to his hotel and place yourself at his disposal as a gift from me. If you do this, you are officially my property in every sense.”
He didn’t ask for my consent; he gave an order. He told me that if I wished to accept this bond, I must kiss his hand before leaving. I stood up, wiped my mouth, and looked into his cold, commanding eyes. Without a second thought, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his hand, sealing my fate.