The Attorney’s Private Terms
The office smelled of old leather and expensive mahogany. I sat in one of the simple chairs, feeling small beneath the gaze of the man behind the massive desk. He was an attorney in his late fifties, with a commanding presence and a sharp, dark complexion that radiated confidence. When he shook my hand, his grip was firm, almost possessive, and his eyes seemed to read every secret I had ever kept.
We began with the legal details of my case, but I could feel the air in the room shifting. Every few minutes, he would ask a question that felt less about the law and more about me. Suddenly, he pressed the intercom, instructing his secretary not to disturb him until further notice. The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked, his voice a low, resonant rumble. I froze, my face flushing a deep crimson. I had been admiring his masculine authority, the way his tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” I stammered, though my heart was racing.
He stood up and walked around the desk, his presence overwhelming as he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I can tell you want to see me without these clothes,” he whispered. He led me toward a side door, stopping just before the threshold. “If you cross this line, you get what you desire, but you cannot say no to anything I ask. Do you understand?”
I didn’t speak; I simply stepped forward. As I crossed the threshold into the private restroom, he delivered a sharp, stinging smack to my backside. “I knew you would,” he murmured. “Your silence was a resounding yes.”
Inside the small, tiled space, the power dynamic shifted completely. He commanded me to undo his belt and free him from his trousers. With trembling hands, I obeyed, revealing a thick, potent length that pulsed with heat. He ordered me to my knees, and as he relieved himself, he challenged me to catch the stream with my tongue. The taste was salty and primal, a mark of his dominance that left me breathless and craving more.
When he finished, I reached for some tissue to clean him, but he responded with a sudden, sharp slap across my cheek. “Do you think I want paper?” he growled. “Use your tongue.” I obeyed instantly, licking every last drop from his skin before he stepped out of his underwear completely. He gripped my hair, pulling my head firmly against his groin, forcing me to take him deep into my throat.
As I worked my mouth over him, he used his leather belt to lash my back and thighs, the rhythm of the pain blending perfectly with the pleasure of my service. He held me tight, refusing to let me pull away as he reached his peak. I felt the hot, thick surges of his release filling my mouth, flooding my throat in powerful bursts. I swallowed every drop, savoring the essence of his authority.
He finally released my hair and looked down at me with a smirk of approval. “You’ve done well. This was merely the appetizer. I need an object for my release, someone who lives to obey. Do you accept these terms?”
Looking up at him, completely undone and devoted, I whispered, “I am yours to command, Sir. Whatever you desire, I will obey.”