Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Letting out a sigh, I stared at my rather empty screen. I had been doing so for probably a good hour. Or maybe ten minutes. Who knows? Supposedly, I was tasked doing something that did neither include staring nor an empty screen. I was supposed to go through E-Mails that dated years back to find a mistake someone who probably no longer worked here, did and was now threatening to halt contract negations for my current boss. Who, by the way, was hot. Like, majorly hot and handsome.

He wore suits all day, every day. And let me tell you, Carlos Manoso, in suits, in front of your very nose every day was an image you never wanted to go without again. That man was B-U-I-L-T and no amount of clothes could hide that fact. I was almost certain he wasn’t even trying to look hot, appealing and like sex personified, which was even worse, since he just looked good, period. Without trying too hard, or trying at all. He was as close to a book-boyfriend in the real world as you could probably manage to find.

As well as grumpy and kind of non-verbal. He was a man of very few words and usually expected you to understand his entire message when all he said was ‘Yo’. Obviously, he usually said a few more words than that, but trust me, there weren’t that many.

If you overlooked the basically non-existing communication and sometimes the rough tone and almost bark-like orders, my job was actually not that bad. I was ridiculously overpaid for the little amount of work I did, but I was certainly smart enough to not voice that concern. As Carlos Manoso’s assistant, I spent most of my days answering the phone and planning his work-day, scheduling meetings and very rarely I even get to bark at someone myself. Not that I did this often or enjoyed it particularly. Well, I did whenever I could bark at Joyce, but she was pretty much the only exception.

Since additional work around here was not that plenty, mainly because Carlos Manoso liked efficiency and therefore employed people that were just that -the exception once again was Joyce- being needed on some project or helping someone to meet a deadline was rarely the case. Staring at the attractiveness that was Carlos Manoso was only working for so long before someone might notice for real or things moved into creepy territory. So, I found a hobby that also turned into an additional income. I wrote fiction. Short fiction. And mainly steamy, kinky, hot fiction, where my male characters might maybe resemble my boss. Sue me!

I had published four books so far and while they wouldn’t make any important bestseller lists, they generated a significant amount of traffic and money. Enough for a proper rainy-day account, anyway.

Since my desk was directly facing Carlos’ office and he had glass doors that made me watch his every move, I was free to type away and be aware when I needed to switch to something less private and more job-related. I wasn’t entirely certain what my boss thought I did all day, especially seeing as he probably knew how busy, or not-busy, I was often enough. But if he didn’t ask questions, I certainly wouldn’t provide answers. And even if he was to ask, my last resort would be the truth and admitting I write what was technically considered porn while on the clock. Nope. That had the word redundancy written all over it. In big, bold, red letters. All capitals.

So, I typed in silence, being slightly amazed at myself for how productive I seemed today, and kept a close eye on my boss, pacing his office and seeming occasionally annoyed with something.

“Stephanie, I just sent you an E-Mail with the signed contracts for our latest deal. Forward it to HR and Sales as well as print of copy for me, would you?” he asked, and I just nodded, finding the E-Mail on top of my inbox. The clock indicated it was about 5 minutes until another workday came to an end, so I figured this would be my last task of the day. As requested, I forwarded the E-Mail to all appropriate departments and printed a copy for him, collecting it a second later from the printer behind me.

When I turned around and placed the printout on my desk, I saw Joyce in front of my desk, placing a parcel on it. A parcel which looked oddly familiar.

“I think I ordered that about four weeks ago,” I just said, pointing towards it. She just smiled arrogantly at me and then rolled her eyes.

“Things take time,” she just snarled and held a clipboard in my direction for me to sign.

“I am aware of that. As aware as I am about the fact that the shipping date on that label displays a date almost four weeks ago as well. So maybe not things take time, but you do.”

“What do you want, Plum? It’s here now, isn’t it? So what are you complaining about?”

“I complain about nothing,” I said and saw her nod almost triumphantly. “Mainly because I placed a second order on the company card and with the retailer itself, forgoing you and your entire department and had the parcel two days later. Typical case of work smarter, not harder,” I shrugged and saw her fuming.

 It was our ritual. She hated me as much as I hated her. If you asked me why, I wouldn’t be able to explain. She was just one of these people who you instantly dislike upon seeing her. And she said probably the same about me. Or she hated me because I actually worked and didn’t spend my day gossiping, something she was supposedly excellent at.

We kept going back and forth for a few moments, bickering and insulting each other when she finally left without taking the parcel back with her. Great, what was I supposed to do with that?

Carlos, supposedly ready to leave as much as I was, stepped to my desk, threw a bunch of papers in my tray for what needed to be done, grabbed his printed contract, which I handed him, and was out the door. I followed him a moment later after I had gotten rid of Joyce’s parcel, grabbed my personal papers I had printed out earlier, and my coat.

Getting takeout on my way to my place, I had a busy night planned. I needed to go some more through my manuscript for my latest book, which I had started correcting earlier today at work. I also had gotten some spontaneous ideas for scenes things happening in the story that I wanted to implement. I had a weird writing process and usually started to write in the office, but brought the story together at home, going over details and making sure I wasn’t contradicting myself somewhere along the way.

 Just…when I pulled my papers from my tote, they didn’t look like mine. They looked like …a contract. A contract which should be with someone else.

Oh…fuck!

While busy bickering with Joyce, I must have handed my boss the wrong papers, which meant, when I had his contract, he had my…latest chapter, which also was probably the spiciest one yet. Fuck. Oh, I was so fired for this. There was no coming back, no explanation, which made this less of a clusterfuck than what it was. Crap! Crap. Crap…

An hour had passed since I realized my mistake and I had checked my phone almost every minute, wondering whether I had received a message about my employment. When after three hours still no message appeared, I started really freaking. More relaxed people might have been able to work under the assumption that it hadn’t been read yet, that the papers were in some trunk of a car, forgotten and safe until tomorrow morning. I wasn’t one of these people. Mainly because I knew my luck, which was not the best. With my luck it wasn’t just read by him but also two dozen more people because he was at a fundraiser or some company dinner and it came up. In whatever way that was supposed to work. It wasn’t important. Hell, details didn’t matter at this stage anymore, since… well… I was almost certain that by the end of tomorrow, this secretary/personal assistant/executive receptionist was fired. No doubt about it.

Eventually I dragged my tired ass to bed, figuring there was nothing that could be done and the least I could do was show up refreshed and awake for my moment of being let go. Needless to say, I didn’t feel like I slept at all, and my way to work was excruciating. As was the fact that I was in before my boss. Which never happened. And it was already 9am.

Oh god, maybe he was doing this through HR directly, not even wanting to look me in the eye and have people deal with me. It isn’t as if the fact that my main male character was literally him was anything worth denying. I gave him tattoos which I knew for a fact were to be found on Carlos Manoso. Well, the ones I could catch a glimpse of, anyway. Or that the physical description didn’t portrait the man perfectly. And by the length I used to describe his looks and imagined everything that wasn’t visible to me, there was very little leeway for me to build a case that this wasn’t creepy on a whole new level.

Opening my email program, there was nothing there. No email from HR and no email from my boss either. I dared to hope. But only for a moment, since Carlos Manoso marched into the office a second later, looking like he was going to war. I figured I might be the one he was going to war with, but was surprised when he stopped at my desk, seeming surprised himself, and just looked at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then he went on into his office. The way he had looked at me could only be described as odd. Like he was seeing me for the first time, despite the fact that I was working for that guy for the past four years. There was very little doubt that he hadn’t read what I had so foolishly given him by mistake. Or had he just taken it? Or Joyce had given him? I was still a little hazy on the exact detail of how the mix-up happened, but I also figured it didn’t matter.

Maybe it was my insanity, maybe it was the fact that my doom was impending, but I couldn’t help but notice how immaculate he was looking today and how that suit of his seemed to cling to every inch of his impeccable body. Not that I knew anything about his body, per se. Just…my imagination liked to run crazy every once in a while. And let’s be honest, you didn’t just look gorgeous, and all chiseled and brooding and didn’t have a body to back it up. I also knew that he ran. Every morning a whole hour. And then he went to the gym. How did I know? Guys talk, especially his BFFs Bobby, head of research, Lester, head of Marketing and Sales and Tank, head of HR. They happened to be his gym buddies and while they obviously didn’t have a coffee party at my desk each day, you hear things every once in a while. And for the rest there’s the rumor mill and gossip, which makes it even up here, to the top floor.

“Stephanie, if you have a moment, come into my office,” I heard something that could be described as a bark from his office. His request pulled me effectively out of my thought and right back into the present and the possibility that this was it, this was the moment I’d get fired.

“You called?” I asked, stepping into his office a second later, trying to go along the nonchalant route. Maybe I was being paranoid. Looking at him, and seeing a paper that had in bold letter the title of my current of fiction popped any nonchalant bubble I might have believed in until now.

“Take a seat,” he commanded or suggested, pointing towards a guest chair in front of his massive desk. “Do you like your job? Working for me?” he asked, and I wondered for a second how to actually answer that? Was this a rhetorical question before he let me go?

“I…um…yes,” I replied, uncertain. It wasn’t a lie. I liked working for him and I also liked my job. It just got occasionally a bit boring. But he didn’t need to know that as such.

“You realize that amongst all the companies I own, there’s also a publishing house as well?”

“I…do,” I replied, cautiously. What was his angle? It seemed like a very weird setup to telling me that my services were no longer needed.

“So, is this you telling me you want a change in career?” he asked, holding up my papers. “Though, from what I gathered and could find, it seems like you don’t need the services of Manoso Publishing to help you.”

“I… can explain,” I rushed as a reply, not sure how to actually explain anything. I mean, it was pretty straightforward. And very little room for misinterpretation. Instead of interrupting me, like you’d expect and some harsh ‘Save your explanation’, he didn’t say anything. Carlos just leaned back in his plush chair, looking at me expectantly, and didn’t say a single word. He just nodded.

Fuck. Why did I have to say that? What was there to explain? It was exactly what it looked like. I was bored at work and instead of browsing porn sites like my male counter parts would maybe revert to, I actually wrote porn. Not sure what was actually worse from a company’s point of view.

“I...I…needed the money,” I started and couldn’t think of anything better. Sure, I could have started with ‘I’m sorry’ or anything that showed regret, but no, I rather went with a money-angel. And it wasn’t as if that was ever the truth. He knew as well as I did now much money he paid me monthly, and it wasn’t small. So, unless I needed to support a drug habit or any other form of addiction, that excuse was one of the worst. And it isn’t like I made millions with my writings. Judging by the way he looked at me, Carlos was buying my lousy excuse, as much as I was certain about it. “Okay, maybe… I didn’t. I just… I can’t explain it, okay? I just scribbled something down one day and somehow scribbled some more once I was home and then some more when a meeting was going back and forth about the same topic we had debated about for the previous six meetings and I just… needed something to do.” It was the truth. And also, technically, the plot of my first story, in which a meeting had turned incredibly boring until the main male and female character turned things around and each other on. It was more porn than story, born from a meeting when Joyce had assumed she was important and that anyone actually cared what she had to say and it was going back and forth between her and someone from accounting, I believe.

“Oh, since last night I know all your opinions about meetings, trust me,” he just stated, and it was odd, seeing as the parts he had gotten were not from that story. Which meant….no, surely not. This had only been a lucky -or unlucky- guess, and he had surely not read anything else.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled quietly, and that probably was the first smart thing I had said since entering his office. I saw him nod, get up a moment, and I wondered whether this was the moment I’d loose my well-paid job. Maybe something I should have thought about sooner.

“Tell me, Stephanie,” he started, moved around his desk and sat down on the edge closest to me. “Is there a reason why I seem to be the main male character in all five of your books?”

Would I have had a drink, I was almost certain I would have spat everything across his desk. Not only had he made the connection about who my male character might have been, he also had just confirmed that he had read all of my books. I believe this was the moment to admit I was royally screwed, and that there was definitely no way out of this. “And how is it that female character holds a certain resemblance to you?”

Oh, there was definitely no saving from this. Before I could come up with any sort of response, he went on, surprising me a moment later. “Is this your way of coming on to me?”

“I…what?” I asked, confused. Did he just really say that? Did Carlos Manoso think this was a scheme of mine? That I dropped my manuscript, or at least scenes from it, in his hand as if to say ‘read it and find me’? “No. Definitely not. I mean, is there a certain resemblance to people in this very office? Yes. Do I find you incredibly hot? Yes. Do you probably not even notice me most of the days? Yes, as well. But this wasn’t an elaborated plan or anything. It was a mix up and nothing else.” I sputtered, almost in rage. While the whole thing was embarrassing, it was even worse if he thought this was a plan or me making a move.

“What makes you think I don’t notice you?” he asked, seeming surprised and equally confused. “You work for me. I walk past your desk several times a day and am almost certain whenever I need a change of scenery that I look out of my office and see you. I can guarantee you I definitely notice you. All day, every day.”

Okay then, this was definitely not what I had expected and somehow this ‘I will so get fired’ conversation didn’t turn out quite like that. Or maybe that was still to come.

“I…um…thank you,” I mumbled, uncertain what to actually say to that. He nodded again, seeming amused for no apparent reason, and pushed himself off his desk to walk back around and sit down in his chair. And then the most irritating thing happened, he gave me requests for today.

“Could you see if you can get Jake Haper from Harper Investments on the phone? And also, see if you could get me four tickets for the upcoming game of the Knicks. There’s also an invitation for some gallery opening of a distant friend of my mother somewhere. See if you can somehow get me out of that, will you?” And that was it. I was dismissed. Looks like I had a job for at least another day.

Before he could change his mind, I got up and started on his requests. No surprise, within an hour, I had it all completed. That would be the time for me to actually get back to my hobby, if these were normal circumstances. But, no. For today, I was going to be a model-employee and doing only company-business on my computer. My cellphone, however, was a whole different story.

I am not entirely certain how I managed to make my day go by as fast as it did, but somehow, I kept busy and when the clock struck 5pm, I was ready to go. So was my boss, as it seemed.

“I forgot to return this to you,” he said in passing, placing my writing on the desk, and then he was gone. I crammed the papers in my tote bag, the second time in as many days and left as well. Maybe instead of takeout, I should grab a bottle of wine and call that dinner. After the day I had, it only seemed fair. So, without much further ado, I got a bottle of what I figured was a good wine, went home and poured a generous glass.

Taking the wine with me to my couch, I found my newly retrieved papers and got to work, planning to go through them and noting things that needed to change. Only…someone had beaten me to it. I was staring at pages and pages of my writing and red comments and notes there had certainly not come from me.

It didn’t take a genius to know who this could possibly be. I knew that handwriting well enough, seeing as I found plenty of post-its at my desk throughout the timeframe of four years. Carlos Manoso, my boss, had taken it upon himself to proof-read the manuscript of my book he had been dealt with mistakenly. 

Chapter Text

Looking at the amount of red, he had a lot to say. Especially when it came to the sex. Well, seeing that this book would be my spiciest yet and contained a lot of sex right from the start, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. And now I was sitting in my living room, having a glass of wine and thinking about my boss reading (and correcting) sex scenes written by his assistant. I definitely needed more wine. So, getting the whole remainder of the bottle, I went back to my sofa and went to work, reading all his remarks, comments and sometimes even suggestions.

I took note of all his remarks and then realized when I made it to the end of my print out, that what was supposed to be last page was not the last piece of paper. There were a few more pages, handwritten and talking about my other four books.

Even if my mind had somehow been able to ignore the comment in his office in which he mentioned my five books, it certainly couldn’t any longer with three pages of handwritten, red-tinted comments.

Without getting into too much detail, the gist was that the sex could be extended, the guy definitely needed to work on his finesse -in all the books- and she was behaving like a virginal school girl occasionally.

While I wasn’t certain which books he usually had on his bedside table, his comments weren’t completely unfounded. Most of the readers loved my stuff, but the few critical points I got were along the same lines, well, minus that the sex scenes should be extended. That actually was a first. Funny fact about my books and my writing was, that I loved it in general, but somehow writing the sex scenes were done with a bit of alcohol for encouragement to write scenes or words I might usually cringe at. I know it was odd that I wrote airport porn -so to speak- but wasn’t comfortable doing so. It was hard to explain, since obviously I could easily just write stories less scandalous, but somehow… I liked the challenge and also…sex sells. Even in books.

His comments and notes gave me plenty of ideas for a direction of the book and my night turned into a very short one with only very few hours of sleep. But it had certainly be worth it, seeing as I was almost done with my latest novella. There was no deadline, so it wasn’t bas if I needed to hurry, especially seeing as I was self-publishing and didn’t have an editor, publisher or agent to answer to. But it felt rewarding being able to release a new book much sooner than anyone was expecting.

I was in the office by 9am again, probably looking like a panda with the little sleep I have had. But once again I was in before my boss. Though not by much, as it turned out, since about five minutes after my arrival he walked through the door as well.

“Stephanie, my office,” he said in passing, not even stopping. He had an odd tone to his voice, so I wasn’t certain whether we could be back to me potentially losing my job. I mean, he read three of my books and parts of my newest one, but that didn’t mean we were besties now, did it?

“Close the door,” he ordered when I followed him and indicated a moment later for me to sit down again.

I was expecting him to somehow start into a monologue about…anything, mainly what he had read and written down on my manuscript. But instead of a lengthy speech he just looked at me. For what seemed like hours. I know it wasn’t that long in reality, but without a word being said, it was like time dragged on forever.

“How much of you is on your…works of fiction?” he finally asked and I was surprised. I can’t say what I had been expecting. Maybe more notes, more statements, more critique to some degree, but definitely not that sort of question.

“What…what do you mean?” I asked, not sure whether he inquired about how passionate I was about my hobby or whether his question was directed at the character and me having certain traits in common. Not that he’d probably be aware of that since him and me were very, very distant colleagues. While I knew everything about him – since that was more or less my job to start with- he could probably not even recite my birthday.

“Your female main characters. I noticed that the way you describe them, they have a resemblance to you. But how much of their character traits is essentially you?”

So, his question hadn’t been about my passion and how invested I was in it.

“Some, I guess,” I admitted, not sure where this was going. It was obvious that if my character resembled me, I’d also give her some of my traits and such. I had actually never really thought about it and I sure as hell wouldn’t start now. I figured if I did, the road might be very slippery. And uncertain.

“How about the sex?” he asked and I was certain my eyes grew the size of dinner plates. I was not in my boss’ office, having a conversation about sex scenes in my books, which I wrote often enough while I should do whatever he pays me to do! This seemed…surreal on so many levels.

“I don’t follow,” I replied truthfully and I really didn’t. Was this the moment he’d decided that there was a lot more to say in regard to what he had read and instead of writing the notes down and passing them to me -or even penning an email- he’d just give them to me straight? Because if that was the case, I don’t think I’d survive that conversation when it came to cringe and embarrassment-issues.

“I looked up your books,” he stated and that wasn’t really a surprise. He had mentioned as much already. I was confused about the pace of this conversation and how he seemed to focused on different angels all the time and switch gears and directions. What did him finding my books have to do with the previous question? Nothing.

“You mentioned that already,” I said, not sure what else there was to say.

“They have an interesting thing in common.” It was a strange statement. One that followed by a underlying tone of what could be best described as wonder.

I remained quiet at his statement, mainly because it was kind of obvious that they had things in common. They all followed a certain pattern that didn’t change much. The scenery in each book changed. The backstory of the characters changed. The names changed. The pattern of development however never changed. It was always one way or another guy meets girl, there’s a problem, there’s attraction, there’s sex, there’s the solution to the initial problem, there’s an end. The dots that connected these points were interchangeable, but the main points never changed. But what I described was probably the setup of every romance-driven plot, whether it’s a book, movie or TV show.

“The sex scenes are lacking and feel dull,” was the answer he himself provided to his earlier statement. I was once more surprised about the direction of this whole conversation. “As others seem to have noticed as well, if the reviews are any indication.”

“Is this the moment where you’ll tell me what to change?” I asked, worried about the answer. Because, if he did, I would quit right away. There was no way I’d be sitting through an…impromptu meeting -or whatever this right now was- with him talking about sex. Or writing sex scenes. Or whatever the pinnacle of this conversation was going to be. I had mentioned that I work for an incredibly attractive guy, hadn’t I? So, sitting opposite of Carlos Manoso, looking somehow even better today than the last few months and talking about sex was so not going to happen.

He laughed at my question. Like, actual, real laughter. I had worked for him for years and I believe I had never ever seen him laugh before. Maybe there was once or twice, when one of his friends Lester pr Bobby had been up here and said something that he had laughed. But… I wouldn’t be able to actually vouch for that to ever really have happened.

“This is the moment where I’ll ask you whether the fact that in all five books the women had less than stellar sex lives beforehand is coincidental? And of course, when they meet their love interest all becomes eye opening and fantasy fulfilling and… perfect?”

I wondered for a moment whether I should share the information that this was basic romance novels 101? I am an avid reader of books and yes, most of them are not going to be considered serious and deep anytime soon, but I liked easy-ish entertainment. And a simple, straight to the point romance novel does the trick perfectly. And yes, there were books out there, romance-books, where the heroine didn’t have a crappy sex live before and only bedded duds, but most of them actually go the other way.

“So, is this your newest…observation you wanted added?” I asked, still not very sure where this was going.

“Personal experience?” he asked, and somehow, I sensed this wasn’t meant as answer to my question. It felt more like a follow-up question to his previous question about the heroines and their experiences.

I decided on sitting this question out. There wasn’t an answer anyway. Well, one that wouldn’t be a lie, seeing as I was definitely not going to have that kind of conversation with my boss. During office hours. In his office. Not that I would be having that conversation more likely outside the office and during off-hours. There was nothing to talk about anyway. Everyone knew that the sex in most books -not just mine- was never reality. It was as much a piece of fiction as the whole story and book. So, what if my previous boyfriends all had been unrefined and lacking certain skills. I was realistic enough to know that most women suffered the same fate.

“They say, write what you know about,” Carlos stated when it became obvious that I was not going to answer. I noticed him get up from his position of leaning against his massive desk.  “Maybe you need some different kind of inspiration,” he suggested and before I could ask what he could have possibly in mind, he was in front of me and he pulled me out of my chair.

His lips crashed against mine in what could only be described as a frenzy. The moment his lips were against mine, his hands followed and his arms pulled me against his chest. He was devouring me, not even leaving the slightest doubt about who was in charge. He went all alpha-male and dominating on me and I didn’t even mind.

While his lips assaulted my lips, his hands roamed my body, pulling on my blouse until the fabric was no longer tucked into the skirt. He used his body to move us towards a couch that was put away in a corner not visible from outside the office. Once we had managed to few steps, during which his kisses only grew more and more frantic, he pushed me down, into a somewhat lying position and was on top of me a second later.

I had been a rather passive contestant in this until now, probably trying to grasp the idea of what was going on, but when my brain kicked in and my mind caught up, I was quick in making up time. One hand pulled on his tie, trying to loosen it while my other pushed on his suit jacket. He let go of me for a moment, so I was able to get him out of it and before he could go back to his previous activity, I ripped his shirt open. I didn’t have time for buttons and by the looks of it, neither did he since he only grinned wickedly at me, ridding himself of the now destroyed garment and returned back to my lips. I had about a moment to appreciate the view, his actual sixpack and a whole lot more muscle than what I had given him credit for before my world turned surprisingly black.

I had noticed him pushing my blouse up and up and up and had figured he wanted to simply et me out of it that way, but was surprised when my silky blouse covered my eyes and was turned into a blindfold a second later. What the? I felt him tie what I figured where the sleeves around my head, securing it in place and for a second, I wondered whether I was okay with this. I wasn’t prude per se, had done my fair share of mildly kinky things, but usually only once I trusted someone. Getting blindfolded by your boss, in his office, with both of you semi-naked required a whole lot of trust. 

When I felt his lips on my neck, nibbling and licking I figured that was all the answer I needed. And the moan that followed was probably seen as consent. Which it was.

I had been blindfolded only once before and while it had been okay, it was nothing compared to this. And we hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet. We were still in foreplay, so to say, and I was already feeling like I might combust.

I felt his hands dancing over my skin, caressing, tickling, teasing every part of my body and when his hands were done, his lips went for round two. It was a sensational mix of tingling, excitement and lust that overcame me, making me all of a sudden wonder what I was in for. A whole lot judging by the things we were already into.

I felt his hands on my skirt, pushing up and realized only now that I was still in my stilettos.

“Do you have any idea what these skirts do to me every single day?” I heard his raspy voice in my ear and as if to make a point one of his hands skimmed over the lower edge of my pencil skirt.

“I don’t,” I reply, and it was the truth. When it came to my office wardrobe there wasn’t really a dress code as such, but I obviously understood that jeans and a t-shirt were an unspoken no-go. I wasn’t really into dresses and figured if you went with skirts and blouses, you had way more ways of combining than with a dress. It had been a practical decision and maybe also one fueled by a girlfriend who had stated that pencil skirts made my ass look great.

“There have been so many days when I looked at you, prancing in front of my office in one of these and all I wanted to do was call you into my office, lay you over my lap and give you a good spanking for wearing them in the first place and distracting me from things which definitely needed my attention.”

Oh wow, while I never had an idea about his thoughts, I certainly did now and wondered whether I would wear them now especially or stay far, far away from them in the future.

“Paired with these impossible high heels and on some days a shirt that might as well have been painted on, it was a lot of work to keep my hands to myself.”

“Maybe you should have taught me a lesson,” I said and didn’t believe what had just left my lips. What was I saying? Was I asking for a spanking or just baiting him? Did I actually want what he had used as a threat? I can assure you I had never have a guy who spanked me before and I don’t think I ever really thought about or actually craved a spanking. But, with the idea lingering on my mind it made me wonder what it would feel like being draped over Carlos Manoso’s lap while his hand administered blow after blow.

“Maybe I will in the future,” he just remarked and pushed my skirt further up until I was almost certain I ways laying in front of him in my underwear and stockings, with the skirt pooled around my waist, resembling a belt.

His fingers skimmed the top of my stockings, making me break out in goose bumps since the touch was unexpected and felt so intimate and erotic. I couldn’t explain why, but how he let his fingers grace my skin, letting his fingers travel higher and higher until they almost reached the flimsy excuse for underwear, it felt precious and made me anticipate whatever was in store for me from here on out.

He pushed the fabric away, letting his fingers go higher and higher, making their way slowly through my trimmed pubes until they reach their destination. First, he circled my clit, making me moan in the process, before he let a finger take a dip. It didn’t surprise me that he went straight for what he wanted, not bothering with too much foreplay or setting a mood.

“You are soaked,” Carlos rasped into my ear, letting his finger penetrate me slowly. One finger was soon accompanied by a second, forming a slow and steady rhythm in and out and in again. A few moments in he found the spot that made me see almost stars, his fingers brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, making me moan in the process. It was like a wave of pleasure that kept getting more and more intense with each new movement. It didn’t help that his thump was still circling my clit. The first orgasm hit me by surprise with how quick and intense it came over me, my screams and moans of joy swallowed by my boss’s lips. They only seemed to let go of my lips once he was certain I wouldn’t make much noise anymore. His fingers left me around the same time as his lips did and I was mourning the loss already.

I heard a soft chuckle from above me and felt his lips a moment later on my neck, moving gradually down my body while his hands worked on my bra, which I was still in. Apparently, we had both been so frantic in that first attempt that we didn’t bother getting rid of anything. Or maybe that was just him, seeing that I was blindfolded and slowly driven mad.

Hips lips found my first nipple and sucked, while one of his hands worked my other one, rolling it between his fingers, driving me mad with need and fiery lust and making me wonder since I was so receptive? It seemed no matter what he did, my body found an appropriate response.

He administered the same amount of attention to my other breast, switching lips and fingers until he seemed satisfied with the result and moved on. Down and down and down again, until I had a rough idea about his destination.

When his lips moved past my skirt and sucked on my clit a second later, I was only confirmed in my assumption and let out a loud moan.

“You better hold on to something, Babe, because this might get a little intense,” he suggested and I raised my eyebrows, fully aware he was probably not able to see them. How? I was still blindfolded with my own blouse. “And while I love a responsive and vocal partner, this might be worst of places.”

I could hear the grin in his voice, which was odd since in four years I couldn’t name a single day he had actually ever grinned to begin with.

I was about to reply with a smart comeback when all my words in my head vanished and I was reduced to whimpering. While that was not as quiet as he might have hoped it to be, it was better than moaning. That is until he seemed to really get to work down there and I couldn’t even whimper anymore. His lips and tongue as well as his hands seemed to be everywhere all at once and my mind had difficulties cataloging everything. Not that it mattered, anyway.

I was overcome with need, an urgency building up in my bones that I had never felt before. It was like I was running after a wave and tried to catch it, yet it always seemed out of reach. He pushed some more, licked a little harder, sucked more persistently and all it did was making me feel more and more needy, desperate and close to yet another O. It was almost like art, a game he seemed to have perfected. Whenever he increased his ministrations, he stopped just shortly before I could have caught that wave and started anew, focusing one something else. It was maddening and infuriating yet glorious and heady as well.

I can’t say how long he stroked my fire like that, igniting a flame over and over again, just to let it simmer back down. But when he finally allowed me to catch that wave, letting the need and arousal wash all over me, the only thing I could do was grab on for dear life and also a cushion on the couch, which I pressed against my face, yelling my release into it.

The cushion was removed by him when it seemed like I had managed to come down from whatever high I had just experienced and a moment later I felt him on top of me, his lips sealing mine in a battle for domination and passion. It was a battle I gladly lost if it meant we’d stay like this for a while. Which we did, him on top of me, skin on skin, making out like this was the most normal thing in the world, never mind the fact that both of us were naked.

Eventually he lifted himself off me and was gone, returning after a few moments. I felt my ankles being grabbed and how he moved me, trying to turn me into a sitting position. Placing my ass on the edge of his couch, he spread my legs and stepped between them, spreading them some more a moment later. I was forced to a somewhat declined position and realized this might be an awkward angle. I should have known that this would be the least of my worries, especially when he moved both my hands behind my back and kept them there with one of his. A second later, I felt him manhood poking at my soaking entrance and gradually enter me another heartbeat later.

He was larger than what I was used to, but it was a pain I somehow welcomed. It took me a moment to get used to it, to accommodate him fully, but it seemed he gave me all the time I could possibly need.

I am not entirely sure how my body was still finding the energy to go, to reeve up once more and head right for another orgasm, but I figured I was too weak, too hot and too aroused to actually care. I let him do his thing, work me into yet another frenzy and plunging me into another deep hole of ecstasy. Moving above me, my hands restricted by his, rendering me as helpless as before I couldn’t do anything else than feel and let it happen, let him work me into another high that left me seeing stars. I felt him speed up, figuring he was finally joining me in bliss and felt his O hit him hard and fast, coming only moments after I had reached that final pinnacle of desire.

Breathing heavy above me, we were awkwardly laying on the couch in his office that was definitely way too small for his large frame and even smaller for the two of us, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. My mind was blank, fucked into a state of nirvana. Not that I minded.

Sooner than expected I felt him move. He pushed himself off me, releasing my wrists a moment later and just looked down on me, while he was redressing himself, an amused smile gracing his lips. I wasn’t entirely sure he was able to actually move after everything while I lay here, panting and wondering whether I’d ever get my legs to move again.

“How’s that for inspiration?” he asked and I needed to laugh. Because yes, how was that for inspiration?

THE END