‘After I’ve performed some super feat of hospitality, you call me into your office. I stand there, in my reception gear, fitted jacket, tight skirt, blouse, stockings, heels, waiting for your words of praise.
‘You sit behind your desk, fingers steepled, that stern look of yours on your face. I begin to be afraid you’re going to tell me off instead. But no.
‘“Come closer, Sophie,” you say.
‘I walk all the way up to the desk.
‘“I’ve heard some good reports of you. Your service has been exceptional. I’ve decided that you deserve a little token of my appreciation. Take off your jacket.”
‘I don’t know what to expect, but I take it off and put it on the desk.
‘“You’re a very good girl, aren’t you?” you say. “Always doing as you’re told. I want to see just how good you are. Take off your skirt.”
‘The fantasy was as much about hearing you say these things, your voice, as it was about the sex. I would hear it in my mind, telling me to do things, rude things. It turned me on without fail.
‘So I take off the skirt, as demurely as I can, and put it on top of the jacket. You can see that I’m wearing suspenders with my stockings now, and you can see the little white lacy knickers peeping out from the hem of my silky blouse.
‘“That’s very good,” you say. “The blouse now.”
‘I stand in front of you in my underwear and high heels, arms at my sides as if I’m on an army parade ground, head back, tits out. Not for the lads, though. For the man. For you.
‘I know and you know that I will do anything you ask of me.
‘You stand up and face me, turn me around with your hands on my shoulders, take it slowly, drinking me in. “This is your new uniform,” you tell me. “This is what you’ll wear whenever you’re in my office.”
‘“Yes, sir.”
‘Other versions of this include me sitting on your lap taking dictation while you finger me, or you fucking me while you’re taking a conference call, or me sucking you off under your desk while you’re in a meeting. But I’ll stick with this one for the time being.
‘So there I stand, down to my underwear, and you have had a good look at me.
‘“Good girl,” you say and those words “Good girl” make me so happy, deliriously happy, so warm and so wanted and loved and cared for and appreciated …’
I tail off and look at Chase. He looks troubled, but the erection hasn’t gone anywhere. I turn my head away and continue. ‘You pat me on the head, stroke my cheek, drop a little kiss on my brow. Then you sit back on your desk, perching on it, about a foot away from me.
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‘“Now the bra,” you order.
‘I don’t know where this test will end, but I don’t care either. I take off the bra without demur and hand it to you.
‘“Touch your breasts.” You make me cup them, squeeze them, stroke them, squash them together, then you make me pinch my nipples or circle them gently. You want them as stiff as can be, so I breathe on them and then poke out my tongue and lick them delicately until they are sore and throbbing. My crotch is damp now and my clit growing fat and wanton.
‘As if you know this – and you probably do – you say, “Now the rest.”
‘I take off everything else, slowly, giving you plenty of time to appreciate the unveiling.
‘When I am fully nude, you stand back up and move to the side of the desk.
“Now, lie on your back on this desk, Sophie.”
‘I place myself on the flat cold surface, shivering a little, but I’m feverish as well, ready for anything you want to give me.
‘You make me spread my legs so my toes point to the corners of the desk and raise my arms above my head. For what seems like an age, you stand looking down at my open pussy lips. You bend your head to inspect them at closer range. I feel your breath on them, but you never touch them outright.
‘“You’d like me to touch you here, wouldn’t you?” you say.
‘“Yes, sir.”