INKED 8: A Tattoo Shop Reverse Harem

I can spank her ass wearing luxury. If she'd been in white cotton panties, it wouldn't feel the same.

As Kyla slides the dress from her shoulders and her whole body is revealed, I slump back in my chair and sigh with pleasure. She's everything that I like in a woman. Natural and curvy, with dimples on her thighs and enough flesh on her hips for me to grab. She folds the dress, as I instructed, and places it on the desk. Then she stares at me questioningly.

"And the bra," I say. "Leave the panties."

She nods, reaching behind herself to deal with the hooks, as a blush like the pink of a sunset rises up her chest and over her cheeks.

Will her skin go the same color when my hand makes contact? Will she make the same sweet gasping sounds, moan, or whimper? I just can't predict what it will be like, but I can't wait to find out.

25

KYLA

Of all the men at Ink Factor, Carl is the most mysterious. He has a soft side, for sure. The way he treats me as an employee makes him the best boss I’ve ever had. But there’s a cool side to him too. I wouldn’t say cold. That’s too harsh. But sometimes, when he tells me what to do, I feel a frisson of sensation, a strange dominance. From the start, I could tell he’s happiest giving orders, and when it comes to Carl, I want to listen to every direction.

There’s a high level of trust between us that has been built as we work together.

But that trust is going to be put to the test now.

Of all the experiences I’ve had as part of the game, this is the one I’m most nervous about. It’s not so much that being ordered around makes me uncomfortable. Any of the other men could tell me what to do and I wouldn’t even flinch. It’s the fact that this experience is with Carl.

Carl, who I work most closely with.

Carl, who is cool and professional at work.

Carl, who could decide to fire me at any time.

Carl, my boss.

Just the thinking the word boss has a shiver skittering over my skin.

I’ve read a few CEO romances where the heroine starts a new job and discovers that her boss is a gorgeous but emotionally repressed billionaire. Carl might not be stupid rich, but he has everything else. He’s reserved and calm, and now, he’s looking at me practically naked with the same assessing gaze he uses at work. He’s evaluating everything, deciding whether it’s up to expectation. His face remains impassive, but when he folds in his lips, and they come up moist, I can tell he’s hungry.

But what will hungry mean?

With every other man, it’s meant sex, but I’m not so sure with Carl. He was so close to coming in my mouth that I could taste him, but then he stopped. Control is part of pleasure for him, and it seems to be as much about controlling himself as it is about controlling me.

Taking my dress off was easy compared to removing my bra. In my underwear, I have a layer of armor. I feel powerful in the black lace, like a woman who knows what she wants and doesn’t care about the patriarchy’s views about women enjoying sex.

But without the bra, I’m vulnerable.

As the straps slide down my shoulders, I can’t look at Carl. His icy white-blue eyes are too intense. His fixed expression doesn’t give me any hint of what he’s thinking. As the bra comes away, my instinct is to cover myself. One arm goes across my chest as I fold the lace and place it on the desk.

I suck in my belly, not wanting the fullness of it to be so obvious to his gaze. I stand in front of him with my eyes lowered and my arm braced to cover my nakedness, waiting for more instructions.

What I get is Carl tutting. “Kyla, drop the arm.”

I inhale a nervous breath as I allow my limb to fall and then feel the coolness of the air across my breasts. Maybe it’s the air or maybe the knowledge that Carl’s eyes are on me that tightens my nipples. Or maybe it’s my own mind and the underlying feeling of danger that stirs between my legs. I’m not sure. Everything feels tangled and complicated.

“Come closer,” he says, straightening in his chair.

The air around us is scented with his cologne, and it only gets stronger as I move to stand in front of his feet.

“Kneel,” he says again.

Does he want me to suck his cock again? Maybe standing and coming was too difficult for him. I shift closer, raising my hand to reach for him, but his reflexes are fast, and he grips my wrist before I can make contact.