But in that moment, she saw something in him that chilled her, and she swallowed hard. Looking into the darkness in his eyes, she felt like she was looking at the drop from the edge of a cliff, and she knew with sudden certainty that she would not survive the fall.
DISCLAIMERS:
The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
This is a fantasy that depicts things that would be unforgivably immoral and very illegal in real life. This story, and I, do not condone rape.
Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
Title: The Back Room
Author: @chloevee
Content Warnings: light bondage, forced orgasms
The Back Room
Amy Chase wasn't on shift today, so when she sauntered in to David's office wearing those tiny shorts and a cropped button-down blouse, he couldn't really say anything. As she looked down at her phone, he had one blessed, unobserved moment to take in her barely covered body, before he schooled his face.
He forced his eyes back to his laptop.
"Ms. Chase," he drawled, not looking up.
"Is it weird that coming in on my day off feels way sketchier when you're in jeans?"
David mostly hid his amusement, but his mouth twitched up at the corner.
Finally giving her his attention, he deliberately looked her up and down, then gave her a disapproving look before returning his eyes to the screen--though the image of her was emblazoned on his brain now.
"Can I help you with something?" he prompted.
"Um, yeah, right." she said, embarrassment clear in her tone. From the corner of his eye he saw her subtly reposition herself to put his desk plant between the two of them. "I just came by to pick up my check."
"Did you check your mail slot?" he replied, not making this any easier on her.
"Oh... right," she replied.
When she didn't leave, he prompted, "Anything else, Ms. Chase?"
"I was hoping to get this weekend off? I have finals coming up and I really have to study."
Peering at her over the rim of his glasses, he raised one eyebrow. Right, he was sure she needed to "study".
"Look, I know, I've had the last two weekends off," she pleaded. "But it's just, I'm behind in Statistics and I really need to do well on this test. Please? I'll work weekends for the next month. I need this."
She was always pushing, he thought. One day, she would push too far.
For a moment, he let her hang. She worried at her lower lip, and he stuck on her teeth digging into the plump, pink flesh, before he mentally shook himself.
"Two months," he finally countered.
"Yes!" she answered immediately. "Thank you! Two months."
"Mmmm hmmm", he replied, eyes back on his screen. If his voice sounded annoyed, it was because he was. The tightness in his jeans was uncomfortable.
"So," she said, lingering at the door. "I'll see you next week? Tuesday, right?"
"Yes, Ms. Chase," he drawled again.
Just to be safe, he waited an extra beat to look up, but not long enough--he still got an eye-full of her ass sashaying out the door. He was grateful she didn't turn around, because try as he might, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
When the outer door of his office clicked shut, he groaned and gratefully adjusted himself.
"That girl is going to kill me one of these days," he muttered under his breath.
Over a decade her senior and her boss, he had done his best to deter the young woman's crush. But his efforts only seemed to make her more determined. He felt a little heartless, making her feel like a foolish child every time they interacted. But the truth is--even aside from the liability he would face if anything even hinting at inappropriate were to happen between them--it was for her own good. She had no idea what she would be getting into with him.
After a few more fruitless minutes of trying to focus, he gave up, hoping a coffee break would help.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered as he rounded the corner into the stock room and saw her chatting with Brandon--who went off shift right about the time she came into David's office, he realized. "I wonder why he is still here," he muttered dryly.
David didn't think he would survive another encounter with Amy, not in that excuse for an outfit. Tucking himself behind an isle, he settled in to wait, peering between two boxes to see when she left.
Amy laughed at something Brandon said, and either didn't notice Brandon's eyes glued to her chest, or didn't care. It was with some gratification that he realized Amy didn't get all awkward and flustered around Brandon the way she did with him, then he cursed himself for a damned fool. Brandon finally tore his gaze away from Amy and, seemingly realizing the time, headed out.
"Hey Ellen," she said to a passing co-worker--the one who was supposed to be there--carrying a precariously-balanced stack of boxes.
"Oh no!" Amy yelped, diving for a box toppling from the top. "Let me get that!"
"You're a life saver, Amy," she said after depositing her boxes. "Sorry, I've been here for 14 hours and I still have to put away inventory." She looked forlornly at the crate of shoes that had come in that afternoon.
"David does seem to be in a mood today," Amy said, biting her lip in that way that drove him crazy. Ellen looked at her quizzically, then with compassion.
"Did he bite your head off again?"
"I went to pick up my check and... honestly, I just lose my head when I'm around him. He thinks I'm a fucking idiot."
Such a filthy mouth, David muttered to himself. The things I could do to that filthy mouth.
"Wait," Ellen said, turning to face Amy. "what are you wearing?!"
"Oh," she replied, blushing. "My brother spilled paint all over my clothes and this is all I had to change into on the way home. It's from my slutty phase in high school. I wouldn't have come in, but this is the only chance I had to pick up my check."
Ellen laughed and shook her head, then turned back to the stack of boxes, her exhaustion seeming suddenly worse.
"Look," said Amy. "I only have a few minutes, but I can give you a hand."
"Are you serious?" Ellen said.
"Are you serious?" David grumbled.
"Sure, why not?" Amy replied.
David turned his back to the wall of crates and softly banged his head into the wood.
He should tell her to go home. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't even on shift! And that outfit... he turned around to peer through the crack in the boxes. Well, that was not regulation.
But he couldn't make himself move. Instead he watched her shorts ride down to expose her thong every time she bent to pick up a box, then waited with baited breath as her breasts threatened to spill from her top every time she set one down.
In the front office, the phone rang. When it became clear David wasn't going to answer it, Ellen grumbled, "Guess I'll get that," and headed in that direction.
"Look," Amy called to her retreating back. "I'm sorry, but I've gotta run."
"Ok," she replied over her shoulder. "Thanks for the help! See you next week!"
"Finally," David muttered.
But she didn't head towards the exit. Instead she grabbed her bag and slipped behind a row of file cabinets and disappeared down a dark, blocked-off hallway.
"What the fuck?"
David tried to imagine what reason she could possibly have for going back there. They were just empty offices, closed down after the cut-backs two years ago.
Her and Brandon were fucking back there, David was suddenly sure. Fuming, he followed her down the dimly lit hallway.
When he slipped into the quiet office, it was not moaning he heard, but the clack of keys on a keyboard.
He could just make out the screen... it was a document? Why would she be doing her homework here? But then he looked a little closer and made out the words "she moaned" and "his manhood". So... not homework.
It was no big deal, he thought. She probably just wanted privacy from her dorm-mates. He could slip out, pretend he never saw her.
But... it was too late for that.
"You are not supposed to be here," he said, his voice dark. The door snicked shut behind him.
Amy jumped up and spun around, knocking her chair over in her haste.
"Oh, Mr. Ross, what are you..." she stammered. "I mean I didn't expect... I mean, I was just..."
David advanced on her, and she retreated until her back hit the wall. He slammed his hand next to her head and she jumped.
"You can't be here like this," he growled, looking her up and down. "dressed like that."
Amy flushed.
"Look, it's my day off, I just stopped by to get my--"
"Get your check, right?", he sneered. "You weren't perhaps, doing something you shouldn't?"
He moved closer, boxing her in.
"I'll leave, ok?"
"Did you know, Ms. Chase," he said, looking down at her chest. "that your button has come undone?" He put a finger lightly on the open button hole, before dragging his eyes back to hers.
"It has?" she breathed, not looking down.
"It's no wonder," he mused. "You look like you're about to burst out of that shirt."
"These buttons are barely holding on," Mr. Ross breathed, as he trailed a finger down the seam of her top. Without touching her, the heat of his finger seemed to lick at her skin.
Was this really happening?
Amy didn't know where this man had come from--this man with fire in his eyes, looking at her like he might eat her alive. She stood stock-still, terrified that any movement might bring back the old Mr. Ross--the stodgy Mr. Ross, the one who thought she was a child and looked at her with glares and judgement--and then she would die. Simply die.
The fabric stretched slightly across her skin as his fingertip reached a closed button.
"See?" he said, holding her eyes.
With the slightest added pressure, the button gave way and she jolted.
"Just bursting," he said, his finger continuing on its deliberate path downward. Another button popped free.
Amy's chest rose and fell quickly. She looked down at her chest, much of her lacy bra now exposed, and Mr. Ross's finger poised over the last closed button, then back to up to his flinty eyes.
"There," he said, strain evident under his proper tone. The last button popped open and the sides of the top fell away, hanging uselessly from her arms and hiding nothing. "You see how quickly it came undone?"
Amy had imagined this moment countless times, and holy fuck this was the hottest thing she had ever experienced.
But in that moment, she saw something in him that chilled her, and she swallowed hard. Looking into the darkness in his eyes, she felt like she was looking at the drop from the edge of a cliff, and she knew with sudden certainty that she would not survive the fall.
"I think you've made your point Mr. Ross." she managed, her voice a little shaky. "Can I go now?"
The muscles in his jaw clenched, and for a moment her Mr. Ross seemed to reassert control. It was with mingled relief and regret that she watched the war he waged play out in his expression as the dangerous stranger lost the battle.
On the verge of defeat, the stranger behind Mr. Ross's eyes looked down at her lace-clad breasts in resigned desperation--and stopped short. Then the darkness rushed up with a vengeance and seemed to swallow her Mr. Ross whole.
"But what's this?" said the terrifying stranger with a languid chuckle. His finger came to rest on the clasp of her bra--old, worn, and too small--that was, in fact, struggling to hang on. The grin that split his face could only be called wicked.
Amy opened her mouth to say something, but then she felt a tug and the abrupt release of the clasp and she gasped. The straining elastic snapped, snagging on her nipples and tugging her breasts apart before giving way.
The rush of cool air on her naked flesh, so incredibly sensitive, was electric. Her breasts, swaying slightly, felt heavy. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life. Instinctively, she raised her hands to cover herself, but Mr. Ross gently, but with surprising strength, pulled them away and clasped them in one hand above her head.
"What the fuck, David," she said, her voice more breathy than she intended.
"Language, Ms. Chase," he tisked. His eyes blazed a scorching path from her heaving chest down to her flat stomach.
With a sudden lunge he flattened her to the wall with the weight of his body, and drove his thigh up between her legs.
"Oh, fuck!" she cried at the sudden pressure on her clit.
The ridge of his dick, hot and hard, dug into her thigh. He brought his mouth so close to her ear that he felt his breath hot on her neck.
"Language," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, and at the same time he flexed the muscles of his quad, the subtle motion an incredible pressure on her clit.
"Do you think this is appropriate behavior for the work place," he asked, voice calm but husky.
"No," she panted. "it's really not."
With minute rhythmic movements, the muscles of his thigh ground into her clit with more skill than she would have imagined possible. Moaning, she let her head fall back to the wall.
"These shorts..." he huffed.
"What...?" she said, confused.
He brought his knee up in a sharp movement, painfully hard, raising her onto her tiptoes. She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. He leaned back far enough to study her, almost dangling from his thigh between her legs, his rhythmic flexing never relenting.
He trailed a finger along the waistband of her shorts, not quite making contact with her skin, watching the muscles of her stomach ripple under the light pressure.
"They look like they are about to fall off," he mused.
Her breath hitched at the sudden release of pressure when the top button gave way. And the subsequent sound of her zipper slowly being lowered seemed absurdly loud in the quiet room.
Suddenly the world spun around her and she was looking at flat white stucco. The rough scrape of denim stung her thighs as her shorts were yanked down and she yelped.
"You're wearing so little" he admonished, "you may as well be wearing nothing at all."
Warm palms rounded her shoulders then slid down her arms. When she felt cool air on her back, she realized what was happening, but it was too late. Mr. Ross gathered her top and pulled, drawing her arms behind her back. Then she felt the brush of fabric on bare ass on its way to the floor.
She brought her palms up, flat against the wall, and tried to push herself back and turn away. But then he flattened her against the wall with his body. The wall felt cool and hard against her sensitive breasts. His muscles felt like they were made of stone, tension vibrating through his body as his cock dug into her backside. He covered her palms with his, dragging her hands up above her head and holding them in one fist.
She felt abrupt jerky movements behind her then heard the unmistakable sound of a tie sliding free. She imagined his naked skin against hers, and she wanted it with such a sharp pang that it drowned out everything else.
But that's not what happened.
Instead, she felt soft material loop around her wrists, then her arms stretched upward. Her back felt cool as he pulled away from her. She looked up to see that she was secured to a wall hook with his tie.
Fingers looped around her tiny thong and they slid down her leg.
"What the fuck!" she yelped, trying to look over her shoulder at him. From her awkward angle, she could only make out flashes of his shoulder and the side of his face.
"Tell me, Ms. Chase," he said in an infuriatingly controlled voice. "do you have any contraband?"
"What--" she stammered. "Contraband? What are you even talking about? What kind of contraband!?"
"Well, I don't know, Ms. Chase," he replied. "I honestly have no idea of the extend of your depravity."
She flushed, increasingly confused, angry and humiliated.
"Drugs? Weapons? Inappropriate.... accessories?"
"I don't know--" she was going to say, "--what you're talking about", but a mad rebellious urge came over her and instead she said, "Maybe."
He kicked her legs apart.
"Well then," he replied, "it would only be responsible to conduct a full cavity search."
Her heart thundered in her ears, and a knot of fear and excitement twisted her stomach.
"You--you can't do that," she stammered.
His chuckle was low. "You can't stop me."
She felt the heat of his breath on her lower back as he knelt behind her. She jerked at the first contact of his palms encircling her ankle, and she barely swallowed a moan as they made a slow trek up her leg.
"Are you seriously... patting me down?" she balked, incredulous. It was absurd. She was naked for fuck sake.
Not bothering to respond, he encircled her other ankle and repeated the gesture. When he reached the apex of her thigh, his palm just grazing her lower lips, he slid his hands around her waist, then rose, gliding his body along hers as his hands trailed the length of her body. Reaching her chest, he palmed both breasts then meticulously explored every inch of flesh, as though he seriously thought he might find something.
Then he slid his palm between her spread legs and cupped her sex.
"Are you ready, Ms. Chase," he breathed into her ear.
"No," she whispered.
He slid two long fingers inside of her, and she cried out.
"Fuck," he hissed in a voice that sounded nothing like any version of the Mr. Ross she had ever known. "You're fucking soaked."
She might have berated him for his "language", but she couldn't seem to form words as he withdrew his fingers, achingly slowly, then hovered at her entrance. Whimpering, she clenched around the tips of his fingers, trying to pull him back in.
"I wouldn't be doing my job if I did not conduct a thorough investigation," he said, his voice strained.
And he did. He was thorough in his exploration, sinking his fingers deep, probing and stroking every inch of her inner walls. Then he turned his seeking fingers to her slick folds, sliding slowly over every inch as though making a map in his mind. All except for her clit, which he gently scissored, barely making contact.
She was a panting, moaning mess.
Then he sank his fingers back in, letting his thumb lazily explore her outer folds, still never quite touching her clit. He slowly stroked her g-spot, hard and deliberate, while that infuriating thumb danced around her clit.
She was close, so close. She thought it might kill her.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she growled.
He jabbed his finger into her, painfully deep, and crushed her into the wall, forcing the air from her lungs.
"What have I told you about language, Ms. Chase?"
"Fuck you," she spat.
"Eventually I am going to have to do something about that filthy mouth," he promised.
Leaning back, he pulled her ass cheek aside and excruciatingly slowly, pumped his fingers, once, twice, and a third time.
"You know, we are not done yet, Ms. Chase," he said.
"I know," she snarled.
He only chuckled.
Then she felt a wet finger circling her wrinkled hole, and she stiffened.
"What the fuck?" she cried. "No, no stop it."
He applied just the slightest pressure.
"That's enough!" she said. She meant to be firm and demanding, but her voice climbed in pitch with every word, and the result was panicked and pleading. "This, this--you can't do this! You have to stop!"
She had said "no" again and again, and he hadn't listened to her before. But some part of her had believed this was a game. That if she made it known she was serious, he would stop. Surely he would stop.
He didn't stop.
The pressure increased, gently probing.
"Please, please, Mr. Ross, this isn't funny, you have to stop," she whimpered. There was no teasing, no baiting, no pleasure in her voice now, as tears spilled from her eyes.
She yanked at her bonds and twisted in his hold, struggling in earnest. But his fingers bit into her ass cheek painfully and she yelped.
"What's wrong Ms. Chase?" he said, infuriatingly calm. "You have nothing to worry about. Unless you have something to hide, that is?"
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as the relentless pressure increased, the very tip of his finger working its way into the mouth of that tight ring of muscle.
"Stop, you have to stop," she begged, the words just spilling from her lips, all thoughts and schemes and pride gone.
"Only the guilty protest so much," he admonished as he applied force. She cringed as, first one, then a second finger, breached her puckered hole.
"Fucking hell, Amy," he cursed in that other voice. "Fuck. This ass."
She thought that may have been the first time he had called her by her first name, and something broke inside of her--hearing her name on his lips like this--with the sting of his fingers violating her ass still searing through her gut.
As if he wasn't aware that he was speaking, he murmured, "It's even tighter than I dreamed."
A shiver rolled up her spine, knowing he had imagined this. Some stupid part of her, the part that had had a crush on him for years, thrilled at knowing that he had thought of her, had fantasized about her. Then that was quickly crushed when she realized that this--this is what he had imagined.
"Come now, Ms. Chase," he said with mock sympathy, "You know there are consequences to your actions."
His free hand slid around her waist to the delicate flesh of her abdomen. He pulled her into him, grinding his cock into the soft flesh of her ass.
Goosebumps exploded over her flesh, the intimate touch so erotic, so gentle, but so wrong as he rhythmically violated her ass.
"It will be okay," he reassured, "You just have to take what is coming to you."
As the sting gradually subsided, something changed, and at first she couldn't quite believe it. This could NOT feel good, it simply couldn't! But with each thrust stretching her open, invading part of her never meant to be entered, fuck, it did feel good--so fucking good. To her absolute horror, her asshole twitched around his fingers.
She hated him, hated him in that moment.
"What was that Ms. Chase?"
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
In answer--reward?--he slid his hand between her legs and pressed the pad of his fingers firmly into her neglected clit.
Her back arched and she cried out, a long, tortured, sound.
She keened at a new sting as he worked a third finger into her ass. He picked up the pace, circling her clit in time with his thrusts, harder now, as his cock ground into her ass. She could do nothing but grunt at the barrage.
"Ms. Chase," he said with mock surprise. "Are you going to cum? Are you going to cum while my fingers probe deep in your ass for the hidden evidence of your depravity?
"Fuck you," she hissed.
"Language," he growled, punctuating each word with a forceful thrust. "Ms! Chase!"
"Fuck you!" she whined, voice cracking, a sound filled with hurt and helpless anger.
"Ms. Chase," he panted, "this behavior is quite inappropriate, I must say. Just what am I to do with to you?"
The words were ominous, adding a sinister undercurrent to the pounding of her ass. Then he slid two fingers into her dripping cunt while he mashed his thumb into her clit, and practically lifted her by her sex, pulling her hard into his crotch.
Her vision went white and she fell apart, her back arching as her whole body shook. He grunted, bucking his hips up as she ground into his cock with her every convulsion.
"Ms. Chase," he panted, his voice gruff. "I'll need to inspect one more orifice."
Fingers still buried in her ass, he slid his dripping fingers from her cunt and pushed them between her lips. The flavor of her own juices invaded her senses, humiliating and filthy and so fucking hot.
With a muffled protest she tried to pull her head back, but he only pushed harder, pinning her head to his chest. She tried to clamp down on the fingers, in answer he shoved hard, and the fingers choking her won out over the scrape of her teeth on his flesh.
She gave up, calling him every obscenity she had ever heard as he bounced her on his lap, driving her onto his fingers and his cock with each buck of his hips. Her ass pulsed around his fingers in an orgasm that seemed like it would never end.
David couldn't quite make out the muffled curses she screamed at him, but it didn't matter.
"Language, Ms. Chase," he panted. "language."
Those muffled little gurgling sounds--so full of anguish and fury--had to be the best thing he had ever heard. Aftershocks of pleasure wracked her body as he invaded and pinned her by ass and mouth, the rocking of his hips drawing out her unwilling orgasm longer and longer.
He stifled a groan as the soft flesh of her ass dug into his cock. He had never been so hard in his life. He felt wild, his control never so close to snapping entirely and completely freeing the darkness he kept leashed.
Finally, her convulsions subsided to occasional twitches. She gasped when he pulled his fingers from her mouth, then whimpered when he extracted his fingers from her ass. He turned her around and leaned her back against the wall, panting, weak legs askew, and partly dangling from her wrists.
He made his way down the dark hall to the old bathroom, the motion light flicking on as he walked in. He methodically washed trembling hands, taking the time to get hold of his frayed control.
Finally, he braced his wet palms on the edge of the sink and raised his head to face his reflection. He looked wild, chest heaving, and skin damp with sweat. His hair stuck up every which way and his shirt hung in crumpled disarray. He held his own gaze until his breathing slowed, and the crazed look in his eyes could be hidden behind some semblance of sanity. Then he dried his hands, straightened his clothing, ran a hand through his hair, and rolled up his sleeves.
It would have to do.
Amy looked up at him through bleary eyes when he returned.
"Just look at the mess you made," he said, shaking his head in disappointment and gesturing at the mess on his pants, soaked from her cunt.
"Fuck you," she rasped.
"Ms. Chase," he tisked. "It's time to do something about that mouth."
He tugged at his tie, releasing the bonds with one pull. Legs weak, Amy collapsed, numb hands barely bracing her fall.
He advanced on her, unbuckling his belt and freeing his cock, angry and rock hard.
She looked up at him from her hands and knees, her fearful eyes huge under tear-stained lashes.
He fisted her hair and pulled her head up.
"Aack, no, no, aargh," she yelped, hands flying to where his fist held her, knees scrabbling to get under her.
He wrapped his other hand around her throat, squeezing until her eyes bugged out and she clawed at his fist. When he released her she gasped for air, mouth gaping wide, and he fed her his cock. Warm wet heat enveloped the head of his aching cock, impossibly sensitive after such long teasing and denial, and he had to fight not to cum, holding himself still just inside of her mouth.
Then she made an angry sound, and the vibration of her scream shot pleasure up his cock. With an involuntary jerk he shoved another half inch into her mouth. He repositioned his hands, holding her jaw in place, and with the utmost control--over both her and himself--he slowly sank into her mouth.
"Look at what you are making me do, Ms. Chase," he said through clenched teeth while he pumped slowly. "If you can't learn to control your mouth, well I'll just have to keep it stuffed full."
He nudged at the back of her throat, gently but insistently, watching her big eyes tear up. She tried to jerk her head, making muffled sounds of protests at his steady invasion of her throat. Panic filled her eyes and she slapped at his thighs, trying to push him away. Then her flailing hands slapped at his balls.
Instinctively, he pulled her off of his cock and flung her away. She fell hard on her backside.
"You really shouldn't have done that," something so dark in his voice, even he barely recognized it as his own.
She tried to scramble back, but he was upon her in a second. He slid his belt off and in a moment had her wrists secured to a file cabinet.
"You will take what is coming to you," he growled. "And I am going to give it to you."
He wrenched her jaw open then paused.
"Just this once," he informed her. "it's alright if you scream."
Then, none too gently, he shoved himself into her mouth and down her throat.
He heard that other voice say, "Oh fuck, Amy. Fuck".
Then he was fucking her face in long hard strokes, and she could do nothing but take it, eyes bulging and wet, choking, gurgling noises coming from her throat as he forced her to swallow him down again and again.
The slide of her tongue was silken, her throat made a tight fist around the head of his cock, and his eyes fluttered as her screams licked up his length and settled in his balls. As he watched those pretty lips stretched around his shaft and tears stream from her eyes, her face beet red, he knew he wouldn't last long.
"Ms. Chase," he said through clenched teeth. "If you can't cover yourself properly, then I will do it for you, and you'll just have to wear what I give you."
He increased his pace, then held her tight to his groin as he bucked in her throat. He slid her off his cock and fisted her hair, wrenching her body back and forcing her tits to thrust upward. With his other hand he stroked his cock, spilling jet after jet of cum onto her face and heaving chest.
Finally, spent, he released her and she slumped in her bonds.
He turned away, panting and waiting for his pulse to slow as he listened to her choking and gasping for air behind him. Finally, he tucked himself away and made himself as presentable as possible under the circumstances.
He collected her discarded clothing and folded them into a neat pile.
Then he knelt down by her side. With a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up to meet his, and looked down at her with affection.
As she looked up at him, eyes glazed, he wiped his thumb over her lips, and across her cheek--not cleaning her up so much as smearing the spattered cum.
With a satisfied hum, he stood. "I'll be taking these," he told her.
She didn't seem to know what he meant at first, until she noticed her clothes in his hand, and he saw panic creep into her awareness.
"You'll get them back at the end of the shift," he paused at the door then looked back sternly. "If you behave yourself."
"Wait..." she croaked, "Come back... you can't..."
But the door was already clicking shut behind him.
David sat in the silent office, finishing up his paperwork, thinking of the girl wearing nothing but his cum, tied up and helpless in the back room.
Just what was he going to do to her, he mused.
But I'll admit, I didn't spend much time writing that detail, so I"m not shocked it wasn't obvious.