As my frustration grew, so did the intensity of my typing. I muttered a curse and deleted the last few lines. At that point I wasn’t so much writing an email as I was punching a keyboard with my fingers.
I heard my door creak open and out of the corner of my eye I saw your head pop in. “Sir, you have an appointment in five minutes,” you said in a tone usually saved for angry dogs and patients in an asylum.
“I do? Dammit. Tell them I’m on my way. I’ve got to convince the committee to … just tell them I’m on my way.”
“Yes sir.”
I tried to reorganize my thoughts and find words that would let me get my point across without making a dozen people cry. Mistakes I could deal with. I could even show patience with well intentioned incompetence. But nothing makes me angrier than laziness and willful ignorance.
Several minutes later I heard you clear your throat, “Sir, your appointment?”
“Yeah just a minute,” I growled.
I deleted an entire paragraph and started over, reminding myself that a proposal of this magnitude required I used fewer four letter words.
A few more minutes of blatant linguistic abuse I heard your reminder from outside my door. “Sir, you need to not miss this appointment.”
I slammed my palms down on the table. “God damn it!” I took a moment to take in several deep breaths. In my mind I knew you were excellent at your responsibilities and didn’t deserve for me to yell at you for something that wasn’t your fault. I knew the stress was just getting to me. I tried to calm myself as I stood and grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair.
I stepped through the door into your office saying, “What exactly am I …” my words stuck as I saw you standing by your desk, looking at me, your face serious and intent.
You were wearing a sleek, grey skirt that was just long enough to be professional, a white button-up blouse, black stockings and heels that threatened to break an ankle if you weren’t careful. As always your look demanded professional respect while accenting your curves to the point of distraction. In one hand you held a thick, black strip of leather and in the other a couple feet worth of rope.
I cocked an eyebrow at you, “An appointment?” I asked wryly.
A smirk crossed your lips, “Yes sir, a pressing matter needs your attention.”
I tossed my jacket on your desk already feeling some of the tension leave my body. Slowly I unbuttoned the cuffs of my shirt and rolled up my sleeves, eyeing you up and down. “This is going to hurt,” I said.
“I would expect nothing else, Sir.”
“Turn around.”
I took the piece of leather from your hand and buckled the collar around your neck. Then I took the rope, pulled your arms behind your back, and began binding your arms together, starting at your elbows and working down to your wrist.
I slid my hands slowly up your arms and over your shoulders. I wrapped one hand around your throat and grabbed a fist full of your hair with the other. You let out a little gasp when I jerked your head back and brought your ear back to my lips. “You are fucking perfect,” I whispered.
“Thank you, Sir.”
I wrapped my arms around you, pulling you back against me. I ran my hands up and down your body, over your thighs, up your stomach, and cupping your breasts. The more I touched, the greater I needed more of you. I growled in your ear as I grabbed the opening of your shirt and ripped it apart, sending several buttons flying across the room. I grasped your breasts with both hands, hard enough to be somewhere between a massage and a vice clamp, and bit down on your neck.
“Perfect,” I growled, the word muffled by the skin of your neck.
I put a hand on your back, between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over your desk. I slid my hands up your legs, pushing your skirt up as I went. A feeling that can only be described as a ravenous craving overcame me as I felt my fingers slide past the hem of your stockings to the bare skin of your thighs. Craving turned to desperate need when I saw you were already prepared for me, wearing nothing beneath your skirt.
I took a step back and unbuckled my belt. It made little popping sounds as the end slid past the belt loops. I folded the belt in half and stared at your naked flesh before me. “Just perfect.”
You took the first several strikes with quiet acceptance, calmly receiving my frustration. But the intensity of the blows got to you eventually and you started making sharp little yelps with each blow. Your ass and thighs turned a violent shade of red as I laid into you and eventually the damn broke and you wept openly.
“Knees,” I demanded.
Obediently you stood and carefully lowered yourself to your knees. I unzipped my pants and my dick sprung out, finally releasing the painful pressure against my pants. I grabbed your face, under your chin. Nothing can describe the feeling inside me as you opened your mouth for me. I slid the tip of my dick over your tongue, slowly working my hips as I enjoyed the feel of your mouth.
You closed your lips around my shaft as I gradually built up speed. I grabbed your head with both hands, holding your head still as I fucked your face, pushing deeper and deeper. I felt myself hit the back of your throat, and held myself still against it. I felt you open your throat, inviting me further. With a final pull of your head my dick slid down your throat.
Little black streaks from where your mascara had started to run had marked your face. But as I fucked your throat viciously those lines grew. Tears streamed down your face, a beautiful painting, a piece of art symbolizing the giving of yourself to me.
I pulled myself from your mouth, grabbed a handful of your hair and lifted you to your feet. Again I turned you around and pushed you over the desk.
I pushed my dick against your opening, coating the tip with your wetness. I grabbed your hips with both hands and grunted, “Perfect,” as I thrust myself inside you. You let out a squeal as I buried myself inside you in a single thrust. I kicked your legs further apart as I began pounding into you, using your body for release.
I grabbed your elbows and lifted your chest off the desk. I held you bent over like that as into you over and over, as hard as I could.
I know your body. I know how your body responds. I knew how sensitive you’d be after the beating, and how turned on your get with my dick in your mouth. I knew it, and was eagerly anticipating it, when I felt you tighten on my dick.
Your entire body tightened, as if every muscle was straining to focus on the feeling of me inside you. You let out an aching howl as you came. Your body went limp, as if trying to fall away from the now too intense sensations.
But I didn’t stop.
I pushed your head back down on the desk and continued to slam into you. I held your head down and lifted one of your knees onto the desk. I needed more of you. Needed to feel more of you. Be deeper inside you.
Only a couple minutes more and you screamed with the agonized pleasure of oversensitivity. As I felt your body tighten on my again, I joined you. I growled as I exploded inside you, finally releasing my pent up frustration.
I continued to thrust slowly inside you as I came down, milking every drop of my need into you. When I pulled myself back I zipped up my pants and tucked in my shirt.
You stood still and waited patiently for me to until you’re arms, then straightened your skirt and turned to face me.
I looked you in the eye. “Go get yourself cleaned up. We have work to do,” I said.
“Very well sir.”
I glanced down to your torn shirt and added sheepishly, “You may need a change of clothes.”
You gave me a sly smile, “I keep extras here. I’ve already learned that lesson.”
I returned your smile. “Good girl. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
“Very good, sir.”
You turned to walk away, but I grabbed your arm and turned you back to me. I cupped you’re face with my hand and said, “That was perfect. You are perfect. Thank you.”
With another sly smile you said, “I’m happy to not have to go buy you another new keyboard … Sir.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jm5dmi/perfect_release_mdom
Oh man, I’d loooove to record this as a vocal performance. Hot hot stuff!