Chapter 3

I touch myself while she watches, slow, careful circles at first, then faster at a gradual pace as I get more comfortable. She isn’t surprised by my compliance. She’s done this with countless others since the women in my department are accustomed to this. The more comfortable I get, the faster I rub.

The eyes of Dr. Khanna never leave my fingers. She’s transfixed, obsessed. I’ve masturbated for partners before, but something about the office takes it to a different level. The fact that she’s so esteemed makes it special and insanely erotic.

I cum on her leather chair. I figure that if the mess is such a big deal, she’d stop me, or tell me to cover it with something, but she doesn’t say anything. My orgasm is intense and my body shivers. She licks her lips while watching. My fingers keep going until my orgasm is done, then I take a deep breath and relax.

“How was that?” she asks.

“Embarrassing. That’s the word that comes to mind.”

“These things take time. Trust me. And remember, discretion is paramount. Not everyone needs to know what we’re doing. You’ve shown remarkable poise. Consider this your initiation.”

“Is that what this is? An initiation?”

“Be honest, you’d be bored to tears if you returned to a normal office.”

“Maybe I like boring.”

“You’re still exposed and you left a wet stain on the chair.”

I’m speechless because she’s right. I’m still exposed, my pants are down around my ankles, and the wetness on my skin is starting to turn cold from how long it’s been exposed. I press the palm of my hand over my private area instead of covering up.

She adds, “Normalizing this kind of work environment can take time. You’re from a different generation, there’s more progress to be made.”

Again with the age thing. We’re from the same generation but clearly she’s more liberal-minded than I am. She has a point about me being conservative, at least compared to her.

Dr. Khanna leans back in her seat, this time her eyes are locked with mine, and she pulls her skirt up. No panties. I didn’t expect it any other way. Her pubic hairs are a dark, curly bush. Thick and luscious. Her skin is like milk chocolate. When she spreads her legs, her pussy is bright pink.

No time is wasted as she rubs her clitoris in fast circles. Her body becomes alive with sexual energy. Her fingers plunge inside when she’s wet enough. Again, our eyes remain locked while this happens. I’m sure I look embarrassed. She looks so confident though, fingering herself with zeal, on track to having a fast orgasm.

The next morning, right before lunch, I’m bent over Vivian’s desk being fucked like never before. The same position as the HR lady, in the exact same spot, the same thrusts. I’m facing her collection of heels which are placed on a file cabinet by the wall. Those heels are worth thousands — Louboutins with signature red soles, Manolo Blahniks with sky-high stilettos, and Jimmy Choos that shimmer.

Every muscle in my lower back and bottom screams in protest as I hold the impossible prone position. This, apparently, is part of the initiation. Vivian had called it a ‘test of focus and determination.’ Focus? Maybe. Determination? Absolutely. But most of my attention is focused on the searing burn in my core from the black six-inch strap. Humiliation flares within me.

I can feel her breathing against my exposed butt, she must be fixated on my bottom while fucking me. Her breaths are short but fast, like a disciplined athlete putting in the work. She has experience doing this. The girl is fit. I can smell her perfume. My body rocks back and forth, my loud moans becoming a source of shame. She’s not moaning though, she’s just breathing faster.

The door opens, revealing a young woman with cute features and a shy expression from seeing my degradation. She enters the room and places something on a table.

“A package with promotional materials,” she says.

Vivian keeps thrusting. “Thank you, that’s all.”

When the door closes, the irony strikes, just last week I was in the same position as that young woman, opening a door to a different world. One with a strap-on and high heels, stockings, dominance and submission. Now I’m on the receiving end of it. All in a week’s time.

As I approach a toe-curling climax, I wonder how different my life would be if the divorce never happened. I’d still be at home, writing my blog in the comfort of my living room, sometimes dining room. Living a boring, safe life, one that I’d always envisioned for myself.

But is that what I want? Can I ever go back to that life? For the last few days I’ve been masturbating like crazy at home, sometimes sneaking away from family time, to the sanctuary of my bedroom or bathroom. Using my fingers to make myself cum, fast as possible, thinking of Lexi and Olivia nude, imagining myself nude alongside them, and of course Vivian fucking. After that, I’d straighten my appearance and continue with family time, as if nothing had happened.

I wet the desk as Vivian’s thrust intensifies. The ache in my core dulls as my body gets used to the strap and my orgasm relaxes everything. It’s a rebellion against the life I’d always clung to. This isn’t just about physical dominance; it’s a calculated display of power. The predictable life I’d always envisioned is gone. I feel alive now, only in a much different way. She slaps my butt, there’s no turning back now.

“Clean me,” she says. “After this I have a work-lunch appointment. You should join.”

Vivian instructs me to kneel, to clean her with my hands behind my back, meaning I can only use my mouth. First the strap must be cleaned. Every inch. When she takes it off — her pussy, mound, and the surrounding area around her thighs. Everything must be cleaned and I do my best using my tongue. It’s my first time tasting a woman and the flavor and texture are distinct.

She usually has lunch with people in management positions. Men and women around my age. I wonder if they’ll know how Vivian is using me. Not likely, I think to myself, with my tongue stroking her sexual area. I’ll be treated like a friend or a simple colleague, we’ll be talking about work and personal topics, but Vivian will know that I’m sexually beneath her. That making me sit there at lunch, after claiming me, is to torment me. She gets off on that.

When I pull my tongue away, I’m looking at Vivian’s pink pussy. She doesn’t ask, but I stroke her pubic hairs, playing with them, admiring them. I curl her hair around my finger. When I pull hard enough, she giggles. With each pull, her labia moves and I have a glimpse of her pinkness between her legs. My other hand strokes the stocking on her leg.

The ‘girls who masturbate at work’ – that’s what Vivian called the rest of the team earlier. She wanted to welcome me the right way, initiating me into their exclusive group, ensuring that I know the rules. For the first time I feel welcomed working alongside much younger women, but I question myself — am I doing this for business or sexual excitement?

Later that afternoon we’re in the conference room as the fitness product will be rolled out in a matter of weeks. There’s a greater sense of urgency. This tends to make people more productive, more alert, there’s more on the line.

On the long table there are laptops, papers, and coffee. The sound of chatter before things get started. The snapping sound of buttons being undone, heels falling to the floor when kicked off, clothes ruffling. There’s even the sound of bras being unclasped, for those who wish to take it that far.

My eyes are looking down as my clothes come off. Something that Vivian requested that I do today, to give it a try. Requested — not forced, not threatened. My bare feet touch the carpet. The rest of my clothes go neatly on the table after a quick fold. I’m naked in my seat, my nipples have turned erect from the exposure, and from knowing that others are looking my way. I’m the newbie, after all, of course people will be looking.

Vivian gets up to start the presentation. The lights are dimmed. She’s wearing an unbuttoned silk blouse, cream color, and black heels. Nothing else. No bra. Her thighs and pussy are showing. Curly pubic hairs on display. The center of her bare chest is showing. She talks with complete authority when it comes to marketing strategy and the latest social media analytics.

After about 15 minutes, she takes a brief pause for a few gulps of coffee to wet her throat. Then she takes off her blouse to get naked since standing and talking has made her warm. Her pink nipples are bare and they’re soft, she’s comfortable showing them off to the rest of the team.

She points to a number on the screen and her nude body is a silhouette on the projection. The bright light frames her body and the shape of her breast. Her nipple. God, that nipple shape on the screen. She has no idea what she’s done, but it’s having a profound effect on me. I want to cum again after this, from being naked, from working alongside other nude (or partially nude women) and seeing her with iron clad confidence.

The girl sitting next to me, Zahra, is half my age, one of the youngest in the group. Thick framed glasses, Arab background, hipster personality. She’s wearing a small skirt and her blouse is unbuttoned. The front cups of her bra are pulled down and her dark nipples are free. Her eyes are fixated on the boss, her hand goes down between her legs. Zahra is finger-fucking herself, she can’t help it. It’s a cultural rebellion that she cannot suppress.

I’ll never understand why I’m doing this, but I reach over and touch Zahra’s pubic mound, causing her to freeze. She hesitates, then takes her hand away, allowing me to stroke and finger her pussy. We’re as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the presentation, and I continue to explore her most intimate area. Zahra lets go, surrendering to the more experienced person — me — to guide her orgasm. She forces herself to relax. Then she cums. Her body tense, her lips quivering.

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