The CEO’s Office Slút (Part 6): The Lunchtime Lesson

The clock on her computer screen was a countdown to her own execution. 11:58 AM. Two minutes. For two hours, she had been living in a state of perpetual, low-grade panic. Every email was a jumble of letters. Every phone ring made her flinch. The fabric of her skirt against her bare skin was a constant, maddening reminder of his command. She was naked underneath, exposed and ready for him, even when he was miles away in his own corner of the office. Her body was no longer her own; it was a tool, waiting for its master.

At 12:00 PM exactly, a soft chime from her computer signaled a new email. The subject line was blank. The body of the email contained only two words.

My office.

A fresh wave of moisture slicked her folds. It wasn't a phone call this time. It was an email. A digital trail. A record of her summons. The humiliation was more potent, more thrilling. She stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Brenda from accounting looked over, a curious expression on her face.

“Big lunch plans?” Brenda asked, a friendly smile on her face.

“Something like that,” Emma mumbled, her face burning. She grabbed her purse, a useless prop, and began the long walk of shame.

The office was alive with the energy of freedom. People were laughing, pulling on coats, making plans. She moved against the current, a salmon swimming upstream to its own demise. She could feel their eyes on her, or maybe she just imagined it. Maybe she just wanted them to see, to know what a filthy slut she was. The thought made her walk a little taller, her hips sway a little more.

She reached his door and didn't hesitate. She opened it, stepped inside, and locked it behind her. The click of the deadbolt was the sound of a cage door closing.

He was not at his desk. He was standing by the window, his back to her, a phone pressed to his ear. He was speaking in low, firm tones to someone on the other end. He didn’t need to turn around. He simply raised a hand and pointed to the floor in the center of the room.

Not in front of the desk. In the center. Like a sacrifice on an altar.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She walked to the spot he indicated, her legs feeling like they were made of jelly. She sank to her knees on the plush carpet, the pile soft against her skin. She placed her hands on her lap, bowed her head, and waited.

She knelt there for what felt like an eternity. She listened to his voice, a low, soothing baritone discussing quarterly earnings and shareholder projections. He was the picture of control, of power. And she was nothing, a nameless, faceless thing waiting on the floor. The contrast was dizzying. Her pussy throbbed, a steady, insistent pulse that demanded attention.

“…and make sure Henderson signs off on it by close of business,” he said into the phone. “I don’t want any excuses.” He hung up, placing the phone on the windowsill with a soft click.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick, and charged. He didn’t turn around immediately. He let her wait. Let her anticipation build. Let her drown in her own filthy thoughts.

Finally, he turned. His eyes, dark and predatory, swept over her, taking in her submissive posture, her flushed cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. A slow, cruel smile touched his lips.

“You’re right on time,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her entire body. “I’m pleased. A slut who knows her place is a useful slut.”

He began to walk toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. He circled her, like a shark circling its prey. He inspected her, his gaze hot and heavy. He stopped behind her, and she felt his presence like a physical force. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his expensive cologne.

“Did you do as I asked?” he murmured, his voice close to her ear.

She nodded, unable to speak.

“Use your words, Emma.”

“Yes, Mr. Carter,” she whispered.

“Show me.”

Her hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her skirt. She slowly, deliberately, lifted the fabric, bunching it around her waist. She exposed herself to him, her bare ass and pussy presented to him in the bright light of his office. She felt a cool draft of air from the air conditioning and shivered.

He knelt down behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck. He didn’t touch her where she craved it most. Instead, he ran a single finger down her spine, tracing the line of her vertebrae. She arched her back, a silent plea for more.

“Such a beautiful sight,” he growled. “A wet, willing cunt, waiting for me. Tell me, Emma. Did you sit at your desk all morning, thinking about this?”

“Yes, Mr. Carter,” she breathed.

“Did your pussy get wet every time you thought about me calling you?”

“Yes, Mr. Carter.”

“Good.” He stood up. “You may put your skirt down. And crawl to my desk.”

Her face burned with fresh humiliation, but her body sang with dark excitement. She dropped her skirt and began to crawl, the carpet rough on her hands and knees. It was the most degrading, most exhilarating thing she had ever done. She crawled to his desk and stopped, waiting for her next command.

He sat down in his large leather chair, rolling it forward until he was directly in front of her. He unzipped his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled himself free, thick, heavy, and already hard. He didn’t speak. He simply looked at her, his eyes dark with command.

She knew what he wanted. She leaned forward, her hands bracing on his powerful thighs. She took him into her mouth, her lips stretching around his girth. She set a slow, worshipful rhythm, her tongue swirling around his head, her hand stroking the base of his shaft. She wanted to please him. She needed to please him.

Just as she was finding her rhythm, his desk phone rang. He picked it up.

“Carter,” he said, his voice perfectly calm.

Emma froze, her eyes wide with panic.

He looked down at her, his eyes hard and warning. He didn’t have to say a word. He tightened his grip on her hair, a silent, painful reminder of her duty.

Trembling, she began to move again, her movements slower, more careful, trying to be silent as he discussed the future of the company with his head of HR.

“Yes, Sarah, the new intern program is a priority,” he said, his voice betraying nothing. He began to thrust his hips gently, a subtle, shallow movement that matched the rhythm of her mouth. He was fucking her face while he discussed HR policy. The sheer, audacious depravity of it made her head spin. Her pussy was so wet she could feel it dripping down her thighs.

He listened for a moment, his fingers stroking her hair. “Absolutely. We need to foster a positive work environment.” He thrust a little deeper, and she gagged softly. “A very… positive environment.”

He hung up the phone. “You almost made a sound,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “We can’t have that.”

He pulled out of her mouth. Before she could react, he had grabbed a handful of papers from his desk and a roll of tape from his drawer. He tore off a strip of tape.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

She obeyed, her heart pounding with fear and excitement. He placed the tape over her lips, silencing her. It was a brutal, effective gag.

“Now,” he said, his voice a growl. “Where were we?”

He grabbed her head with both hands and pulled her back onto his cock. The gag muffled her sounds, turning her choked gasps and moans into pathetic, helpless whimpers. He fucked her face without mercy, his hips pistoning, his balls slapping against her chin. The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of his cock using her throat.

He used her. He took his pleasure from her body, treating her like nothing more than a hole, a toy for his satisfaction. And she loved it. She loved the feeling of being completely and utterly powerless, of being used for his pleasure. Her own arousal was a fire burning out of control, and she knew she would do anything, absolutely anything, to please him.

With a loud, guttural roar, he came. He held himself deep in her throat, and she had no choice but to swallow, her body convulsing as she struggled to breathe. When he was finally spent, he pulled out, leaving her gasping for air through the tape.

He leaned down and ripped the tape from her mouth. It stung, but she barely felt it. He looked down at her, a mess of tears, spit, and his cum.

“You have five minutes to clean yourself up and get back to your desk,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive. “And Emma?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dazed.

“Don’t you dare wash your face,” he said. “I want everyone to see you just like this. I want them to see what a well-used little slut looks like. Now go.”