KB - a better class of pervert


Returning to the Office (FF, blackmail, BDSM)

Valley Vixin · 627

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Valley Vixin

  • 2020 Writer of Year
  • Degenerate
  • ***
    • Posts: 204
    • Woos/Boos: +103/-1
    • Gender: Female
  • Married white professional woman with secrets
on: May 21, 2023, 10:56:14 AM
Returning to the Office


Some background about me, I am Angela Baker, 38, tall enough that I don’t wear heels at work or the men having to look up at me get too defensive, and what my mother used to call “big boned” and my father called “built like a brick shithouse”.  I was your standard bred German descent farm girl, dirty blonde hair, the body of someone you expected to have a baby in the morning and carry hay bales to feed the stock by noon.  I was a high school athlete, and a college one, but a volleyballer not one of the cool sports that offered pro careers.  It got me into university, and the army paid for the rest of it.  There being a big farm girl who could toss haybales all day and did calculus for fun made me a natural fit for logistics.  Military logistics turned out to be a better training system than the theory I was learning in University, but the combination of the degree and the practical experience made me more sellable to the civilian world than the high profile career paths recruiters like to offer.  Life was good, the economy was thriving, and I had a built a good network of contacts and contractors that made doing my job almost easy.  Then the world changed.

Covid 19 was bad.  It's impact on the economy was terrible, which is what most of the business papers focused on.  They seemed to be really concerned about the economic impact of the shut down.  I work as the purchasing manager for a rather large production company, and I have to say, what got me most was the number of contacts on my list that I lost.  As in, people I talked to every week are now dead.  The higher ups like me are almost unaffected because we got to work from home almost from the start, but the hands on people had to be on site, and wow, I know we took a hit.  A lot of the people in the companies that supply us, that haul for us, do contract work for us in welding, machining, painting, and software that I used to deal with are just gone.

As a practical matter, my job became twice as hard.  The regular channels were slow, unavailable, or unreliable.  Keeping costs reasonable balanced with keeping production moving which caused me to work all hours from home and always having to be creative, thinking outside the box because all the reasonable solutions were not going to make our deadlines.  It was enough to drive a woman crazy.  This is where I want to say something like "you find ways to cope", but it would be better to say I went a little crazy.  It helped.

How do you deal with putting in 12 hour days seven days a week from home for base salary, with no where to escape to because there is no going home from work?  Well, you build in stress relievers.  For me?  I was sexually frustrated from a lackanookie situation from the husband, and the fact that I hit my home gym and ran enough that I had never been fitter or more full of energy made the whole thing a hundred times worse.  So I masturbated.  A lot.

Then I got through the endless zoom meetings by little acts of rebellion.

Sure it started with no bra under the silk blouse.  Then no panties under the skirt.  Since no one could see below the skirt, it escalated to ben wa balls in my neglected nethers, to a butt plug up my bum (as opposed to the less productive sticks up the ass of the men I spent hours on line arguing with who had no idea the old way involved companies not still in business, supplies not on the market, and money we didn't have), and in one memorable case of miscalculation a vibrator in me that turned on mid conversation when I leaned forward to make a point and the button got pushed to take it from slow constant vibe to loud surging vibe plus pearl enhanced wiggling.  That one I had to lie and say was a fish filter pump that was too close to the computer mic and I would deal with it after the meeting.

Then we returned to the office, and the work was no less crazy.  It was me and Gurpreet, my assistant, still putting in 12 hour days, at least she got overtime for it.  My problem was that I was still under the same pressures, but my well trained pressure outlet, my ever more needy pussy was now being as starved for attention, affection and outlet as my stress.  I was losing it, and Gurpreet noticed and being the devoted assistant and friend she was, tried to help.  I was staring at the screen, none of the options in front of me helped me make my deadlines.  I knew there was a way to make things work, but it required the kind of outside the box thinking I got used to doing at home.  The kind of creativity I got by letting my body drive me to the edge and hold it there until all the unconscious blocks got washed away in sexual frenzy and the creative bits of me pulled threads from here and there that seemed to be part of different problems and wove them into an innovative solution to the big problem I couldn’t touch.  Here in the office, all I got was stressed, obsessed, and blocked.  I groaned.

Gurpreet came behind me and started to massage my shoulders.  I felt her breasts press into my shoulders and could tell she took advantage of it being after hours and only us here to ditch her bra.  Her fingers started to work on my neck with surprising strength.  She is a little bit of a thing, about six inches shorter, modestly curved compared to me, and comfortably plump.  Her fingers were magical though, and I could feel the knots begin to release as I whimpered in pleasure/pain under her magic hands.  Her voice was right in my ear, soft enough to send shivers down my spine and other low joints as she worked on my stress points.

“Angela, I don’t know why this is so hard for you.  You were so amazing when we were on lockdown.  I couldn’t believe how you could stay focused and find work arounds with zero support and fewer options every day.  I was amazed every time I opened my email and saw a problem I was sure was a deal breaker, but you responded within a few hours with something magical nobody else saw, and I still couldn’t believe.  You just have to get back in the same headspace and you can make that magic again!”  Gurpreet offered, her voice making my skin tingle and back arch like a cat being petted as she worked my shoulders as she had my neck.

I laughed softly.

“I can’t really do it here.  I mean, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I did it then.  I mean, it’s just us girls here now, but I would die if I explained it!”  I offered, with more honesty than intended.

Gurpreet took my chin and shoulder in her hands and leaned my chair back until I was staring up at her, helpless as her gaze pinned me.  “Tell me Angela, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”  She said.

I should have remembered our positions, or at least my position and said nothing, or better yet, lied.  Instead, for reasons I can’t explain, I answered her.

“I was going more than a little stir crazy, not able to go out, not able to get time away, not getting any relief at home, so I sort of played some dangerous games.  First I would start wearing no underwear during zoom calls, then no bottoms, then towards the end, I had toys IN me when I did the calls.  It was crazy, but when I drove myself to the edge and kept it there, I got these amazing ideas.”  My face was burning as I confessed my sins.  God being raised Catholic is a bitch.  Even when you reject it, that damned guilt/shame urge and need for confession/punishment is buried deep in your mental weeds waiting to ambush you.

Gurpreet caressed my cheek and my mind kind of went white for a second, total blank as she smiled down at me.

“That is so hot Angela, to think all the time you were being so on top of everything, so totally in control of the whole department you were edging like a desperate little slave-slut.  Honestly, I may have to go back over the zoom recordings and see if I can figure out what you were doing.  Why don’t you do the same thing again?  You know it works, and it is only us here after all.”  Gurpreet reasoned.

I started babbling.  I admit my excuses sounded lame.  They sounded like what they were, bullshit and cop outs.  Gurpreet reached down and slapped my left breast sharply.

“Enough of that Angela.  You know what you need to do to get your solutions.  Neither one of us is going home until it is done, and you have me so horny right now I am going to have to rape my useless husband, so I can’t let you waste any more of both of our time.  You can’t bring yourself to make the choice to do it here?  Fine.  Then I will make the choice.”

She spun my executive chair around, and glared at me.

“Listen to me Angela, you will take off that blouse, and that bra and hand them to me.  You will not get them back until we have a solution to our build team’s issues that we can present tomorrow.  Either you slut your way to genius like you did at home, or you will bounce those big white titties all the way through the office and car park until you can drive home.”  Gurpreet smiled, reaching out and caressing the silk blouse where she had recently spanked one of my breasts.

I should have shut it down way before this.  The conversation was inappropriate.  The whole sexual contact between myself and my assistant was against so many of our written policies, and the idea of being naked at work, even when only we were here was deeply wrong! 

I felt my face blush, my body caught fire, my mind blazed with excitement and adrenaline filled me like I was at my competitive peak in a major match.  I simply said “Yes ma’am.”  Slowly stripped and handed my assistant my silk blouse and my bra.

It made all the difference.  I felt myself feel the fear/guilt of my nudity and my creative juices, among other juices, started to flow.  Around the time I was caressing my breast with one hand and working the mouse with the other, dragging and dropping a few different files to examine side by side for jobs I could “rob Peter to pay Paul”(or take what we had in advance of the required date in one place, that we could use where needed now and replace by the needed date), I noticed Gurpreet filming me.  She looked over at me and told me,

“Smile for the camera, Angela.  Pinch that nipple, you know you want to.”  I did as instructed and felt myself teeter on the edge of an orgasm.  Gurpreet also noticed and told me firmly “Not yet Angela.  You keep your fingers on the keyboard and not in your cunt until you have this file finished.  They we can both go home and cum.”

GOD, how I hated the fact I groaned audibly at that order from my assistant.  It was an order, and we both knew it.

I was finished in minutes.  When I forwarded the work for Gurpreet to update all the teams and departments ( a different list for each job, and hers to figure out ), she took only a minute to do her part, having already set up distribution groups for the solutions she saw me making.  She came in holding my blouse and bra.  She handed them to me.  Stepping behind me, she reached around and cupped my breasts.

“Good girl Angela.  You were a very good girl.”  She whispered, biting my earlobe and kissing, then sucking on my neck, leaving a large hickey.

I held my blouse, not daring to move my hands.

She moved beyond cupping my breasts to pinching my nipples, rolling them, pulling them as I whimpered.

“Are you too much of a slut to drive like this?  Do you need to cum now Angela?”  Gurpreet asked, playing me like a violin.  I arched helplessly towards her pulling fingers and groaned a weak and desperate “Yessssssssss”

Gurpreet spun the chair around and pulled out her phone again, filming me.

“Be a good little slut, Angela, and play with that needy little slut pussy for me.  Cum like my good little slave.”  Gurpreet was smirking like Satan himself, a look the sweet little woman’s face should not be capable of, but wore surprisingly naturally.

I stood and clawed at my belt and slacks, pulling them down to get my fingers in my panties.  Staring helplessly as Gurpreet, I rubbed my swollen and needy clit for less than a minute before my body spasmed like I had been tasered.  My face was not pretty, elegant, or controlled and I felt my wetness coat my thighs and stain both panties and pants as I came on her command.”

She left me like that.  Laughing softly, she waved her phone at me over her shoulder as she left.

“You had better clean that up.  You don’t want the cleaning staff gossiping, do you Angela?”

The power dynamic in our relationship, and in our office had just shifted.  I had too many feelings about that to parse cleanly.

I am the conservative good girl I was raised to be.  I am the submissive slut I was born to be. 
My stories

Offline purpleshoes

  • Total freak
  • *****
    • Posts: 924
    • Woos/Boos: +411/-10
Reply #1 on: May 21, 2023, 12:43:37 PM

The power dynamic in our relationship, and in our office had just shifted. 

Ya think?  ;D

Love needy sub stories, and this is a good one. Woo #77.

And people talk about men thinking with their little head.  :roll: