Flex Time (Office Toy) (2 page)

She tossed over the bra, then wriggled out of the panties, swinging her hips more than strictly necessary. Cunningham leaned against his desk, his legs crossed at the ankle, his head slightly cocked as he stared at her. When Elle leaned over to step out of the panties, she snuck a glance at his pants and confirmed what she’d already spotted out the corner of her eye.

Hard.

Just the thought of Cunningham being all excited and ready was better foreplay than an hour of groping with most guys. But Cunningham wasn’t most guys.

And neither was Jonathan. Or Nolan, wherever he was.

She handed her panties to Jonathan.

“Shoes off.”

Elle looked at Jonathan in surprise, then hastily removed her heels. Cunningham leaned over his desk and came up with a shoebox.

“Come.”

Elle approached hesitantly. The last time Cunningham had personally seen to her wardrobe (as opposed to having Nolan handle it), he’d also fitted her with a remote control vibrator and sent her off with two sexy, dominant clients. It had turned into a fun if somewhat scary evening.

He grabbed her around the waist and easily swung her up so that she was standing on his desk. Elle stayed crouched over, keeping her hands on his shoulders. Being higher than Cunningham felt wrong, psychologically. Plus, if she straightened, he’d be staring right at her pussy, and no way was she comfortable with that.

With a smooth gesture, he flicked away the shoebox’s lid, sending it tumbling to the floor. Inside sat a pair of gorgeous shiny black stilettos with the highest heels Elle had ever seen.

“Eight inches,” Cunningham said. He ran a warm hand from the back of her knee, slowly down her calf, and over her ankle. Elle shifted and brought her leg up, and he slipped the shoe on.

It fit perfectly.

“Other foot.”

Elle slowly transferred her weight without yielding her grasp on Cunningham. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk in them. Even 4” chunky heels were sometimes a little difficult.

She dug her fingers into his shoulder—all muscle—and balanced carefully while he put the other shoe on her foot.

“Stand up.”

Elle whimpered and slowly straightened, her arms out and ready to protect her face if she toppled over. Suddenly, being higher than Cunningham didn’t feel like a position of power. She was now closer to the ceiling than to the floor, and there was nothing to hold on to. She was exposed, vulnerable.

“Move your legs apart,” Cunningham ordered.

Behind him, Jonathan was slowly standing. His gaze roamed appreciatively over her naked body.

Elle haltingly inched her legs apart. She breathed shallowly, trying not to do anything that might cause her to fall over. It wasn’t just the heels; Cunningham’s desk was coated in some sort of lacquer, likely as protection from water damage.

Whatever it was, she felt like she was standing on a patch of ice. Except if she fell, she could seriously be hurt.

“Lace your fingers behind your head.”

She did, slowly. She’d never thought she’d need to use her safe word just from standing, but she was tempted to now.

Except if she used it, Cunningham might get upset. No, it wasn’t him being upset that worried her. She’d already let him down, and she didn’t want to hurt him any more than she already had.

“Elbows back. Stand straight.” Cunningham nodded. “Now turn and face away.”

Elle tensed up but she obeyed, moving very, very slowly, her hips neutral. If she fell, she’d have to go toward Cunningham. He would catch her.

Of that she had no doubt.

When she finished turning, Cunningham barked, “Stop slouching, and keep your elbows back and out.” 

Elle straightened, wondering what Cunningham planned to do to her.

After a few minutes, her arms were getting tired, and her calves, too, because her toes vainly tried to grip the bottoms of the shoes for stability.

The trembling started slowly, but soon she was shaking all over as muscle fatigue set in.

Jonathan circled behind the desk and raised a hand to her pussy. She hadn’t known she was wet until his fingers slid easily over and around her folds.

“Elle,” Jonathan said as he studied his glistening fingers, “did you know that when Cunningham or I send an email, we can see when it’s read?”

She most certainly hadn’t. 

She swallowed and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.” He licked his fingers like they were covered in sugar, leisurely sucking them clean. Then he nodded firmly at Cunningham.

“Bend over, Elle,” Cunningham said. “Legs straight.”

She obeyed, going lower and lower until her ass was in the air. She could have touched the desk if not for the heels. It was infinitely less precarious than standing straight, but Elle was more anxious than ever.

“Grab the backs of your calves.”

Her brow furrowed, but when she looked at Jonathan, she realized he was there to catch her. His beauty caught her off-guard sometimes. Before Jonathan, she’d often found blond men to be less manly, maybe because their facial hair didn’t contrast as much with their skin. Jonathan, with his Nordic allure, had certainly changed that.

She trusted him. He had never hidden his love for her—not from himself, and not from her. Perhaps he’d never said the words, but it wasn’t necessary. She could tell by the way he acted, by the way he touched her, and how he was always there for her, supporting her and believing that she could endure whatever challenges came her way.

He nodded slightly, just a small sign of encouragement that made all the difference in the world, and Elle grasped her smooth calves and lowered her head.

Her reddish-brown hair pooled on Cunningham’s desk, and blood rushed into her head.

Behind her, Cunningham was slowly unbuckling his belt. Elle groaned, and Cunningham nodded, that familiar sadistic smile on his face, as he doubled the belt over, creating a thick and intimidating instrument of torture.

He lightly smacked his open palm. “Why did you ignore my email?”

“I …” He deserved honesty. “I wasn’t in the mood for a formal lunch.”

Cunningham’s brow furrowed. “Keep your hips tilted, your ass out.”

Jonathan’s firm hands gripped her upper arms, bracing her. 

Cunningham warmed her up with his open palms, lightly striking each cheek. Elle moaned. She loved when he spanked her. It always made her horny as hell, especially when he was gentle, holding back.

When he seemed satisfied that her posterior was reddened all over, he applied the belt, laying a brutal little stripe across the tops of her thighs.

Just hearing the
thwack
brought tears to Elle’s eyes. She squeezed them shut.

“No. Continue to watch me, Elle.” 

She reluctantly complied. He was still wearing his jacket and looked perfectly presentable … aside from the belt in his hands. Incongruous to say the least. 

As was the big erection distorting the front of his pants. 

Elle moaned softly. The stinging of her flesh was overshadowed by the heat building between her legs.

Cunningham settled into a slow rhythm, bringing the belt down on her left cheek, then the right. Knowing when the blows were coming made her anticipate them greedily, and spasms rippled through her, growing in intensity.

“Express your appreciation,” Jonathan said.

“Thank you for the discipline,” she gasped.

The belt cracked, and Elle went up on her toes, squealing. Only Jonathan kept her from falling off the desk.

“Kneel.” 

Elle didn’t realize she was crying until she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Then she became aware of the tears coursing over her cheeks, that she was on her hands and knees, her forehead resting on the desk. Jonathan stroked her hair. 

She turned her head and saw Cunningham unzipping his pants to expose his large, thick cock. With a smile, he ran his hands over her ass, and Elle shuddered. This was, by far, the worst spanking she’d ever received, and it fucking
hurt. 

“You went somewhere else for a minute there.” Cunningham inserted a finger into her cunt. She was so slick that he slid right in.

She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a little ball, but Jonathan looped one hand in her hair, then he unbuckled his pants and let them fall down around his ankles.

“Open.”

She welcomed Jonathan into her mouth, first getting the tip of his cock nice and wet, then gradually taking more and more until she held all of him, her lips tight around the thick base. She wanted to show him how grateful she was. And how sorry.

Cunningham pressed his hands on her ass, and Elle yelped. Her skin felt like it might be broken—she wasn’t sure.

“On your stomach.” Cunningham pulled at her knees, straightening her out, and Jonathan adjusted her shoulders so that she could comfortably suck him.

Her legs were spread wide—Cunningham was being careful not to touch the inflamed skin, it seemed, then his mouth moved over her pussy.

Elle’s eyes closed, and she enjoyed the feeling of his adept tongue dipping into her, then moving up and swirling around her clit, teasing it, making her tremble all over.

Having Jonathan thrusting in her mouth at the same time was heaven.

She moaned, and Jonathan tensed, his cock swelling. He was breathing heavily, and even though his hand on the back of her neck said that he was in charge, she was the one making him so horny, wasn’t she?

Her own body tightened around Cunningham’s finger, gripping him. She shuddered and choked back a moan. The room was quiet except for the occasional sound of smacking wet flesh.

Cunningham wrapped his big hands around the backs of her thighs and slowly wandered up, stopping just short of the area he had tortured with his belt. Still, the pressure of his fingers pushing into her flesh stretched the wounded skin, releasing echoes of pain.

A perfect orgasm was building, and she let herself go—after all, she hadn’t been ordered not to come—and at the height of her transport, Cunningham slapped both hands down hard on her ass cheeks. She wailed from the pain, from the ecstasy, from the exhilarating degradation of it all.

It was the most amazing orgasm she’d ever had in her life, and after a few months at Cunningham & Associates, that was saying something.

Her screams hadn’t slowed Jonathan in the least. He frantically fucked her mouth, then abruptly pulled free with a groan. He smacked his swollen cock on her lips, then pressed himself back into her. He held himself deep, gripped the back of her neck and began pulsing his hips in fast, jerky movements.

Elle felt Cunningham move away, then a moment later she heard shoes hitting the floor, followed by what sounded like his clothing.

He entered her without fanfare, balls-deep in an instant. He leaned forward and repositioned her arms so that they were bent, the palms flat on the desk and next to her face.

Then he covered her arms with his, his chest hair rough against her back. He raked his teeth over the soft skin of her shoulder and thrust so hard that if Elle hadn’t been anchored by Jonathan in her mouth and Cunningham’s weight, she would have gone sliding forward.

Cunningham nibbled at her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

“Elle,” he whispered, “if you wanted to eat at the deli, you merely had to say so.” He retreated from her cunt. “You don’t deserve my cock.” 

He walked around the desk, and she saw that his fist was squeezed tight around his considerable girth.

Jonathan wrenched himself away from her mouth, and Cunningham flipped her over.

“Stick out your tongue.”

“No. Fuck me. Please, don’t—” 

Cunningham pressed his fingers into her mouth and forced her open. She would have obeyed, of course, but he seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in holding her like that.

“Play with your nipples.”

Elle gathered her breasts in her hands and brought them together. She used her thumbs to rub the excited peaks.

Cunningham growled his release, spurting onto her breasts, then into her mouth, and Jonathan followed suit. Elle couldn’t swallow completely, not with Cunningham holding her mouth open, so she had to stay like that, their semen pooling on the back of her tongue.

They tasted amazing, salty and sweet and warm.

Finally Cunningham eased his fingers from her mouth. He pushed her chin up and stroked down her neck. “Swallow.”

Elle swallowed, looking up submissively at him. She was glad that the relationship had progressed to the point that she was allowed to look at him as if he were the most wonderful man in the world, because at that moment, there was no way she could have kept the adoration out of her eyes.

The door swung open.

Nolan stood there holding several white paper bags imprinted with the deli’s logo. Elle relaxed, letting her head rest on the desk.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he said. He sounded pissed, and Elle could imagine that his gorgeous blue eyes were getting dark. They always did when he was angry.

“How were we supposed to know you were back?”

“Because I texted you twenty minutes ago.”

He dropped the bags on the desk and began pulling out sandwiches as if Elle weren’t lying there naked and covered in proof of how much he had missed.

Jonathan pulled up his slacks and dug out his phone. “Ah. So you did.” He dropped the phone back into his pocket, then began buttoning up his shirt. 

Nolan shot him a murderous look.

“How did it go?” Even naked, Cunningham managed to be commanding. Or maybe he was even more authoritative without clothes making him look civilized. His thighs were pure muscle, and his calves were so thick that Elle was sure she couldn’t encircle one with her hands.

“He and Bianca made their flight,” Jonathan said. He straightened his tie. “Also, he’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

Nolan shot him another dirty look. “Yes, I did find her. She was amenable to being flown out immediately, so I put her up in the Shangri-La.” He finally looked—really looked—at Elle, and the hard expression in his eyes softened. Was that the hint of a smile at the corners of his full lips?

To think that she had the power to calm the volatile Nolan. Elle smiled at him. She’d missed him.