His Boss's Plaything Read online

  His Boss's Plaything

  A Femdom Role-Reversal Humiliation Erotic Story

  By Nina Nauheim

  Copyright 2020 Nina Nauheim

  Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only. It features intensely erotic situations, multiple dominant women and a submissive man, humiliation, role reversal, exhibitionism and cfnm dynamics, orgasm denial, femdom dominance, and degrading backdoor sex. All characters are 18 or older.

  Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from the works of Jessica Whitethread with full consent of the original author.

  Peter just wants to be useful at his new job, and his beautiful boss won't have trouble thinking up ways to push him to his limits ...

  Sandra Lancet is any man's dream and any competitor's nightmare. She's got the body of a model and the mind of a shark. When Peter tries to make a good impression on his ambitious boss, she quickly sees a use for him beyond his original job description. Before he knows it, he's not just pleasuring her, he's become her toy: on display for her, for her friends, in any clothes she puts him in or takes him out of, being used any way these women see fit ...

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  "Good," she purred. "I love a man just quivering there on the edge." She leaned forward and gave the shape in his underwear a little stroke. He groaned helplessly, his cock throbbing intensely in response. He screwed his eyes shut, trying not to erupt right there in his underwear. It was torture.

  "Do you think you'd come if I did that again?" she asked curiously. "I don't think I've ever seen someone quite so wound up."

  "Please," he begged.

  "Don't be so impatient," she instructed. "I want to enjoy this. Take off the underwear."

  In a moment he was naked, standing there in the middle of the office. Her eyes never left him. That same triumphant, predatory look had come back.

  "Good. Let's have a turn, then," she ordered. "Nice and slowly. Cock out. Good."

  He turned obediently, moving his feet in small increments. Forcing himself to be slow and to breathe. The feeling of being on display was incredibly arousing. It seemed like his cock threatened to explode with every hot pulse of blood that rushed into it.

  "Give it one nice slow stroke," she ordered. "But don't you dare come yet."

  He did it as slowly as she'd asked, his fist wrapped around himself, his eyes closing briefly again. His gasping breath made it painfully clear how close he was.

  "You're about to make a mess," she observed thoughtfully. "Go get some paper towels from the bathroom."

  He bent to retrieve his underwear fromin front of her but she kicked lightly at his arm. "Go."

  "Like this?" he asked.

  "I didn't say to get dressed, did I?"

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  His Boss's Plaything

  Peter had fallen asleep at his desk again. It had gotten late, and he had finished writing out the files Sandra Lancet had asked him for hours ago. It didn't matter. Since he had taken the job as her personal assistant, he had learned quickly: he worked as long as she did. Often, that meant deep into the night. She had told him to call her Sandra, but it still felt unnatural. The woman was sharp, commanding, dedicated, talented. Beautiful, too, but it was your life's worth to notice. Even though she was only ten years older than Peter, it felt strange to refer to her so familiarly.

  Peter jumped as her hand touched his shoulder. He looked up sheepishly, blinking. "Oh, Ms. Lancet," he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

  "You fell asleep against the mute button for the buzzer," she pointed out.

  "Oh. Shit." He snapped fully awake. "I mean - sorry. Were you - what can I help with?"

  "Don't worry about it. I grabbed it myself. I think it's time we got out of here. I suppose it's half my fault for working you so hard. Sometimes I forget what other people are capable of."

  He heard the hidden rebuke in her voice, in the phrase 'other people.' "No, it's alright," he said. "I'm happy to stay late. I don't know what happened."

  The answer seemed to satisfy her and he let out a slightly tense breath. He always seemed right on the verge of annoying her. But the sparse moments of praise were worth the effort.

  Instead of leading to the door to the lobby, she sat back on the cabinet beside Peter's desk. She seemed tired. But it was tired in a sort of intimate way, in a way that made her seem more approachable and human, but no less strong or beautiful. She had her dark hair uncharacteristically let down, and she ran her long, smooth fingers through it with a sigh. She was wearing a black skirt and when she put a heel up on a drawer to the cabinet more than a little thigh showed. Her blouse was well-fitting enough to reveal the curves of her body, but not enough to border on the unprofessional.

  "You know you're kind of cute when you sleep," she said. "Like a puppy."

  A slight flush rose in Peter's cheeks and an embarrassing grin came onto his face. "Ah, thanks."

  "It's a good quality," she mused. "I'm jealous. It feels like it's been years since I slept well. You're out like a light the minute I turn my back on you."

  Increasingly over the months since he had started working for her, he had come to grips with the fact that he was attracted to his boss. He'd known her sort of distantly for years, even back to when he was just a little kid and she was a teenager who seemed to know everything cool and adult. Their father's had been in school together or something, close enough that he'd sort of distantly known who she was for most of his life. He'd probably never have landed a job like this otherwise right out of college, and he needed to prove he deserved it. That meant not letting his mind wander back to all those other thoughts. Peter was twenty-two now. By this point he was smart enough to know that a woman like her would never even look twice at a guy like him, even if they were closer in age. She was a rising star in a fortune 500, talented and successsful and driven, and she seemed to walk through men - men a lot older, more handsome, and more successful than him - like they were hors d'oeuvres at a cocktail part.

  And to his credit, he'd been doing a pretty good job keeping those thoughts at bay. It often wasn't even hard. She was all business, all the time, and it was all he could do just to keep up. There wasn't time to get distracted. But this was a different side of her. Human. At ease.

  Ms. Lancet put out a hand and straightened Peter's shirt which had been shifted to lie a little crooked across his chest as he slept.

  "There's something sort of endearing about someone who sleeps beautifully," she said. He noticed a glass of something dark set down on the cabinet beside her. She must have been drinking something before she woke him up. Only now did he notice the tension in her. The strain of the huge client accounts that had kept her here so late for the third night in a row.

  "Is everything alright, Ms. Lancet?" Peter asked.

  Ms. Lancet took a drink from the glass. "It's Sandra, I thought I told you," he said.

  "Sorry," Peter apologized, but was still too shy to try saying her first name.

  "It's nothing," she said after a minute. "It's just problems meeting the promises some idiot in marketing has been handing out. Problems I'm ready to set aside for a few hours. It's just been a long day."

  Feeling emboldened by her casual touch to his collar, Peter turned and ran a hand over her shoulders in solidarity. When She didn't stop him, he put hands to either side of her neck and massaged at the tension he felt in the smooth muscles.

  "Oh, that feels wonderful," she breathed. "Thank you."

  Peter
stood up and backed against the cabinet to have a better angle for his arms. She shifted in appreciation.

  "Is there anything I can do to make it easier?" Peter asked.

  She leaned back into Peter's hands, breathing deeply in satisfaction as she loosened the collar of her blouse by a button.

  "No, no, we should let it sit for the night. Hell, I should probably be giving you a day off, the way I've been working you."

  "I'm not tired," Peter said. It wasn't a lie. He might have been tired a few minutes ago, but not now. Something was different tonight, and he could feel it. Or maybe he was still dreaming. He and Ms. Lancet had never talked like this. He had never seen her relaxed and unguarded and comfortable. "I can do more than you've had me doing. Maybe I can help think over the problem."

  Ms. Lancet turned and looked at him. Her gaze wandered over him, lingering for a moment before returning to Peter's face. "I guess I don't mind a little company after a long day," she said. "The least I can do is offer you a glass of what I'm drinking."

  Peter flushed deeper. Of course he'd had a beer here and there at parties, but he wasn't really that much of a drinker.

  "Alright, that would be great," he said.

  She stood up and led him back into her office. Peter followed a bit timidly, nervous to break the spell. Nothing unprofessional was going to happen. It was just tremendously flattering that she felt she could talk to him like a friend. But ... his hands still tingled a bit where they had touched her shoulders. He could still feel the warmth of her skin on his fingers.

  Ms. Lancet handed him a glass of dark amber liquid. He took a cautious sip and to his mortification immediately coughed against the fire in his throat.

  She laughed, a low, throaty sound. "God, you're so young," she said. "Sometimes I forget."

  Peter took another sip and did better with it. He felt warmth growing in his stomach.

  "You got the reports moved into the new format?" Ms. Lancet asked.

  "Yep. They weren't a problem."

  She laughed. "You must be talking about someone else's spreadsheets. Don has had forty years to learn basic accounting and his team's reports still come through looking like he's trying to wrap his head around his first lemonade stand. He's lucky he's so good at the rest of his job."

  "They're not all that bad," Peter objected. "He's just bad with Excel. It's easy enough to see what was meant to go where."

  "That must be it, then. Well, some people have a lot more patience than I do, I guess. I should be thankful for that. God knows I wouldn't still be hanging around here past midnight waiting for my boss to let me go get some sleep."

  "No, it's alright. I just like feeling useful." He took another drink from the glass, and the heat in his face increased. The clock on the wall said if anything she was understanding the lateness of the hour, but there wasn't a single part of him that wanted to leave.

  Ms. Lancet smiled faintly and ran her eyes across him in a way that made Peter flush. "Useful," she repeated. "You certainly find ways to be useful."

  "Anything I can do," he insisted. "I'm pretty much always available, Ms. Lancet."

  She cocked his head slightly at the phrase, and again her eyes lingered on Peter's flushed face and wandered slowly over him. It was as though Peter could physically feel her gaze sizing him and weighing him against some standard or idea.

  She put a hand out and brushed a strand of hair off of Peter's forehead. This time her fingers lingered on Peter's cheek. "It's really nice knowing that I've got a friend here. Some days I feel like I work in a pit of vipers."

  Peter's flush deepened. "I - I'm glad I -" he began, but stopped himself before he could speak his true feelings.

  But it had been enough.

  "Peter, you're quite a specimen," Ms. Lancet said. Her thumb was resting lightly against his cheek and her hand encircled the base of Peter's head. Peter felt her fingers in his hair. "It took me a little while to notice, but now that I've seen it I really can't look away. I get the sense you'd do anything I needed you to do ... "

  Peter felt his heart rising in his chest, pounding in his throat. The light brush of her fingers on his skin and in his hair was sending a feeling of warmth and excitement deep, deep into him. He looked into Ms. Lancet's eyes. He was lost for words, but he knew the desire he'd been fighting to hide was now plain on his face.

  In a single movement, fluid and decisive that left no room for argument, Ms. Lancet pulled him forward and kissed him. It was like a statement, and Peter gave himself to it. He returned the kiss, pressing his lips to hers, softening and conforming his body as she bent him forward with a tight grip that slid around his throat in a tantalizing squeeze as the kiss ended. Her arm came out and she hooked a finger into his belt, drawing him closer. Peter could taste the slightly smoky flavor of liquor and smell the intoxicating scent of her body.

  She drew back for a moment, eyes closed, inhaling and savoring him. Peter watched her for a moment, suddenly afraid that she would pull away and say there had been a mistake.

  But there was no such look in the woman's eyes. It was simply a look of satisfaction, bordering on predatory, that betrayed no doubt or second thought. It was like staking a claim. Peter was hers, simply and entirely and suddenly. Her smile of triumph as she smiled it was possibly the sexiest expression Peter had ever seen.

  She pulled Peter against her. Her hand moved on Peter's lower back, bending the twenty-two year old's body into hers. It wandered down and felt the fullness of his ass, telling him 'your body is mine and it is I want.' She was leaned against her desk, making him come to her, bend to accomodate her, in any way she wanted, twisting to any whim.

  Her other hand was still on Peter's neck, and it caressed the soft skin of his throat with a cool sense of control and danger that made his body feel like barely his own.

  Peter kissed her fiercely now, wanting to show her how eager he had been for this, but she had other ideas.

  "A little lower," she told him, pressing him back with a soft but commanding touch. He dropped to his knees and watched her sink into the chair behind her desk. "Crawl to me," she commanded.

  He obeyed without thinking, moving forward on all fours until he was at the foot of her chair, looking up at her. Her legs were spread slightly and his face was only an inch from her knees.

  She moved forward so that her knees were either side of his face. His groin brushed against her foot and he felt how hard he had become.

  With a lazy movement, she pushed her skirt up her legs to reveal thin black panties, lacy and only semi-opaque. He could smell the scent of sex on her. His pulse was pounding in his ears and deep in his groin.

  "No hands," she instructed him.

  He bent forward and kissed the inside of her thigh, inhaling he scent and relishing the taste of her skin. He worked his way up between her legs and eventually reached the panties. The first kiss he planted on their fabric was almost enough to make him come right where he was, concealed in his pants.

  Tentatively at first, seeking Ms. Lancet's approval, he took the elastic of the panties in his mouth. She lifted her hips slightly to let him slide the garment down her thighs.

  He returned, kissing up her legs. He had never been so turned on in his life. It wasn't just the incredibly sexy woman with her knees at his ears. It wasn't just that the woman was the one he had been secretly attracted to from a distance for half his life. It was being in this position, in his knees in front of her, degraded and shown so pointedly he was there for her pleasure more than his own.

  He wetted his lips with an eager tongue before pressing his mouth to her. His lack of experience only slowed him down for an instant. He wanted to be everywhere, feeling and tasting everything. He found her clit with his tongue and moved over it. A satisfied moan from above him told him he was on the right track.

  He moved his mouth and tongue over her, inside her, and each pleasurable moan that burst from her was its own incredible reward. Soon her
legs were clamped against his ears and her hand was against the back of his head, pressing him into her so that he couldn't stop or pull back even if he wanted to. At times it was even hard to breathe, but he barely cared.

  The slight gasp as she came the first time was exquisite and subtle. But her legs didn't release. "Again," she ordered.

  He obliged, working all the harder with his tongue and lips, until her legs were wrapped around him hard enough to hurt. This time when she came it was with a scream that burst forth from her chest. But even that wasn't enough. It wasn't until the third time that she at last fell still and unwrapped her legs from around him.

  "Well, you could use some practice," she breathed. "But the effort is in the right place."

  She sat back and began to undo the buttons of Peter's shirt. Peter watched her breathlessly, itching to have his hands on her again but unsure of how forward he could be. For the moment it was enough to feel her soft, tantalizing touch and see the hungry look in her eyes. His shirt opened, letting in the cool air of the room to play over his hot chest.

  He let the shirt fall from his shoulders and raised up onto his knees. She leaned forward from her relaxed position and slipped a hand down onto his groin. She felt at his painfully hard cock with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Not bad," she mused. "At least it's certainly not sleeping."

  "I've never wanted anything so badly," he breathed.

  "Want? Oh, you mean to fuck me?" she asked. She gave the outline of his cock a reproachful little tap. "No. No, you can't put that inside me."

  "Oh." The hot surge of disappointment was intense. For a second he stared up at her stupidly.

  "Step back. Take your pants off."

  "I ... what?" Had he misheard her the first time or the second?

  "You're about ready to explode. You wouldn't last half a minute anyways. I got you all worked up. Well, let's see you explode, then. I want to see you come to just the taste of my pussy," she said. "You're going to take your off clothes and masturbate for me. Start with the pants."