Alright, I suppose it’s time for Laura to add some of that porny magic too. This is a story I wrote a while ago, and it’s the most “complete” in terms of being self contained; frankly, I prefer a little more plot in my writing, but this is a short story, so it’s okay. Enjoy it, whoever’s reading!
Across the Way
When he got to work, the first thing he did was reached out his hand and turned her on.
The second thing he did was settle down to work, switching on his PC and pushing and prodding at his chair to mould it into the most comfortable shape he could. He let out a heavy sigh as he began, his rapid typing providing a staccato counterpoint to the slow, almost hedonistic, detailed nature of his thoughts.
And all the while, the office across the road from his beckoned, its large, well polished window like a blinking neon sign, promising so many prurient things within. It took six steps to reach it from his desk, and four steps to go from one corner of it to the other. When he looked up from beside it, he could see a precious portion of sky from between the buildings, everything else bathed in shadow from the neighbouring building. But when he looked down…
Below him, hovering just above the dizzying drop to the pavement below, was the office of What Was His. His girl. His being the operative word. Her name was Elizabeth.
He hadn’t used it in years. In fact, he struggled to remember it now.
He kept an eye on the clock the entire time he worked, counting out exactly ten minutes, before he reached over to the side of his desk, and he switched her off. It only took a moment, a scant second of distraction from his work, not even sufficient to break his flow. The broken melody of his fingers on the keys continued, the pause barely perceptible, until the first chime of his phone in his pocket.
“Come on, Sir!”
He replaced his phone in his pocket and returned to work. His eye slipped to the clock once more; it had only taken her a minute and a half. She must have been close. The next message came only a minute after that, and confirmed his hunch. He didn’t even read it.
Ten minutes after he turned her off, he turned her back on. His fingers slipped around the sleek black remote that he had placed on the corner of his desk, and thumbed the switch from “off,” all the way to “high.” Across the road and one floor down from his exactly, What Was His was no doubt sitting at her desk, just as he was. She would be wearing the same crisp black skirt and jacket combo she liked so much. She would be wearing a tie, because she knew he liked that; women in ties were a turn on for him, but more than that it was a piece of material that looped around her neck, a constant reminder of the collar she had hanging up on a hook by the door at home.
And under that skirt, nestled in her panties, both inside her and up against her clit, there would be a sleek black vibrator, to match the remote, that had just whirred to life, going from zero to high in the space of a single second.
The high setting was a mean additional stroke, retribution for her less than tactful initial text message. He imagined her squirming at her desk, gasping loudly at the first pulse of vibration against her clit. He knew just how vocal and demonstrative she was; there had been a period of intense experimentation, following the purchase of this particular toy. For a whole Saturday afternoon he had lay on their bed, toying with the remote as he watched a movie, listening to her gasps and moans as she moved throughout the house, like a little sexual sonar; there she was, her breath catching in the kitchen. He had turned her off in the hallway, based on the little frustrated whine she had made. She had finally come in the bedroom, after he had ordered her in there, standing before him as he ramped the toy up and just watched.
God, how she had blushed…
Now, he could only imagine, but he knew her well enough to populate his fantasies with an accurate simulacrum of What Was His. She would squeeze her legs together, like she had always done against his hand, when he pressed his fingers between her beautiful, milky thighs. He had always loved her legs, he knew every inch of them by taste alone.
Oh, how her breath would flutter in her throat, no matter how hard she tried to suppress the tremors that swept through her. She could never hide it; her body was like a living signpost, a neon sign with the on switch located at her clit. Switch her on and watch her glow: “This feels good.”
He caught himself stroking his thumb along the smooth curve of the remote, as though it were the slope leading up to her nipple. With a slight grimace of embarrassment, he let it fall, back to the hardwood of the desk; it was important to leave it in plain sight. It felt right; a little element of danger to him, too. It just wasn’t kinky enough, unless he was doing it on the knife’s edge. In for a penny, in for a pound.
His phone chimed again, and this time he did answer it, flicking it open to receive the glowing invitation to prurience.
“Please may I cum, Sir?”
Her texts to him were always exactingly spelled and punctuated, an extension of the politeness he demanded from her in person. The words were luminous in his palm, letters etched out of light, a courteous request flitting to him through the ether. They sank down, through the screen, into the skin of his hand, transferring the sheer power he had over What Was His into his body, like the juddering sting that echoed through the bones in his arm when he spanked her.
All this had a transformative effect on his office, on his entire workplace, really; ever since he had started playing with her during office hours, it was like he had been carrying a little slice of their playroom with him. A fragment of the side they hid from the rest of the world. A tendril of pure kink, wrapping itself around the normal setting like the strangling grip of some old god, the instinct as ancient as mankind itself, stalking through these halls unseen. It was beautiful, in its own way; a secret identity.
“Stand by the window. Leave your door open, and do not turn away from the glass.”
He texted her back, his sentences as well formed as hers, but he knew the clipped, demanding tone would be all too apparent. He wondered sometimes whether other people like him could pick him out as kinky in a crowd. If he walked in a certain way that gave him away, or if he talked to What Was His in a manner that tripped people’s D/S-dar. A part of him hoped so, and he knew she at least thought it was a possibility, given the way she looked at her feet whenever he told her to do something in public, no matter how innocent.
Some days he hoped the mask would slip, fall away entirely even, so that he could drop the charade and just live in his iniquity; so that What Was His could carry his collar around her neck everywhere she went. So neither of them had to bother with pretence. It seemed freeing.
But then he remembered the allure of secrecy. Of undercurrent. He remembered the toys she carried out into the world, smuggled away in her pussy or asshole, and the awkwardness with which she walked while doing so. He thought of the time he had ordered out and had her give him a blowjob before sending her to pick their dinner up, holding his come on her tongue, churning his salt-laden essence until she arrived at the counter and had to swallow, just to speak.
He remembered all the surreptitious alleyway fucks, all the diner meals he had spent with his fingers inside her under the table, all the advantages that being closeted had for the average pervert, and he put the thoughts out of his mind.
Today, he had a perfect example of that, as What Was His trembled by the window, obedient to the last. He pulled open his desk drawer and withdrew the pair of binoculars he had stowed there, before joining her by the window. The remote was safely in his pocket, the trigger to her pleasure kept out of her sight, as if she had no business even knowing what he was doing to her.
“Please, please, please let me come, Sir!”
She texted in plain sight of him, her red hair obscuring her face as she looked down at her phone; the moment she had hit send she looked back up, and through the magnification of his lenses he could clearly see the desperation on her face. Her eyes shone with it, lips pursed and body practically vibrating with need. He could see every detail, as though he were right there with her, causing it all with his own hands. Over the gulf of distance between them, she could only see his figure, the barest hint of his dominance, looking down at her from above.
As it should be.
“You may not. Hold it, slut. Give me a call. Speakerphone.”
He watched her dial his number, as he fished in his pocket and withdrew a set of earphones, slotting them into his own phone just as the ringtone went off. She was happy to wait as he took his time placing each bud in his ears, sealing off the sounds of What Was His from the outside world. On his end, this thing was private, it was his, and his co-workers couldn’t so much as overhear on their way past his door.
And yet, What Was His had her door open, and no headphones of her own…
He took the call, and was greeted by the sound of her heavy breathing, backed by the low, barely perceptible thrum of the vibrator, still burning hot in her undoubtedly dripping cunt. The fingers of his free hand twitched, curling upwards, wanting desperately to bury themselves in that molten wetness, finding that one sensitive spot he had spent one evening early in their relationship locating and exploiting ruthlessly.
‘Don’t speak,’ He said, voice low and private, the words just for her. Across the way, he saw her straighten up, her body reacting to the voice of her dom, her Master, her Sir, ‘Just stand still and do as I say.’
He didn’t say the word, use her name: slave. But it was still there, unsaid and hanging. It didn’t need to be said; the word had sunk into her identity so completely, leaving an impression that she could never erase. He watched her nod through the lens of his binoculars, and bite her lip, and alter her balance as another wave of pleasure washed over her. He took a moment to switch gears, lower the intensity of the vibrator; he could always tell when she was close, and his need to toy with her outweighed his interest in seeing her fail so he could punish her later.
‘Open your blouse, and move closer to the window,’ He murmured to her, across the gap. She obeyed almost immediately, pleasure taking precedence over her natural hesitance. Button after button fell away, revealing the pure whiteness of her bra beneath it, her tie falling again between her breasts. He narrowed his eyes, ‘I don’t recall giving you permission to wear a bra.’
There was a tiny whimper on the other end of the line, a little shift of her shoulders in the window, but she didn’t speak. He could practically see the apologetic expression on her face even without the binoculars, but with them her soft, pouting contrition was entirely obvious. He decided to let it go; bra or not, she hadn’t spoken up and broken his current order.
‘Take it off,’ He said, and focused his lenses on her chest as she did so, licking his lips at the sight of her breasts. She had a small bust, but he couldn’t count the number of hours he had spent between them, suckling and licking, driving her wild after binding her to his bed hand and foot, unable to escape his ability to control her pleasure.
It wasn’t done to admit things like this, but he loved her chest.
He smirked, ‘Place it on your desk, then come back.’
That made her stiffen, made her eyes widen with a fear that matched the blush on her cheeks so delightfully. This was what he lived for, the moments like this, when her body had been driven into overdrive by pleasure, with the nervousness of her rational mind putting a shameful counterpoint on her situation. Her desk was behind her, close to the door that he had made her keep open, and he hadn’t told her to button up her shirt before obeying. Still, she disappeared from his sight, slipping beyond the concrete rim of the roof above her, the few steps he had seen her take unsteady and hesitant.
Interesting. He would have thought she would want to go fast, to get this over. But then, this was her addiction, the drug she kept coming back to. This was her heady brew, this mix of shame and pleasure. To them, sex was like mixing a cocktail, and getting it right was a ponderous process of experimentation. They had worked at it to get this far, enough to transform all the world into a part of their private domain, and he imagined her taking tentative steps, awkward on her heels, her body bared and her bra hanging from her fingers, to deposit it in plain view on her desk. She would put it right there, in the centre, knowing enough of his intent to abstain from hiding it. And it would just be there.
To be seen.
‘Come up closer,’ He said, when she returned. ‘Press your tits against the glass.’
She obeyed, turning her face aside as she pushed her chest onto the glass, squashing her modest bust in the process. They gained much more sunlight like that, her pale flesh luminous, those light pink nipples glorious to his gaze. His cock stirred, an insistent lump of want in his pants, desperate for something the street below them wouldn’t allow.
‘Look down,’ He said, remembering that he still had a job to do. ‘See that street down there? It’s amazing how little people actually look up. But some do… Imagine what they’re seeing now. Lift up your skirt, and put your hand in your panties. Fuck yourself with your vibrator.’
The time is racking up, second by second of teasing with no orgasm. This time, there was no hesitation to her, as she tugged up the front of her skirt with one hand and shoved the other into her underwear. Her phone nested in her breast pocket, still picking up her every little noise and sending it right to his ears. There was visible motion at her crotch, and soon his office was filled with sounds that only he could hear, the tantalizing, unsteady panting of the girl he stripped and collared every day in the privacy of their home. There could be no collar here, but that didn’t mean his ownership would abate.
She was his instrument, and he played her with skill, even from this distance. His thumb caressed the remote, her clit by proxy, toying with What Was His. Her breathing was all there was, the little mewls of pleasure she made when he turned it up, and the equally small whimpers of frustration when he turned it down again. She was something to get lost in, enough to make the world around him fade into the background, obscured by the sounds of her ecstasy and the view of her heaving flesh from a distance.
She had once told him that he had forged her into the perfect little sub. The truth was, she had made him into a better dom in the process, and in doing so unmade the fear that had stopped him from doing things like this.
Her office was in the corner, as was his, but in marked contrast, hers opened out onto a mostly disused hallway; the chances of someone coming by and actually seeing What Was His fucking herself by the window was fairly low, but it didn’t matter. The stiffness of her back made her discomfort at looking away from her door all too clear.
For a singular moment, he imagined a likely young lad from her pool of co-workers coming by and catching her, so he could text her an order, and share What Was His with a stranger. Something to keep in mind…
She moaned for the first time, a marked break from the suppression and panting she had been practicing until now. Her muscles were so tight, shaking with the effort of not coming, he was sure. He had kept her on this edge in the past, though mostly in person, and he was intimately familiar with the tightly coiled spring she became when the stimulation wouldn’t stop but her oncoming orgasm had to be.
Oh yes, she was close.
He wanted it to end. He needed it to; all this was winding him up in ways he couldn’t quite deal with here on his own. Up went the settings, and she almost buckled, as the vibrations doubled, from medium to high. He watched. From on high, he watched, as What Was His stood there, with her tits on display and her skirt pulled up, fucking herself in her place of business with anyone who happened to be behind her or looking up from the street below getting a true eyeful.
And it was good.
There was only empty air between them, but it seemed to him to crackle with sexual energy, her eyes locked on him from her room, and his on hers, binoculars affording him a much more detailed view of her flustered and glorious form. His ears were filled with her deep, rapid breaths, as they lapsed into unapologetic and unrestrained moaning, just one more wall of humility broken down by her needy and wanting flesh.
That was the point, the moment where everything clicked into place so wonderfully, created that rarely felt nirvana, where everything that mattered was beneath their skin, between their legs. Her clit, and his cock. The real world, the niceties of society, melted away like wax, and only two facts remained in the entire world.
She was wet, and he was hard.
And he had the only means to alleviate both of those.
With a tiny squeal, she let her skirt drop, her now free hand fumbling for her phone, working the keypad with a desperate look in her eyes. He had his phone out and in his hand before the text message even landed upon it.
“Please please please please please please please please, Sir PLEASE.”
Her eloquence was breaking down, it was to be expected, but it did show that she was reaching her limit; there was always a point with her where all the denial in the world wouldn’t work. It was a point of choice for him: did he tip What Was His over the edge against her will, or did he give her the out of permission?
This time, it was compassion, ‘Say it out loud.’
He didn’t think it was possible, but she stiffened even further, his words like the tolling of a funeral bell for her. She took a moment, altered her stance, spread her legs further apart like she was preparing to charge him, right out through her window and into the air beyond.
‘Please may I come, Sir?’ Her voice was small and timid, which defeated the point entirely. He shook his head.
‘What was that? Louder, now.’
The pause was longer, this time. It ended with a frustrated whimper first.
‘Please Sir, may I come?’ Another second or two passed. ‘Master, please?’
Her door was open, her phone transmitting every word he said out into her office, and so he knew that what he said next would echo down those halls if he let it. He could shout. People would hear. They would come to investigate What Was His, possibly. Wouldn’t that be interesting?
‘Come for me,’ He said softly, opting against it. His words were not a barking command, no; they were far more intimate. The kind of thing he would whisper in her ear with his fingers buried in her swollen cunt to the last knuckle, thumb pressed down on her clit like he owned it. These were words that accompanied the theft of her pleasure.
She must have been only a hair’s breadth away from it, because a moment later, as he fumbled to get his binoculars in the right place, she drove the vibrator home, her entire being clenching around it. She exploded.
He could hear it in the long, volatile exhalation she made, carrying all that tension out of her body in a tide, pleasure rushing in to fill the void. He could practically hear it sloshing against the walls of her office. He could definitely hear the wetness of her pussy as she fucked herself.
Her knees shook as her climax reached its inevitable end, the flush in her cheeks so much brighter and more vibrant for her satisfaction. She finally broke away from his gaze then, looking guiltily over her shoulder, watching for any potential audience she had gained while she had been lost in the tides of orgasm. That she looked back told him all he needed to know about that; her privacy was intact.
‘Thank you for letting me come, Sir,’ She said breathlessly, completing their usual post coital ritual. The thanks were necessary; he had long ago taken exclusive ownership of her orgasms. They were a gift he gave her, and the look of gratitude on her features showed him just how much she bought into that idea.
But there was still something that needed to be taken care of, burning deep at the heart of him. Perhaps he should have thought of it before he had begun this little game, but the answer was, quite literally, staring him in the face. He kept her in view as she resettled her skirt, spent a few moments making sure the vibrator remained in a comfortable position inside her, before he spoke.
‘I’m going to unzip my fly and sit down at my desk. I want you underneath it in ten minutes.’
He saw her stop, the majority of her body now obscured by the floor above her, as she ventured back across the floor to retrieve her bra. He heard her take in a deep breath, still shuddering with the aftershocks of what she had just done. Arousal was thick, in that sound.
God, he loved it…
‘Yes, Master.’
With a grunt, he hung up on her, before taking his seat at his desk. The time ticked away, minute by minute; his cock throbbed in the open air, testament to his confidence in her. She entered without knocking, closed the door and, wordlessly, fell to her hands and knees, crawling beneath his desk.
As her mouth slipped around the head of his cock, her chest pressing against his calves confirmed something he had been suspecting ever since he had hung up. Her eyes looked up at him, the submission there the window dressing for this fact, but he could feel it so clearly in the soft warmth of her breasts.
Her bra was still on her desk.
The Gag Order 