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Yvonne prides herself on keeping a close eye on her staff, personally visiting the new arrivals, knowing everyone by their first names, congratulating and berating those who deserve either, no matter how high or low on the hierarchy ladder.

There is a new addition to the Research Team on the 14th floor: Ianto Jones, 21 and looking about four years younger, as if he’s stolen one of his father’s suits. He blushes and stammers when Yvonne talks to him and every time she manages to catch those baby-blue eyes of him, she feels heat pooling low in her groin.

Right now Yvonne is wondering whether a quick one-off will be enough to get him out of her skin, or whether she should transfer him to her office as her personal assistant. Very personal.

Not, actually, that the options are mutually exclusive. She calls Jones’s direct supervisor and tells him to send the boy up.

Ten minutes later, he’s there, awkward and slightly terrified because getting called to the boss’s office is rarely good news. Delicious.


“Come in, Ianto. Close the door behind you.”

He’s hovering in the middle of her office, unbalanced. She smiles benevolently at him, which does not seem to reassure him, and walks around her desk until she’s right in front of him.

With the tip of her finger, she traces a line on his crotch, feeling him respond immediately. Interesting. He seems to stop breathing, but now he’s looking right at her, his eyes wide.

“I noticed you as soon as you stepped foot inside the Institute.” With her free hand, she reaches up and runs her thumb on Ianto’s lips until he parts them. He sucks the digit inside, his tongue exploring every ridge and groove. He’s closed his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. Most interesting.

“I knew I made the right choice,” she adds. She reclaims her hands and pushes down at his shoulders until he takes the hint and folds down to his knees. Without further prompting, he starts to tug her skirt up. She hears his gasp when he realises she’s wearing stockings rather than tights, then his quickly bitten-off moan when he sees her bare sex.

As soon as he’s raised the skirt high enough, he buries his face in her curls, breathing on her already damp flesh in a distracting manner, yet actually failing to do more.

“Come on, Ianto. Get down to business.” She slaps his head lightly.

It’s enough to make him lick a long slow stripe that goes right over her clit, but too lightly to be more than teasing. After another light slap, he finally starts going at his task seriously, pulling her clit into his mouth and using both tongue and teeth.

He’s a really, really good choice, she thinks as her legs turn to jelly. Quite apart from his technical skill, he’s smart enough to both realise the power he has over her and to be willing to submit to her anyway.

Her orgasm almost takes her by surprise and she keeps on grinding against his face until the last of the aftershocks ebbs away and her clit starts throbbing from oversensitivity. Yvonne pushes him away, none too gently, and he catches himself on his hands, the position outlining his erection. His face is shiny with her juices and as she looks he licks his lips in a way that makes her want to suck his tongue into her mouth.

Instead she helps him to get up and pushes him against her desk. She bends him over it; Ianto obeys without protests. The fabric of his trousers is taut over his buttocks. She longs to bare them, spank them until they turn pink and red, to separate them to reveal the tight, hidden hole, and fuck it with her fingers and more.

But they’ll have time for that later. She’ll transfer Jones to her office staff tomorrow. Such a pliant, talented boy shouldn’t be wasted on the lower levels.

Instead she takes out a stopwatch, the old-fashioned kind, and put it on the desk by Ianto’s face, where he can see it.

“Don’t come. If you make it fifteen minutes without coming, I’ll reward you.”

Pressed as he is against the desk, he looks at the timepiece, then at her. Then he lowers his lids, lashes fanning out prettily, and he seems to melt down, tension visibly leaving his body. Yvonne wonders who taught him to submit; she probably should send that person flowers.

She starts the stopwatch.

She keeps her touch light, at first; outlining Ianto’s cock through his trousers, rubbing his buttocks, pinching his nipples. Soon she needs more and undoes his belt, pushing the trousers to his ankles. All through it, Ianto doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fend her off. She wonders what his limits are.

He’s hard, has been since she first touched him, and his eyes are closed. He’s keeping his breathing steady even as he thrusts in her hand, probably used to that particular game. She teases him with flicks of her fingers, and his breathing hitches. She rakes her nails on the soft skin of his thighs, and he nearly sobs, but not in pain.

Yvonne smiles.

She takes his cock in hand, peeling the foreskin away and teasing the sensitive head with the edge of a nail. He tries to shy away, so she traps him against the table with her own body, leaning over him and whispering, “Take it, you lovely boy. I know you can.”

He moans brokenly, at that. She glances at the stopwatch. Twelve minutes. She hadn’t realised so much time had passed. Maybe the boy will last the whole fifteen minutes. Well, she’ll just have to up the challenge.

All business now, she masturbates him. She can feel how close he is, his muscle tense, his hips gyrating against hers, his breath coming out in small sobs.

“Please, please, Mistress, please...”

Now it is Yvonne who nearly comes; she can never resist begging. He’s been very thoroughly trained, indeed. And him so young.

“You may, Ianto.”

His body seizes, and with a halting, throaty whine, he comes in her hand. She lets the semen pool in her palm while she pulls on his cock, not quite gently, with the other hand. Finally, she steps away.


He tilts his head up, but doesn’t meet her eyes. His mouth is half-open, his tongue at the ready before she has to ask. She pours the come on it, letting it drip from her fingers. He swallows it eagerly, sucking her fingers clean.

“Good boy.”

He smiles. Yvonne glances at the stopwatch and realises she forgot to stop it. Well. No matter. They’ll have plenty of occasions to test Ianto’s stamina.