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Overtime

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Humiliating. That was the only word for it: naked, tied up, forced to kneel, her pert breasts pointed toward the ceiling and covered with angry red lines from being struck with her scantily-clad employer’s riding crop. Utterly humiliating.

And Miss Pauling loved every second of it.

“What did I say about using company surveillance for personal reasons?” the Administrator boomed, slapping the stiff leather against her gloved palm. Miss Pauling faked a wince.

“It’s against company policy, ma’am,” she recited, wishing she could push her glasses up her nose, but as her wrists were bound behind her back, she was out of luck. Helen smirked, enjoying watching her squirm.

“And what is worse than using surveillance equipment for personal reasons?” she hissed, her gloves cracking around her knuckles.

“Using it to watch one’s superiors,” Miss Pauling replied, biting her bottom lip in anticipation.

“Watching them doing what?” Helen pressed, tapping one high heel impatiently.

“Undressing,” the smaller woman gasped out, a shameful blush covering her cheeks.

There was a sharp snap as the crop made contact with her left breast, and Miss Pauling cried out in surprise.

“And what were you doing as you watched, Miss Pauling?” the older woman intoned, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Touching myself,” she admitted quietly, looking at the floor of the control room.

“The technical term, Miss Pauling, and look at me when you say it.”

Miss Pauling’s eyes went wide, but she did her best to keep them focused on her boss as she whispered, “masturbating.” The Announcer laughed dryly.

“Was that enough?” she taunted, lifting her assistant’s chin with the tip of the crop.

“No,” Miss Pauling admitted, her cheeks and ears burning with her blush.

“What do you want instead?” Helen asked, leaning down closer to Miss Pauling’s pretty face. The brunette swallowed nervously.

“To touch you.”

“Be specific, Miss Pauling,” she chastised, pushing her backward a little with the tip of the crop. “You cannot use your hands at the moment anyway.”

“I want—” she fought down the blush that traveled down her neck, feeling the blood rush to regions below as she stated her desires. “I want to eat you out.”

Helen’s smirk grew into a wide grin.

“That, I can work with.”

Straightening back up, she stood with her crotch at Miss Pauling’s eye level, watching the younger woman’s arms strain against the tight rope at the subconscious urge to reach out and touch. Instead, Helen lifted her skirt, revealing her lack of underwear and her already damp pussy. Miss Pauling licked her lips. Helen traced the crop gently across her cheek.

“Go on, then,” she ordered, and her assistant dove in.

The angle was very awkward, and not having use of her hands made the task even more difficult, but Miss Pauling was determined to do her best to please her lover despite the humiliating position. Tilting her chin upward, she nestled it between the older woman’s labia and sought out her clit with her tongue. The little bulb tasted musky, bitter and sweet at the same time, and she took it into her mouth, sucking gently as the Administrator’s hand tightened in her hair.

Labored breathing and wet smacking sounds drowned out the constant buzz of machinery in the small room, and soon Helen added moaning to the mix when Miss Pauling stuck her tongue inside her. The smaller woman was moaning too, getting off on her position; her utter surrender to such a powerful woman, and pleasing her.

Helen came soon after, curling her body over her assistant’s head, pulling her hair from the tie that kept it in a perfect flip. Miss Pauling shuddered and sighed as she felt her own peak, constantly amazed that she could reach it without being touched. No other lover had been able to do that for her.

But then, no other lover had fulfilled her desires, dark and twisted and demeaning as they could be, the way the Administrator had.