Miss Fiona Strips in the Office

The yellow cab slowed down to a halt, the worn tires scraping harshly against the uneven concrete of the curb.

"Madam. Madam." The cab driver slapped his thick hand against the plastic partition, his loud, grating voice shattering the heavy silence of the ride.

Lola blinked rapidly. The dark, traumatic fog of the past hour—the filthy, degrading encounter on her boss’s office floor and the suffocating weight of his corporate blackmail—still clouded her exhausted mind. She sat up straight in the cracked leather seat, trying to ignore the dull, throbbing ache between her thighs.

"Are you going to pay me, or do you plan on sitting back there all night?" The driver glared at her through the smudged rearview mirror, his tone dripping with impatience.

Lola did not let him finish his rude complaint. She dug her shaking fingers into her pink purse, snatched a crumpled wad of cash, and threw the bills directly over the plastic divider. She shoved the heavy car door open, stumbled out onto the dark pavement, and slammed the door shut with a loud, metallic bang.

She kept her head down and hurried straight toward the entrance of her apartment building. The late evening wind bit at her flushed skin, but she barely felt the cold. She swiped her keycard with trembling hands, pushed the heavy glass lobby door open, and practically sprinted down the narrow hallway to her unit. Once inside, she kicked the door shut behind her and flipped the metal deadbolt.

The apartment greeted her with a deep, hollow quiet. The lights were off, and the rooms were empty. Her best friend was not home. Lola stood alone in the dark living room, her chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow gasps. Every single muscle in her body ached from the rough, unprotected sex on the carpet.

She reached down and grabbed the hem of her wrinkled work dress. She yanked the restrictive fabric over her head and let it fall to the floor in a careless heap. She kicked off her heels, leaving them scattered by the front door. Wearing nothing but her lace bra and panties, she dragged her exhausted, battered body toward the bedroom and flopped heavily onto the mattress.

The bedsprings groaned loudly under her weight. Lola stared blindly at the dark ceiling. She needed to pull herself together. Tomorrow was critical. She had an early morning appointment scheduled with the notorious sex doctor, Victor Vance, to discuss signing a formal submissive contract.

She rolled onto her side, grabbed her phone off the nightstand, and strictly set a blaring morning alarm. She dropped the phone back onto the wood and closed her eyes, letting the crushing exhaustion pull her into a dreamless, heavy sleep.

Hours later, the shrill, relentless buzzing of her phone tore through the quiet room.

Lola groaned into her pillow. She rolled toward the edge of the bed, her hand blindly smacking the nightstand in an attempt to shut off the noise. The buzzing did not stop. It vibrated against the wood, drilling into her skull. She dragged herself into a sitting position, her muscles stiff and protesting, and rubbed her gritty eyes until she could finally focus.

She grabbed the phone and squinted at the bright, glaring screen. Her heart dropped into her stomach. The digital clock mocked her. She realized with a sickening jolt that she was already five minutes late for her appointment with Victor.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Lola cursed loudly into the empty room.

She frantically scrambled out of the tangled bedsheets, her bare feet hitting the cold floorboards. She bolted into the bathroom, cranked the shower handle to the coldest setting, and stepped directly under the freezing spray. She endured a rushed, frantic two-minute shower, desperately scrubbing the sweat of panic off her skin.

She hopped out, wrapped a damp towel around her chest, and sprinted back to her bedroom. She threw open the double doors of her wardrobe, pushing hangers aside with reckless force.

She hastily pulled on a tight black skirt that hugged her curves and paired it with a revealing red cropped top that stopped just below her ribs. It was a mismatched, slutty combination. She adjusted the low neckline to display ample cleavage, staring at her reflection. She assured herself that the provocative outfit would be more than enough to visually seduce the arrogant doctor and throw him off balance.

Lola rushed to the small vanity mirror. She grabbed a tube of bright red lipstick and slathered a thick, bold coat over her mouth. She paused briefly to press her lips together, admiring the glamorous reflection staring back at her. The bold red lips contrasted sharply with her dark top, giving her a dangerous, commanding edge.

She snatched her phone and wallet, shoved them into her pink bag, slipped her feet into her brown boots, and sprinted outside. She punched the lock code into the apartment keypad and ran down the street, waving frantically at an oncoming taxi.

The yellow cab screeched to a halt. Lola threw herself into the backseat and breathlessly ordered the driver to take her to Holy Cross Hospital.

The ride felt agonizingly slow, but soon the cab pulled up to the curb outside the massive hospital building. Lola shoved a handful of bills at the driver and jumped out before the car had fully stopped. She took a deep, steadying breath at the base of the concrete steps, forcing her racing heart to calm down. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her tight skirt and walked through the sliding glass doors.

She marched straight to the front desk, flashing her white appointment card to the receptionist. The woman barely glanced at it before nodding toward the hallway. Lola stepped quickly into the empty elevator, hitting the metal button for the tenth floor. The heavy steel doors slid shut, sealing her inside.

Meanwhile, up on the tenth floor, the heavy oak door to Victor’s private office swung open without a knock.

Miss Fiona stepped over the threshold. She was a thirty-five-year-old woman, though her face was plastered in thick, expensive makeup specifically designed to mask her true age. She wore an extravagant silk shirt and tight trousers, and she carried a massive designer handbag that looked heavy enough to be a weapon.

Victor remained seated in his leather swivel chair behind the polished mahogany desk. He did not flinch. He was not surprised by her sudden appearance. Fiona was a frequent, problematic visitor who believed hospital rules did not apply to her. She continually used fake medical complaints about her sexually neglectful husband as a thin, pathetic veil to demand Victor's physical services.

Victor had explained to her multiple times, in strict, professional medical terms, that her husband’s lack of intimacy had nothing to do with her anatomy. He had bluntly told her that her husband was cheating on her. Fiona ignored his repeated attempts at honesty, blinding herself to the truth because she only wanted an excuse to get Victor into her bed.

Victor dropped his expensive silver pen onto the stack of patient files. He leaned back in his leather swivel chair, letting out a deep sigh of profound irritation.

"Miss Fiona, I am not surprised." Victor stated flatly, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Fiona marched forward. She dropped her heavy designer bag directly onto his polished desk, the loud thud echoing in the quiet office. She stepped closer, leaning over the wood. She ran a thick coat of saliva over her lower lip, staring at him with eyes filled with manic lust.

"You know what I am here for, Victor." Fiona purred, her voice thick and wet with desperation.

Victor glanced at the clock on his desk. Lola was due to arrive at any second. He could not afford to have a hysterical, demanding woman in his office when his new submissive walked through the door.

"Miss Fiona, I cannot be doing this with you right now. I am expecting—" Victor kept his voice low and firm, attempting to shut her down immediately.

"It will not take long, Victor." Fiona interrupted him, her tone sharp and unyielding.

Her hands moved in a frantic blur. She grabbed the collar of her silk shirt and unbuttoned the garment. She shrugged the fabric off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She unhooked her lace bra, tossing it aside, and immediately shoved her trousers and underwear down her legs. She stepped out of the tangled pile of clothes, ignoring his stern medical protests.

She stood naked right in the middle of his office. Her round breasts heaved with her ragged breathing. Her unshaven pubic area was already slick and glistening with her own arousal. She blinded herself to anything but her own selfish, burning physical pleasure.

Without waiting for a single word of permission, Fiona boldly marched around the edge of the desk.

Victor braced himself as she threw a leg over his lap. She straddled his thighs as he sat in his chair, her bare knees digging hard into the sides of the leather cushion. She grabbed his broad shoulders for balance and drove her hips down. She began grinding her wet pussy directly against the thick bulge of his clothed erection, rubbing her slippery core into the expensive fabric of his trousers.

Victor clenched his jaw. The friction of her soaking wet slit rubbing against his covered cock did nothing but irritate him. He had no desire to sleep with her. He was a medical professional, and he was currently dealing with an important, scheduled patient who was on her way up the elevator. He would never insert his cock into a woman who barged into his office and assaulted him without consent.

However, seeing her sheer, unhinged desperation, Victor calculated his next move. Reasoning with her was clearly impossible. He decided he had to physically handle her to get her off his lap and out of his office, but he was not going to do it with his own body.

Victor stopped her erratic movements by gripping her bare hips. His long fingers dug hard into her skin, halting her frantic grinding. He looked up into her manic, flushed face. His expression shifted instantly, his features hardening into a mask of pure authority. He dropped his voice into a cold, dominant tone.

"Get on the desk, Miss Fiona." Victor commanded. The dark, low growl vibrated with raw power.

The harsh command struck her physically. Fiona gasped, fresh wetness instantly dripping from her pussy onto his trousers. The sheer dominance in his tone made her shudder.

"Yes, sir." Fiona replied breathlessly.

A filthy, eager smirk crossed her flushed face. She scrambled off his lap. She took two steps back and hopped backward onto the hard, polished surface of his mahogany desk. She leaned back, eagerly spreading her legs wide to give him a clear view of her dripping folds. She planted her bare hands flat against the dark wood to brace herself, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Victor stood up smoothly from his chair. He did not spare a single glance at her exposed, trembling body. He casually brushed the wrinkles out of his suit jacket and straightened his cuffs. He stepped away from the desk and crossed the spacious office.

He walked directly toward the massive, built-in wall wardrobe at the far side of the room. He reached for the heavy metal handles.

Fiona twisted her neck, watching his broad back from behind with wandering, hungry eyes. She shifted her weight on the hard desk, her wet core pooling against the wood as she waited impatiently with her legs spread wide for him to finally satisfy her unbearable craving.