I’m sure you know (if you follow me on Twitter) that I regularly chat back and forth with the lovely, the delightful, the incredibly talented Nicci Haydon.
I asked if she’d like to write a Sizzling Nibble for me and she said yes. (I know, I’m excited, too!)
“Is it true?” Peter stared first
at Helen and then slowly turned to look at me. His eyes lingered on mine, but I refused to react. I met his gaze, even though I had to crane my neck to do so. “Helen?” He said, rounding on her, knowing that it would get a reaction from me.
I turned to look at Helen. She was almost in tears.
“It wasn’t her fault,” I said.
There was silence. She shifted uncomfortably. I drew myself up straighter. The sun was roasting me through the fixed window. I could smell the faint scent of fresh sweat. Peter’s sweat. It drifted to me over the stronger smell of my sandalwood perfume.
“It was just me,” I repeated.
“So it is true? That’s what you’re telling me.”
“He’s a slimeball.”
Peter rounded on me, shouted so loudly the rush of his breath cooled my skin. “He’s our best client, Stacey!” His face was so red you could have used it to stop traffic. He exhaled through gritted teeth. “Was our best client.”
“He made a comment about Helen’s boobs. I thought it was crude.”
Peter turned to her. “And is that true?”
A bee knocked against the glass, trying to find its way in. God, how I wished that window was open. What had happened to the air conditioner anyway?
“OK,” he said, “OK. Helen, you can return to your post.” I turned to leave with her. “Not you, Stacey.”
I stopped. Helen turned to look at me. “Go on,” I said. She closed her eyes. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t have to.
As the door closed behind her, I turned to Peter.
“That was horrible, she didn’t do anything wrong.”
He licked his lips as he stared at me, then he looked away. Finally he sighed and nodded slowly. “I’ll apologise to her.”
“And to me?”
He turned back. “You should have come to me. What if you’d injured more than just his pride?”
I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t like it was hot water.”
“Not the point. You should know better.” He looked me up and down, ran a hand through his hair. Beads of sweat glistened within it. “Take off your panties.”
I raised my eyebrows, glanced around. A glass wall separated us from the rest of the floor, covered by a slatted blind. I could see them, so they could see me. “Here?”
“Don’t question me, Stacey.”
He held out his hand, snapped his fingers.
I was wearing a pencil skirt. It was very tight, clinging to my legs in the heat. I took a step back from his desk, turned to face away from him, and bent forward, doubling over, my ass in the air in front of him. I reached underneath my skirt and took hold of the gusset of my shorty panties, then pulled them down to my ankles and stepped out of them, glad to feel air against my skin. The heel of my right boot caught in the elastic. I tugged, stepping back and forth until the panties were free. Then I stood, turned and dropped them into his waiting hand in one movement.
He sucked his teeth as he looked at them. Virgin white, matching my boots. He nodded, pulled open his desk drawer and dropped them inside. He slid something else out, but I couldn’t see it. It stayed hidden as he stood and strode to the glass wall. “I’m keeping those for the rest of the day,” he said as he turned the handle to close the blind and hide us from the rest of the staff. “Bend over my desk.”
I leaned over the desk, bending my knees a little so that all my weight was held by it. The edge of the desk was rough against my outstretched fingertips. It was old, probably as old as the building. I could smell the wood furniture polish, strong and far too potent, like embalming fluid for dead trees.
The first spank came as a surprise, making me gasp. I almost cried out. Not in pain – we had enough experience to avoid any real pain – but just the situation. This was new. We weren’t even admitting to anyone else that we were an item yet. Playing at work seemed fabulously risky. I felt his finger trace a line around my buttock and down my ass. I gulped. I could feel myself starting to get damp.
I’d expected that one. I took a deep breath, then giggled. “You know the door isn’t locked, right?”
His hand rubbed my ass. It felt good through the fabric of the skirt, nothing underneath. He let his hand linger a moment, then ran a finger down my thigh to the hem of my skirt.
“Oh, we are feeling dangerous today, aren’t we?” I teased.
He played with the hem, then slipped his fingers underneath, rubbing against the inside of my thigh. My pussy was slick, but he didn’t get there. He pulled his hand back out.
I expected another whack from the paddle. Wanted it. But it never came.
He leaned against the edge of the desk. It creaked, then I heard him sigh. “You’re right, that guy’s a slimeball. We don’t need his business.”
I slid off the desk and stood up, holding my hands out in front of me. “I should have come to you,” I said.
Peter kissed my fingers, nodded. “I’m keeping the panties.” He met my gaze squarely, seriously.
A smile spread over my lips. I couldn’t help it. “Fine,” I said, and with that I turned and strutted out of his office.
If you enjoyed this Sizzling Nibble, please take some time reading Nicci’s writing for free at her blog!