My Employee Saw Me Naked in the Office

My name is Nadia, and at this point in my life I no longer have any problem admitting two things: that I’m an attractive woman, and that much of what I’ve achieved came from understanding other people’s desires before they confessed them to me. It wasn’t magic. It was professional skill, instinct, and a great deal of nerve.

I always knew how to read people. Men who wanted a cold woman, those who needed an obedient slut, those who got turned on by an elegant smile, and those who were only looking for available flesh wrapped in expensive perfume. I adapted, collected my advantages, and moved on.

Over the years I stopped depending entirely on that game, though I never left it behind completely. An old lover set me up in a discreet office, a comfortable place where I supervised a small portfolio of clients and a single employee. It was easy work. Too easy. And for that very reason, deadly boring.

The employee’s name was Vera. She was an adult, nearing thirty, tall, severe by nature, intelligent, and convinced the world was obliged to recognize her talent. When she arrived, she treated me with that icy courtesy used by people who think they’re better than you but don’t yet have the power to prove it.

For months she was unbearable. She spoke to me only when necessary, argued over every instruction, and had that way of raising one eyebrow that seemed to say if I were in your position, this would work better. Then she made a serious mistake with an important client and saw the possibility of losing her job up close.

That was when she changed.

She started smiling at me. Asking whether I’d slept well. Complimenting my clothes, my perfume, my way of dealing with people. She pretended so badly it was almost endearing, but nothing about it was endearing to me. It turned me on. It turned me on to see her swallow her pride to keep her position.

The first time I clearly saw what I could do with that was in the office bathroom. I was touching up my makeup in front of the mirror when she came in and stood beside me. She was wearing a dark blouse, her hair tied back, and that overly new pleasant expression that made it impossible to believe.

“You look especially beautiful today,” she told me. “That color suits you very well.”

“Really?” I replied, looking at her in the mirror.

“Yes. You have a lot of style.”

I let her talk for a while. Traffic, the weather, a fashionable TV series, any useful bit of nonsense to make me believe she was seeking closeness. I was barely listening. I was watching her. The way she smiled too much, modulated her voice to sound warm, and avoided tensing up.

Then, out of nowhere, I said:

“Have I ever told you that my tits are fake?”

She went still for a second. Just one second. Then she smiled again.

“No, but they look incredible.”

“Do you like them?”

“Yes, of course.”

I nodded slowly, as though I were talking to a close friend. “They came out better than I expected. Firm, round, very natural to the touch.”

Vera didn’t know what to do with that. And in that discomfort I saw something deeper than flattery. I saw curiosity. I saw contained superiority. I saw a woman who thought she was more serious, more restrained, more intelligent than me, and who was beginning to enjoy the idea of having me in front of her, acting like a vain idiot.

That was when I understood what I wanted.

I didn’t want to dominate her. I’d done that too many times with too many people already. I wanted to provoke her dominant side. I wanted to place a prize within reach and watch her claim it. I wanted to play the part of a frivolous, empty-headed, gullible boss, and let her treat me like a manageable idiot.

The idea left me hot all afternoon.

An hour later I invited her to have a drink in my office. I closed the door, took out two glasses, and poured liquor from a bottle I kept for important clients. She accepted gladly, with the excitement of someone who thought she was entering privileged territory.

We talked about silly things. I exaggerated my part a little. I mentioned that some construction workers had shouted obscenities at me that morning and that, far from annoying me, I’d found it incredibly amusing.

“Doesn’t it happen to you?” I asked. “I love feeling desired.”

“Well... if there’s no bad intention behind it,” she replied, “it can be flattering.”

She was lying. I knew it from the stiffness of her mouth as she said it. And I liked that lie.

I talked to her about creams, cleavage, persistent men. She played along, becoming more comfortable all the time. More and more convinced that I was exactly the kind of superficial woman she could manipulate with ease. I let her grow bolder.

Until I stood up and began unbuttoning my blouse.

Vera’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. I slipped one shoulder out, then the other. Then I slowly removed my bra and left my tits completely bare in the middle of the office. The cool air hardened my nipples instantly.

“Come here,” I told her.

She stood without arguing. I took her hand and placed it directly on one of my tits. Her palm was warm. Her breathing changed the moment she felt its weight and firmness.

“See?” I murmured. “They don’t feel strange.”

Her hand stayed there a moment longer than necessary. Her fingers brushed my nipple, and I felt a sharp pang in my cunt.

“No,” she said. “They feel... very good.”

“Touch them properly. If you ever want surgery, you need to know what they feel like.”

She gave a brief, incredulous laugh, but obeyed. She squeezed my tit more confidently, held it from underneath, and felt it with a delicious mixture of curiosity and boldness. I made a small movement forward so she could feel its full weight.

“See how firm they are?” I asked, even giving a couple of stupid little hops that made her laugh.

She covered her mouth, but not quickly enough. Her laughter escaped anyway. A genuine, mocking, superior laugh.

And that shit made my panties wet.

***

During the following week I fed the game. I allowed her liberties I would never have tolerated before. I let her arrive late, leave early, and stay on her phone once she’d finished the bare essentials. Not out of weakness, but because I wanted to see her relax into that new role of a woman who believed she had domesticated her boss.

She began treating me with a delicious familiarity. “Friend” here, “I’ll take care of it” there. She sat in my office without asking permission. She corrected the tone of some email I’d written. One afternoon she even laughingly told me I needed someone to put my life in order.

She had no idea how right she was.

I kept tightening the cord with deliberately ridiculous stories. I asked her whether it was true that sleeping naked improved the skin, whether semen rejuvenated the face, whether doing yoga without clothes helped circulation. She played along, increasingly amused and increasingly disrespectful.

One morning I decided to give her something better than a conversation. I told her I needed her help choosing a costume for a private party. I put on the voice of an indecisive, almost childish woman, and she immediately agreed, with that false patience she was beginning to use with me.

She arrived late, as she had been doing lately. By the time she appeared, I had already prepared everything. I closed the blinds halfway, secured the main door with the inside latch, and left several bags in the office.

“Sit down and give me your honest opinion,” I asked her. “I need you to judge me properly.”

“That’s something I’m good at,” she replied with a smile.

The words carried a gentle poison. I loved it.

I went into the little room where we stored supplies, closed the door, and stripped completely. I took off my skirt, my blouse, my bra, my panties, and my shoes. Then I opened the door just a crack and tossed all my clothes out into the office so they landed scattered across the floor. I heard her laugh from outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

“The fashion show,” I answered. “Hand me the first bag.”

I put on the first outfit and came out. It was a tiny nurse’s uniform, one of those that barely covers anything. The bra barely contained my tits, and the skirt rode up with every step. Vera looked me over without shame.

“Well?” I asked, turning around.

“You look like you’re going to suck the patient’s cock before giving him the injection,” she said, then pretended to correct herself. “I mean... it’s very provocative.”

The bluntness of the remark made me squeeze my thighs together. I hadn’t expected her to dare so quickly. I smiled like a pleased idiot and showed her my profile, bending low enough for half a tit to spill out of the bra.

“I like you being honest,” I told her.

“Then I’ll be honest with you,” she replied, folding her arms. “If you go out like that, no one’s going to look at your face.”

I went back inside, took off that costume, and put on the next one. This time it was an obscene policewoman’s outfit: boots, a short skirt, a cap, and nothing over my breasts except two ridiculous badges that barely covered my nipples. I came out swinging a baton, my ass completely exposed at the back.

Vera let out a full-throated laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said. “That’s just straight-up slutty.”

I felt that word lash through my belly. “You think so?”

“I think if you went out like that, it wouldn’t take five minutes for someone to offer you a cock.”

My cunt gave a wet twitch. I felt my slit opening on its own between my legs. This was no longer only a power game. It was a sexual game, and we both knew it.

I approached her, exaggerating a pout. “You’re mean to me.”

“No. I’m honest. You asked me to judge you.”

When I turned to go back to the little room, I let the handcuffs fall down inside her cleavage as though it had been an accident. She caught them against her chest and raised an eyebrow. She said nothing. She only smiled.

Inside, naked again, I deliberately handcuffed my hands behind my back. Then I called for her.

She opened the door and found me bent over, completely naked, my ass raised, my wrists trapped, and my breathing ragged. She still had the key.

“They locked themselves,” I said. “Help me.”

Vera didn’t answer right away. She took her time looking me over. My tits hung heavily toward the floor. My cunt was already shiny, wet, far too obvious. I felt her silence move over me like a hand.

She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and gave one of my buttocks a sharp slap.

“Look at you,” she said quietly. “A grown-up boss, naked, handcuffed, and asking me for help.”

The slap didn’t hurt much, but it made me moan. Not because of the force, but because of her tone. Because of the way she had already put me beneath her without asking permission.

“Open them,” I murmured.

“You’ve become so polite.”

She placed one hand on my back and forced me to arch farther. Then she slipped two fingers between my legs without warning. I let out a hoarse moan. I was soaking wet.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “You’re dripping.”

Her fingers slid over my open lips, moved up to my clitoris, and sank inside me again. I writhed, helpless with my hands trapped behind me.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked, moving her fingers inside me. “To play dumb so I’d treat you like a needy little slut?”

“Yes,” I gasped before I could think.

She pulled her fingers out and put them in my mouth. I tasted my own wetness while she looked down at me. “Suck them.”

I obeyed. I licked them slowly without taking my eyes off hers. She shuddered faintly. That was when I saw that she wasn’t only enjoying the power. She was horny too.

She unlocked the handcuffs, but not to let me go. The moment my arms were free, she grabbed me by the hair, straightened me, and shoved me against the room’s shelving. Her mouth crashed onto mine violently. She kissed me without tenderness, thrusting her tongue into my mouth, biting my lip, squeezing my tits with both hands.

I returned the kiss hungrily. There was no acting anymore. I slid my hands beneath her blouse, undid her pants as best I could, and stroked her cunt through her panties. She was wet too, very wet.

“So the perfect little miss was waiting for this too,” I told her.

“Shut up and get on your knees.”

She made it sound so natural that I lowered myself immediately. I knelt on the cold floor of the little room, and she opened her pants, pulled her panties down to mid-thigh, and planted her cunt in front of my face.

It was tight, hairless, and glistening. The smell hit me directly between the legs. I ran my tongue from bottom to top, and she braced one hand against the wall.

“Fuck... like that,” she murmured.

I spread her lips with my fingers and began eating her cunt for real, without rushing but without gentleness. Flat tongue first, then the tip tracing her clitoris, then sucking hard while my fingers opened her wider. Vera began moving against my mouth. She didn’t want an elegant caress. She wanted me to lick her like an obedient bitch.

And I wanted exactly that.

“Don’t stop,” she ordered. “Put it deeper.”

I pushed my tongue as far inside her as I could, alternating with hard sucks on her clitoris. I grabbed one of her buttocks and pulled her closer to me. Her moans grew deep and broken. She gripped my head and began fucking my face, rubbing her cunt against my mouth.

I moaned too, my face soaked and my cunt throbbing. I slipped two fingers between my legs and began masturbating while I ate her. She saw it and gave a breathless laugh.

“You’re such a slut, Nadia.”

The words went straight through me. I came almost instantly with two fingers inside me, arched over my knees, without stopping my licking. The orgasm shook my back and made me moan against her cunt. Vera trembled when she felt it.

“Stand up,” she said.

When I did, she turned me around and bent me over a table stacked with archive boxes. She separated my legs with her foot. I felt her spread my buttocks and spit between my lips.

“I want to see you wide open.”

I obeyed. I held onto the shelving and arched my waist farther. She shoved two fingers inside me and began fucking me with her hand. They went in and out quickly, wet, making an obscene sound in the silent little room.

“Look at you,” she said behind me. “A mature woman with a position and her own office, and still asking to be used during business hours.”

She added a third finger. I screamed. Not from pain, but from sheer excess. She was opening me with fury, striking my clitoris with her thumb between thrusts, and I could no longer maintain the role of a foolish woman because I was too busy moaning.

“Fuck me,” I begged. “Do it for real.”

She took off her belt and passed it around my neck, not tightening it, just using it to hold me. Then she opened a supply drawer where I kept promotional toys left over from an old campaign. There was a small black silicone dildo. I knew it. I hadn’t expected to see it that afternoon.

“Perfect,” she murmured.

She showed it to me only briefly before placing the tip at my entrance.

“If you want me to stop, say so.”

“Don’t stop.”

It entered slowly at first, pushing in until I felt full. Then she began moving it firmly, pulling it almost all the way out and driving it back in with a single thrust. The belt around my neck forced me to stay arched. The table edge dug into my hips. My tits bounced with every blow.

“This is how I wanted to see you,” she said. “Open and obedient.”

I couldn’t answer coherently. I only said yes, fuck, like that, harder. The dildo struck me inside with a hard, precise rhythm. She spread one buttock and spit between my ass and my cunt before lowering a finger to my anus, barely pressing around it to make me tremble.

“Look at how worked up you get just because I give you a few orders,” she whispered in my ear. “You act frivolous, but what you really like is being humiliated.”

“Yes.”

“Being watched.”

“Yes.”

“Being used.”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

She began fucking me harder. It was no longer a controlled back-and-forth, but a continuous pounding that made me crash against the boxes. She lowered one hand to my clitoris and rubbed it in hard, almost brutal circles. The orgasm rose through my legs like an electric shock.

“Come,” she ordered. “Come now.”

I came screaming, my cunt contracting around the toy and my legs trembling. I felt liquid running down my thighs while she kept pushing a little longer, enjoying my spasms. I held myself up as best I could so I wouldn’t fall.

But Vera wasn’t finished.

She made me turn around, sat me on the edge of the table, and spread my legs. At last she took off her blouse and bra, revealing small, hard, beautiful breasts. Then she hiked up her skirt, moved her panties aside, and sat on my face.

I had barely a second to see her cunt shining before she crushed it against me.

“Now eat, and don’t talk.”

I grabbed her hips and began licking her again, this time from underneath, breathing in her scent directly, with her weight pressing down on my mouth. She began rubbing herself against my tongue urgently. I squeezed her ass, opened her wider, swallowed her moans and her wetness. On top of me, she was practically masturbating with my face.

The sound was filthy, wet, addictive.

“There, fuck... there,” she repeated.

I dug my nails into her thighs and kept licking without a break, alternating between sucking her clitoris and burying my tongue in her entrance. Her body suddenly went rigid. She grabbed my hair with both hands and came on my mouth with a long, broken, almost furious moan.

She stayed above me for a moment, breathing hard. Then she lowered herself slowly and kissed me. My taste and hers were mixed on her lips.

***

We only half put ourselves back together. She remained without underwear. I was still completely naked. The arousal hadn’t disappeared; it had transformed into that vibrating calm left by good sex when there’s still some game to play.

“Come out,” she told me.

“Like this?”

“Like this.”

I looked at her for a second and understood immediately. She wanted to take the game to exactly the place that turned me on most: the risk of being seen. The building was almost empty at that hour, but not completely. Someone might walk down the hall. The elevator might sound. A door might open.

And that risk soaked me all over again.

I left the little room with my back straight and my cunt still sensitive. My nipples were still hard, my thighs stained. Vera came out behind me, her upper body already put back together, but her panties still improperly arranged, wearing the satisfied expression of someone who has just discovered a new power.

She led me by the belt to the office. I walked naked between the desks, feeling the air conditioning brush against my entire body. At any moment someone might see me through the strip of frosted glass at the entrance if they came close enough.

“Stand beside the door,” she said.

I obeyed.

She sat in my chair, crossed her legs, and watched me. Then she pointed at the lock.

“Open it.”

I did. The latch came free. All it would take was a turn of the handle from outside for the door to give way.

“Now bend down and pick up your clothes from the floor. Slowly.”

A shiver ran through me. My blouse was near the entrance. My panties were right in front of the door. I bent down to pick them up, spreading my legs without thinking too much about how my cunt would look from any angle. I heard Vera stand. Heard her footsteps approach. And then, suddenly, the door opened a few inches toward the hallway.

My breath caught.

No one came in. There was nobody there. But the door remained open enough to show my naked body from outside if someone turned the corner at that precise moment.

“Keep going,” she said quietly.

I continued. I picked up my bra, my skirt, one shoe. My heart was beating so hard I felt it in my throat. My ass was exposed to the hallway. My tits hung free. My cunt was still wet. And all that exposure was bringing me to the edge of coming again.

Vera came up behind me and stroked my slit with two slow fingers.

“Look at you getting wet again,” she whispered. “You’re so easy.”

She opened me wider with her fingers while I remained bent over, pretending to organize my clothes. If anyone passed by, they wouldn’t just see me naked. They would see her touching me too. The thought made me moan.

“Silence,” she ordered.

She inserted one finger. Then two. She moved them slowly, as though punishing me with patience. I had one hand braced against the wall to keep from falling. With the other, I clutched my panties against my chest as if that would help.

“Tell me what you are right now.”

I swallowed. “Your employee... no. Your boss... no...”

She slapped my cunt, making me jerk.

“Answer properly.”

“Your slut,” I gasped.

“That’s right.”

She began sliding her fingers in and out faster. The wet sound filled the office again. I was spread open beside a half-open door, on the verge of being discovered, while Vera masturbated me as if she had owned me all her life.

“Come like that,” she told me. “With the hallway watching you.”

I couldn’t hold out. I came standing up, bent over, my legs trembling and my face burning with shame and excitement. She held my body while the orgasm tore through me. I felt myself dripping down the insides of my thighs.

Then she calmly closed the door.

We remained silent for a few seconds. I was breathing with difficulty. She licked my fingers one by one without taking her eyes off my face.

“Now you can get dressed,” she said.

I dressed slowly, still trembling. She did the same. We once again looked like two office women, presentable, even serious. But beneath those clothes, everything remained: the smell, the wetness, the marks of her fingers, the memory of my cunt spread open beside an almost-public door.

Before leaving, she came over and straightened the collar of my blouse.

“I’m coming in late again tomorrow,” she said.

“I know.”

“And you’re going to let me.”

I looked her in the eyes and smiled. “Probably.”

She kissed me once, briefly and filthily, and left.

I stayed alone in the office, my legs still weak and with the delicious certainty that the boredom was over. Not because I had lost control, but because I had found something better: an adult, arrogant, dominant woman who enjoyed seeing me exposed, used, and wet in the middle of the office.

And I, to tell the truth, was dying to open the door for her again.