Corporate Submission

She walks into the meeting room and the door clicks shut behind her. He doesn’t waste time. “Quotas are in the dirt,” he says, voice flat. “Everyone stayed late last night and pinned it on you.” She tries to speak. He cuts her off. “No excuses.” He tosses a slim envelope on the table. “Unpaid leave. Or we skip the paperwork and I get what I’ve wanted since the first day you stepped in here.” He loosens his tie. The black silk slides through his fingers. She stays still, but her chest rises faster. He steps closer, circling behind her, close enough for his breath to warm the back of her neck. “Hands,” he says. She offers them. He coils the tie around her wrists, pulls it snug, knots it once, twice. The silk bites. He turns her, presses her against the long glass table. One hand between her shoulder blades, he bends her forward until her cheek meets cool glass. With his free hand he unbuckles his belt, the metal click loud in the empty room. His cock is already hard, the head smooth, the shaft thick and cut. He frees it, strokes once, twice. The rubber sole of his shoe nudges her feet apart. He flips her skirt up, drags soaked lace down her thighs. A single thrust and he’s inside her, deep, no warm-up. She gasps, wrists twisting against the tie. He sets a brutal rhythm, each stroke shaking the table. The glass fogs under her breath. He leans over her, teeth grazing her ear. “You move, you lose the job,” he growls. She stays frozen except for the helpless clench around him. Sweat beads at his hairline. The dark strands fall forward, brushing her bare shoulder. He keeps going until her legs shake and the only sound left is the wet slap of skin on skin.