Bound by the Boss

She walks in soft and smooth, all silk and money. Says she’s got what you want. But the roll of cash on your desk doesn’t move you. You want respect. She reads the silence, swallows it down, and slides a thick leather collar around her own throat. The click of the buckle is loud. She clips the leash herself, drops to her knees, and offers the handle up like a dog waiting for its master. You take it. One hard yank and she’s up on the desk, ass spread, legs open. Your fingers push inside her cunt without warning. She’s already wet. A sharp slap lands on one cheek, then the other; red handprints bloom fast. You grab a fistful of hair, drag her face down to your cock, and fuck her mouth in rough, steady strokes until spit runs down her chin. Rope comes next. Wrists lashed tight behind her back. Each leg folded and bound calf-to-thigh so she can’t close or straighten. The crop warms her skin first—light taps that turn to hard strikes. The cane follows: thin, whistling cuts across her ass and thighs that make her jerk and whimper. Every mark is proof she’s yours. You pull her hips to the edge, line up, and sink your cock deep into that stretched, dripping pussy. She gasps around the stretch, eyes watering, body locked in rope. When you pull out she drops to her knees fast, tongue out, licking her own slick off your shaft in long, greedy strokes. You fuck her again in every angle the ropes allow—bent over the desk, on her side, hips tilted high. She takes it all, breath ragged, cunt clenching. When she’s shaking you drop her to the floor, press the buzzing Hitachi against her clit and hold it there. She cums hard, once, twice, three times, thighs twitching, voice breaking. You finish last, stroking out a thick load across her face, ropes of it streaking her lashes and lips. You wipe your cock on her cheek, unclip the leash, and send her back to her husband still dripping.