He ignored me, walked me backward by my ponytail, hard, until I slammed against the back wall of my office, the chair rail pressing into my back. He released my ponytail and ran his hand firmly and slowly down my body, his eyes burning into mine, his hands groping and squeezing my br**sts, stomach and ass as they traveled down. His hands, slow and deliberate, said more than his mouth ever could. He owned me, I was his to do with as he wanted. Fuck, I hated that I liked it. He bent down to kiss me, and I turned my head, evading his mouth and trying to push him off with my hands.
They met only rock-hard, unmoving muscle. I employed my best defense and brought up my knee, swift and hard, aiming for his nuts. He grabbed my wrists and jumped back, a hurt look in his eyes. Then he smiled, slow and confident. Slamming my wrists against the wall, on either side of my head, he leaned in close, catching my mouth in his. I stiffened, my body unyielding. Taking my mouth, he kissed me, long and deep, and I sagged a little against the wall. He pressed his body against me, pinning me to the wall, and I felt the hardness of his cock.
“Get off me,” I whispered, trying to stay firm.
“I am not f**king you in my office.”
He laughed, kissing my neck, and over his broad shoulders I noticed my office door was still open. I pushed hard against him. “Brad, the door!” I whispered urgently.
“Fuck the door,” he growled, grabbing my shorts and yanking them down, exposing my white cotton thong.
I squirmed against him, thoughts running through my mind, too many and too quickly for me to focus on. The dominant and only thought I could grab was the image of his thick c**k f**king me right here, right now.
He yanked me forward a step, then grabbed my face, looking at me hard, breathing fast, a tortured look in his eyes. “Please.” The word, which should have been a plea, was somehow an order, and I resisted, now for the sheer perversity of it.
I pushed him back and tried to grab my shorts, to pull them up, but he caught my hands and spun me around, grabbing my hips and pushing me forward, till I was bent over in front of him. The speed of his movement caught me off balance, and I reached forward, trying to grab something, anything, to stop me from falling. I grabbed the wall and pushed on it, the motion inadvertently arching my back and pushing my ass against Brad. He chuckled, and I heard a zipper and then felt his fingers, working fast, a ripping sound of condom wrapper, my thong pushed to the side. I realized what was happening and was opening my mouth to object when he shoved hard and was suddenly inside me.
My objection stopped in my throat, quivered there and died. He was so big, so thick, so hard. He pushed deeper, and grunted when he was fully inside me. My hands flexed against the wall and I groaned, low in my throat. He squeezed my ass, hard, then slapped it, the sound loud and animal in the darkness. Then the f**king started, hard and fast, our bodies slapping loudly, too loudly, in the quiet office. All I could think about was the floor full of people, my open office door. What would happen if someone walked by and saw me, bent over, being f**ked relentlessly, workout pants bunched around my tennis shoes? The thought turned me on so much that I instantly tightened, an orgasm building around Brad’s stiff rod.
He groaned, continuing his fast, furious pace. “What you do to me, Julia, your f**king sassy mouth, your tight little body...I want to make you do such bad things.”
I moaned softly, my tits shaking from the pounding he was giving me. He took a hand off me and slapped my ass again, hard, the pain intensifying the pleasure that was growing in my pu**y, expanding, taking over.
“Spank me again,” I said, breathing hard, needing the release I knew was coming.
He reached down and grabbed my neck, squeezing it. “Beg me,” he ordered.
“Please!” I cried, louder than I intended, and I dropped my voice. “Spank me! I need it! Now!”
He spanked me in rhythm with his f**king, and I arched my back, raised my head and dissolved in perfect ecstasy as I exploded around his cock. I screamed, the pleasure overtaking every sense in my head, and he immediately clasped his hand hard over my mouth, muting the sound. He f**ked me through the orgasm, until my legs could no longer stand it, my body weak from my release, and he laid us both down, him hovering over me, his body and face a dark silhouette against the light from my screen saver. I kicked off my shorts and wrapped my legs around him, and he moved inside me, long, deep, slow strokes. Leaning down, he kissed me, soft and sweetly, then stronger and more possessively. Our lips finally separated, our breaths ragged, and he rose, looking down at me, his strong face unreadable.
“What?” I whispered, my lips burning from his rough kisses, my body relaxed from the orgasm.
“You look beautiful.”
I smiled, meeting his dark eyes. “I thought you wanted to make me bad.”
“Oh, I will, Ms. Campbell. I will make you very, very bad,” he whispered, his hand gently tucking my hair behind my ear, his c**k still moving slowly, deliciously in me. His fingers rubbed my swollen mouth; his thumb caressed my lips, then dipped inside my mouth. I sucked on his thumb, enjoying the light in his eyes as I flicked my tongue over it. I propped myself up on an elbow and thrust my pelvis, squeezing with my legs and burying his c**k in me. Staring into his eyes, I spoke deliberately.
“Stop talking and f**k me.”
A grin broke out on his face and he growled, pressing down on my chest, flattening me to the floor. He leaned over me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head, then f**ked me, hard and fast, pounding me into the plush carpet, my legs popping loose and spreading, his muscular thighs trapping them into place. He was still fully clothed, his dress pants rough against my bare legs and his clothing caused wonderful friction against my clit. I tried to hold off my orgasm as long as I could, but came, my legs bouncing, my arms fighting against his iron grip on my wrists. I moaned, biting into his neck to stop my screams from erupting, the waves of pleasure shaking me from head to toe. He shoved, hard and deep, his strokes continuing. A minute later, he groaned into my neck, his thickness twitching inside me, and I felt his body stiffen as he came.
* * *
JULIA CAMPBELL’S REPEATED calls to Detective Parks were acknowledged, discussed and decided upon, her being one small pawn in a game with much bigger fish. She had become annoying, bothersome, a pesky itch in a hard-to-reach spot. And at 5:52 p.m. that Thursday, while mid-orgasm beneath Brad’s body, her fate was decided. She was as good as dead.
The man’s phone rang, the bright display illuminating on his dash, and he pulled over, answering the cell. “Yes.”