Chapter 8: Riskiest Yet

The gift waited in my top desk drawer like a dare. At 8:30 a.m. Tuesday my phone lit up with Rob’s single line: Wear it. Now. I slipped into the single-stall bathroom down the hall, heart already racing ahead of my fingers. The toy was small, smooth, pink, egg-shaped and surprisingly heavy for its size. App-controlled. I knew the brand from hushed online whispers—discreet, powerful, linked straight to his phone. I eased it inside, already slick from the memory of the weekend hotel, the stretch familiar yet brand new. It settled against that perfect inner spot with a quiet click of intent.

Back at my desk the first low pulse hit during the 10 a.m. team huddle. A gentle thrum, barely noticeable to anyone else. I crossed my legs tighter under the table, pretending to study the quarterly projections on my screen while the buzz deepened. Rob sat three seats away, face perfectly professional, thumb moving discreetly on his phone under the table. Another pattern—slow waves rolling through me like distant thunder. My nipples tightened against my blouse. I bit the inside of my cheek.

By the client update at 11:00 I was presenting slides on the big screen. My voice stayed steady, but inside the vibrations climbed—short, sharp pulses timed exactly to my bullet points. Every time I clicked to the next chart the toy answered with a stronger throb. Sweat prickled along my spine. Sarah from accounting asked a question and I answered on autopilot while my thighs trembled. The egg pressed relentlessly against my front wall, forcing tiny involuntary clenches I prayed no one noticed. I almost came right there in front of the entire team—standing at the front, laser pointer in hand, voice cracking on the final sentence. Only Rob’s sudden pause of the app saved me. He glanced up, eyes dark with satisfaction, and mouthed one silent word: Good girl.

I barely made it back to my chair before the next text arrived at 11:45.