Chapter 15: The Board Meeting – Ultimate Risk

The boardroom smelled of fresh espresso, polished mahogany, and the faint ozone hum of the projector warming up. Twelve executives sat around the long table in their usual formation—suits sharp, tablets open, expressions already drifting toward the quarterly numbers on the screen. Morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the city skyline into a glittering backdrop that made the entire room feel suspended above the world. I took my seat at the far end, opposite Sarah, the small remote control hidden in my lap like a live wire. My wrist bandage—three layers of her panties now, soaked and layered from the kitchenette and copy-room risks—pressed warm and sticky against my skin, releasing a low, filthy reminder of her taste every time I shifted.

She entered last, charcoal pencil skirt molded to the soft swell of her hips and the powerful curve of her thighs, sheer ivory blouse buttoned just high enough to pass inspection. No one noticed the subtle outline of the remote vibe nestled inside her, its bulbous head pressed tight against her G-spot, its tail tucked discreetly beneath the hem. Only I knew she wore nothing underneath. She met my eyes across the table for one heartbeat, the corner of her mouth lifting in that private command I had learned to obey without question.

The meeting began with the usual cadence—CEO opening remarks, department heads rattling through slides. Sarah’s turn came midway. She stood, remote clicker in hand, and launched into her presentation on revenue variances, voice steady and professional as always. Under the table, my thumb hovered over the remote.

I pressed the lowest setting.

Her posture didn’t falter. She advanced to the next slide, explaining year-over-year trends while the gentle buzz began deep inside her. I watched the faint tightening at the corners of her eyes, the way her fingers gripped the pointer a fraction tighter. Two minutes in I bumped it to medium. Her thighs pressed together beneath the table for half a second before she caught herself, shifting her weight and continuing without a hitch.

I waited until she reached the most critical chart—the one every executive leaned forward to study—then slid from my chair as if adjusting a cable beneath the table. The space was tight, shadowed, the heavy tablecloth draping low enough to hide me completely. I crawled between the forest of legs until I knelt directly under her spot at the head of the table. Her skirt was already lifted just enough. No panties. The remote vibe hummed audibly against the wet heat of her pussy, her inner thighs glistening with the slick that had been building since the first buzz.