Chapter 8 : The Email

More than once he made her send an email that reversed their roles, something like “Get now into the conference room 607 and wait for me there. By the time I arrive, have your dick out and hard and at my disposal. Be sure to perform better than last time if you want to keep your job.”

As she was in HR, and at a higher rank than him, it might seem a plausible threat, especially as any talk of semen addiction would just seem silly to ordinary people. Moreover, he took so few precautions, sometimes taking her in a rarely traveled staircase or corridor, that it seemed only a matter of time before they were caught. And then her emails would accuse her and exculpate him. She thought of it in the moments when her obsession with his substance did not overwhelm her, with increasing resignation.

When she got to room 607 he slapped her. “Do you think your can order me around?” he mocked. “Well, what do you think of it?” His member was out indeed, through the fly of his trousers, and hard. What did he want her to say? In truth she found it ugly, repulsive, with its large head and the wormlike vein on its side. And yet it felt like she could smell that enthralling semen all the way through the urethra.

“I want it in me.” He smirked. “I showed you mine...” He nodded toward the table at the center of the conference room. “Show me yours.”

She sat on the edge of the table, grabbed the hem of her long skirt and reclined back, pulling it up. She did wear white panties; it wasn’t one of the days when her had ordered her to go without them. He bent forward, leering, pulled the lacy fabric to the side. She looked at the ceiling and he looked at her, on display. Since he had so painfully pierced her, the curved, torque-shaped stud in her clitoris prevented her lips from fully closing. They remained ajar, like the door of an unsecured house; there was no closure between the world and her mot sensitive flesh. He opened her vulva fully, studying her pink fold as a proprietor, and the narrow flame of blonde hair above her opened slit.

He entered her roughly and bent forward, one hand on the table and one on her small breast, kneading it through the shirt. She had not had time to remove her suit, and it felt tight around her shoulder, and it bunched up between the table and her back. He had pulled even her inner lips far apart, by the rings that traverses them, and the teeth of his zipper rasped painfully against her sensitive vulva. The metal glider, cold, bumped against the brim of her vagina, right under his invading shaft. She squirmed, and even twisted a little, but after only a few strokes he ejaculated, and it was all she could do not to scream. Someday, she briefly thought, they would be caught. But then his semen touched her, caressed her from within, and she gave herself up to the moment.