Work Text:
Stress.
Her body vibrated, she swore she could feel her blood rushing through her whole body. Harsh fluorescent light led her down the hall, heels tapping on the polished tile floor. The folder of papers crinkled in her hand as she tried to hold it under her arm to wipe her sweaty palms on the sides of her pencil skirt. But she was never known for her balance. Or grace. Or anything, really. She was lucky to get this job in the first place. The manila folder worked its way out of her armpit and exploded in a spectacular shower of fluttering white papers.
Graphs and figures she could never hope to understand scattered all around her like a premature firework, slipping and sliding across the floor, daring her to chase after them. And she had no choice but to pursue. Half bent over, legs wobbling in her much-too-tall heels, she scuttled around the floor in front of the double doors to the executive office. Heat flooded her face, cheeks bright pink as a particularly insidious earnings report from 2015 fled under a chair. She sank to her knees and crawled under the mass of thick leather and sturdy wood to retrieve the offending paper.
The wrinkled reports were all shuffled around, some facing the wrong way, some smudged and covered in smeared dirt. Days of work flashed in front of her eyes, she let out a ragged sigh and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. The collar of her white blouse stuck to her neck with a thin layer of sweat, she tugged at the top two buttons and peeled the suffocating fabric away. Just for a moment, and then she would make herself decent again and face her boss.
A few strands of hair tickled the back of her neck, knocked loose from the prison of her tight bun. She tried to pull them back up, but only served to dislodge the bangs tucked behind her ears, sending them drooping across her face.
“Fuck me…” she whispered to the empty hallway. Thankfully, no one came all this way unless they absolutely had to. And today was her unlucky day. The team had collectively decided she would be their sacrificial lamb after a disastrous conference call left them furiously working through the weekend in an attempt to avoid their boss’ ire. All she had to do was bring the new reports to her boss and leave them on her desk. Quick and easy, yeah?
With a sigh and a furtive look around to guarantee her privacy, she tucked the folder between her legs and moved to button her blouse back up. But before she could slip the damned things into their buttonholes, one of the twin office doors swung open.
“Miss Clove.”
A stern woman stood in perfect posture, heels pressed together and back straight as a board. Streaks of gray ran through her otherwise black hair, combed back in a sleek ponytail. Her navy blazer cost more than Clove’s car. Sunlight streamed in from the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, reflecting translucent blue patterns against the wall through her sapphire earrings. They were a common point of office gossip, no one had come close to guessing their cost. Immaculately tailored slacks draped down over her polished shoes. She gripped the doorknob tight, looking down her nose with disdain. She radiated excess and control, enough to put a slight tremble in Clove’s knees.
“Ms. Jasmine! I apologize, you surprised me!” Her eyes flicked from the patterns on the wall to her earrings, she had to stop her hand from fluttering up to self-consciously clutch the tiny pearls around her neck.
“You’re a mess, girl.” Her voice was rough and sharp; a low growl of power and dominance. And she said it so flatly. It barely came off as demeaning, as if putting any sort of contempt into her admonishment was beneath her. It sounded like the displeased grumble of an old combustion engine, just like- She needed to get her oil changed. It had been far too long since she’d-
Clove looked down at her ruffled skirt and unbuttoned blouse, and then to the reports she clutched between her thighs. It was impossible to make eye contact with Ms. Jasmine, she just kept her eyes glued to the floor as she retrieved the battered folder and held it out.
“Come inside, Miss Clove.” Ms. Jasmine turned on her heel and strode inside her office, not bothering to check if Clove was right behind her. She had no need to. When she gave an order, its obedience was given. Like a drill sergeant. Or a dog trainer. Oh! Or, or a-
“And shut the door behind you.” Clove almost let out a squeak of surprise. The doorknob was still warm from Ms. Jasmine’s firm grip. She tried not to think about those hands as the door gave a soft click. She scurried across the expansive room, nearly tripping over the thick imported rug stretching between two plush sofas. The papers shifted inside the folder, but Clove held on for dear life, ready to dive to the ground to protect those reports.
“The heels are an interesting choice.” Ms. Jasmine stood behind her desk, hands splayed across its dark wood surface as she scanned a computer screen.
“I’m still… getting used to them.” Clove furrowed her brow and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she tried to navigate around the rug of death. Rumor around the office was it was Persian, handmade by some famous weaver or something. Clove had never been to Iran, it wasn’t somewhere she felt safe traveling. Well, not that she felt safe anywhere, really. Maybe someday, she would save up enough and-
“You could wear ballet flats, you know,” Ms. Jasmine said. “A pair of red suede would work well with your skirt.”
“I will keep that in mind, Ms. Thank you.” Clove finally circumvented the rug and staggered to the other side of the desk, the tips of her ears burning.
“That skirt does wonders for your hips.” Ms. Jasmine hadn’t even looked up from her computer. She typed at a wireless keyboard, scrolling through a spreadsheet or something. Clove stammered, unsure how to respond other than by looking down at her skirt. She’d gotten lucky, ending up so short and tiny. It made a lot of things easier later in her life, but she always struggled with filling out her clothes.
“Th-Thank you, ma’am,” she managed to get out. She attempted to quell the surge of heat low in her stomach by doing her best to strut confidently around the massive desk, but her ankles gave out and she just ended up stumbling again.
Right into Ms. Jasmine’s waiting arms. The scent of vanilla nearly overwhelmed her. Ms. Jasmine grabbed her by the shoulders and propped her back upright, pausing to pluck the folder of reports out of her hands. Clove hurried to apologize, but Ms. Jasmine wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. She shuffled through the papers, smoothing out wrinkles and creases while sorting them into piles.
“2015, 2018… Miss Clove, these aren’t even close to organized. Who in your department was responsible for this?”
It would have been easy to throw someone else under the bus. She was just the messenger now, right? The others would do the same to her…
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I accidentally dropped them on my way here. I-I tried-” Shit, her voice cracked. Heavy and harsh. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I tried to-” Fuck! All those months, and it had to be now that she couldn’t get her throat to move properly. “I tried to put them back in order,” she finally said, rushing through her words in hopes that Ms. Jasmine wouldn’t notice. Or rather, wouldn’t care. She noticed everything.
Why didn’t she lie? Did a part of her know she couldn’t do it? Getting caught in a lie was worse than telling an embarrassing truth, right? But it wasn’t like the other people on her team didn’t deserve a scolding. They’d sent her to the chopping block without so much as a shred of sympathy.
Ms. Jasmine pursed her lips and shook her head. “This just won’t do…”
Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t get fired, not like this. Not with her car on the verge of breaking down, the notices piling up in front of her door, the-
“I’m sorry, ma’am!” she cried, words crashing together into an utter wreck of a sentence. “My sister told me the heels would make me look competent and feminine and I was trying to practice walking in them but then we got those assignment revisions and had to stay over the weekend and I ended up sleeping under my desk for two days and couldn’t change and then Pepper said I should be the one to deliver the reports and the others agreed and shoved them all in one folder even though I said I needed at least three but they didn’t want to waste the paper because they said you would start taking office supplies out of their paychecks if they kept wasting them so it was already almost falling apart and I was so nervous to come up here and I was so unsteady and the elevator was out of order so I had to take the stairs up all twenty floors and then I was sweaty and tired and I tried to keep everything together but I dropped it all over the place and I tried my best but-”
Ms. Jasmine cut her off with a swift chop of her hand. Her impossibly strong fingers wrapped around the lapels of Clove’s blouse and dragged her closer. Clove gasped, her remaining buttons straining against Ms. Jasmine’s hand, and she nearly fell forward again.
“That’s quite enough, dear,” Ms. Jasmine said. Clove’s heart thudded against Ms. Jasmine’s knuckles. A single bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. Her mascara was all smeared, she just knew it.
“Wh-Wh-Wha-”
Ms. Jasmine yanked her the rest of the way over and pressed her against the desk. Her body was tight and firm under her clothes, Clove could feel every contour pressed up against her. Her bangs stuck to the side of her face with sweat, her chest heaved with every breath. Time stood still, but her mind did not. Panicked thoughts of getting thrown out the window, broken in half against the desk, or — even worse — getting fired, raced through her head. Papers crinkled under her as she tried to get a grip of the edge of the desk; she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.
“You need to relax.” Ms. Jasmine released the front of her blouse, leaving the fabric wrinkled. “You are much too tense. Is this job too demanding for you?”
Clove vigorously shook her head. “Of course not, Ms. Jasmine! If you let me-”
Before she could finish her sentence, Ms. Jasmine grabbed hold of her hips and forced her up onto the desk. “Hush,” she said, knocking Clove’s knees apart with her body so she could work her way in between her legs. Clove blushed furiously, trying in vain to pull the hem of her skirt up to cover the tiny bulge in her plain white underwear.
She must have been quite a picture. Blouse half unbuttoned, bra all crooked, hair a veritable squirrel’s nest atop her head. One heel hanging precariously off her toes, skirt hiked up, a small dark patch spreading across the front of her underwear…
“My, my,” Ms. Jasmine tutted, reaching up under Clove’s skirt to press a demanding thumb against the wet spot. “You are quite backed up, Miss Clove. Don’t you think this is detrimental to your mental state? Your thoughts have been quite… scattered.”
“I-I’ve been so busy,” she whispered, fingers curled tight around the hem of her skirt, long given up on trying to retain a single shred of decency. “I haven’t… had ti-”
Ms. Jasmine pressed harder, eliciting a sharp squeak as the spot grew larger and larger. “That is simply a matter of time management,” she scolded. Clove let out a deep groan as Ms. Jasmine rubbed her thumb in circles. Voice be damned, she was barely holding on to the last scraps of her frayed nerves.
Ms. Jasmine grabbed her by the hips again and heaved her further up, sending the reports she’d worked so hard to deliver fluttering off the desk like confetti. Her cock throbbed as Ms. Jasmine yanked her skirt and underwear off in one go, leaving her exposed to the chilly office air. Why did she keep the room so damn cold? Her hands were surprisingly warm though, moving up her thighs. Wait, moving up her-
“Ms. Jasmine!” she whined, cock dripping all over her waist. Those warm hands stopped, until a single finger traced the small scar on her scrotum. Clove’s cheeks flushed, and she tried to cover herself with her hands. But Ms. Jasmine would have none of it. She grabbed her wrists and forced her hands against the desk. Air rushed out between Clove’s teeth.
“Do not,” Ms. Jasmine commanded. “Consider this encouragement for better performance.”
The pressure disappeared from her right wrist, and Ms. Jasmine dragged a finger along the underside of Clove’s shaft, stopping to collect some of the pre-cum spilled over her. Her breathing slowed, the catastrophic thoughts slowly quieted and faded. She stopped struggling. She tried her best to relax.
Clove groaned as Ms. Jasmine’s wet finger worked against her ass. “Ms. Jasmine…” she sighed, shoulders easing back against the desk. A stream of pre-cum ran down her hip and pooled on the 2015 earnings report. Luckily, Ms. Jasmine didn’t seem too concerned about that one anyway.
Her own pre-cum was sticky in her ass. She screwed her eyes shut and tried not to get blinded by the fluorescent lights humming overhead. She was faintly aware of a drawer opening and closing next to her.
A shock of cold against her asshole sent her eyes fluttering open and an indignant squeak to her lips. Ms. Jasmine quietly shushed her and slipped a strong, comforting hand up Clove’s blouse and under her embarrassingly padded bra to gently knead at one of her small breasts. The cold continued, but she was so overwhelmed by the hands on her body that Ms. Jasmine’s finger slipped inside her without much trouble.
It had been so long since she’d felt this full. Immense pressure pushed at her walls, she had to will herself not to clench around her finger. But she couldn’t help it, Ms. Jasmine pushed deeper and curled her fingertip up, toward her stomach-
“Ha- Shit…” Clove whispered, her entire body twitching. Her cock leaked more clear fluid across her stomach. She curled her toes and clutched the edge of the desk, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball. Ms. Jasmine worked her finger in tiny circles, pressing up and rubbing against that tiny ball of pleasure deep inside her ass. Clove moaned, legs shaking as she let her head flop to the side. A thin line of drool ran out of the corner of her mouth and dripped onto the 2018 inventory report. Ms. Jasmine shook her head and pressed harder. She obviously cared about that one.
Desire built up inside her, rushing through her veins and pressing against her insides. A desperate yearning for more and more took over, and all she could do was babble and beg for her requests to be fulfilled. Her brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton fluff; she tried to open her eyes, but a crook of Ms. Jasmine’s finger sent another wave of pleasure rushing through her, and she flopped back against the papers and desk.
“There you go, Miss Clove. That’s it…”
Warmth rushed up from her toes and all along her legs. It spread through her stomach, her chest, reaching all the way to the tips of her fingers. It carried her away, a raft on a gentle stream. She couldn’t stop her legs from shaking; she scrabbled at the desk, searching for something to anchor herself to as pleasure overwhelmed her.
“Ms. Jasmine!” she cried, cock pulsing once. Twice. She let out a long sigh and sank back against the desk. The tips of her fingers and toes tingled, her skin almost overwhelmingly sensitive as Ms. Jasmine withdrew her hand from under her bra. The pressure disappeared from her ass, and she faintly heard footsteps and running water.
She floated there for a moment, too scattered to put together a coherent thought. She was faintly aware of a warm washcloth against her stomach, and strong hands adjusting her bra and blouse. A light smack on her ass prompted her to lift her hips up, and Ms. Jasmine slipped her skirt and underwear back on. The wet patch rubbed uncomfortably against her sensitive cock, and none of her adjusting could get rid of the sensation.
“Up you go.” Ms. Jasmine lifted her off the desk and smoothed her skirt and buttoned her blouse.
“I… Uh. I’m…” Clove wasn’t sure what to say. She staggered to the side, planting a hand on the desk to steady herself.
“Good work today, Miss Clove,” Ms. Jasmine said, carefully folding up the 2015 earnings report and tossing it into the trash bin next to her desk. “Take tomorrow off. We’ll circle back to this next week.”
“Th-Thank you, ma’am,” Clove stammered. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and made her way to the door on shaky legs.
