Sexy Excerpt: 'Eleven O'Clock Deadline' by Thomas S. Roche

This story is an excerpt from "The Big Book of Bondage: Sexy Tales of Erotic Restraint," edited by Alison Tyler. It has been reprinted with permission from Cleis Press.

Karen didn’t freak out when she heard the door to the office open and close. She often worked this late; she knew the cleaning guys were still in the building. She also knew that if Chad came by to pick her up and found parking, he might sneak in through the back entrance - which the cleaning guys always left propped open - and come up to get her in person.

So when the door went click-hiss-ker-chunk, she didn’t even look up from the copying she was doing - documents for Phoenix, almost done and still with an hour to make the 11 p.m. West Coast FedEx deadline.

Karen was starting to relax - the stress melting out of her, helped along appreciably by the half-drunk beer on the cutting table next to her. The beer, like the other 30 or 40 beers stuffed into the overflow refrigerator in the utility room, was left over from the holiday party. It was actually not the half a beer that helped Karen relax so much as the two that had gone before it; however, their bottles were now meticulously rinsed out and placed in the office recycling bin. Between the beers and the sheer exhaustion, she was feeling pretty loose and ready to be done with this terrible day. But she was eager to finish her copying before Chad buzzed her cell phone to tell her he was downstairs on the street. She was so busy, in fact, that she didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder to see who was in the office with her.

So when she felt one big, heavy hand in her hair and another grabbing her wrist, she might have freaked out a little bit. She screamed.

Then she heard Chad’s hot, familiar growl in her ear. It was his bad voice, equal parts red wine and dark chocolate … and the scream died in her throat.

He told her, "Don’t move a muscle. Don’t fight. Don’t struggle, and don’t you dare scream again, lady. Do exactly what I tell you to, or you’ll be sorry."

The scream turned into a moan, then a whine.

Karen said, "Chad, what are you doing? The cleaning guys are still here! They could come in …"

Chad growled: "I’m counting on it. Think they’d like to see me fuck you? Or do you think they’d like a piece? If you’re a good girl, I’ll think about giving them one …"

Karen’s body rippled with sensation. Her knees felt weak. She was helpless.

Chad moved like lightning. He acted like he had done this a thousand times, or planned it extensively in his head. Maybe both. His hand came out of her hair and seized her other wrist. Pinning both of her wrists together in the small of her back was easy for a man with such big hands. In fact, all of this was easy - Karen was 5'3" and Chad 6'2". He had a big, broad, bulky muscled form, and she had the lithe shape of an athlete who went for speed. He power-lifted; she ran. But she wasn’t running now - she couldn’t. Wouldn’t have wanted to if she could, except for the voice in her head that said, "No, this is wrong! Not at the office …"

And the voice in her pussy, far more seductive, that said, No, don’t, Sir, don’t hurt me, Sir, I’ll do everything you tell me to. That voice didn’t want her to run, either … it wanted her to spread.

Chad made that part easy, the way he practically picked her up by her wrist and her hair and manhandled her over to the cutting table. It hadn’t been a cutting table for as long as Karen had worked here; most documents had gone virtual, so the cutter was on its side, tucked between the copier and the wall. The table was naked except for a few reams of paper she’d set there in case the copier ran dry.

The cutting table had very sturdy legs.

Chad kicked her feet to the base of them, forcibly spreading her. She tried to squirm and struggle; he responded by slapping her ass, hard, right through her straight wool skirt. She gasped and squirmed some more. He spanked her again, pinning her to the table.

She purred out, "I’ll scream for help," and he spanked her harder, bringing a sudden flush of heat up and down her legs.

"I wouldn’t advise that," said Chad, and spanked her again, harder than ever.

She squealed. She squirmed and tried to close her legs; he kicked them apart again with his big black boots and pinned her to the table with his knee so he could control her while his big hands circled her wrists with rope.

He tied her wrists quick, and very tight. She struggled, her pussy going wet as she felt how securely she was bound. When Chad was done securing her wrists, he grabbed her hair again, pulling her head back roughly.

His other hand came around with a ball gag.

"I’ll scream," she purred.

He forced her mouth open easily and shoved the ball gag in. He buckled it tightly behind her cascade of long blond hair.

"Now you won’t," he said roughly, still holding her hair. His hand disappeared and came back with a blindfold; seeing it, Karen grunted and squealed behind the gag, but it was too late for her to put up more than a cursory struggle. How Chad learned to put a blindfold on a girl one-handed with such incredible fluency, Karen would never know - but an instant later, she was blindfolded and bent over with her ass in the air and a ball gag in her mouth.

It took slightly longer for Chad to secure Karen’s ankles to the table legs. She felt the ropes circling her bare ankles, going tight as Chad knotted them. She tried to struggle, found herself instead stuck halfway between squirming and writhing. Her hips were practically humping the table, she was so turned on. She was dripping.

As she struggled, Chad would reach up and spank her on the ass, snarling, "I told you to stop struggling!"

Karen would whimper and wiggle her butt, and he’d spank her cheeks again through the short blue skirt.

When he was done tying Karen’s ankles to the table, Chad stood and yanked up her skirt. A navy blue garment of quality wool, it was straight in contour but too short to be entirely businesslike. It wasn’t quite a mini, but it was short enough that it got lots of looks from the guys in the office, though not one of them complained to management about it.

Chad pulled the skirt to her hips and tucked its hem into the waistband. He shoved his hand between Karen’s legs and started feeling her up.

"That’s a nice short slutty skirt," he gloated. "And you’re not wearing anything underneath. I guess you’ve been expecting me. You’re good and wet, you horny little office slut."

His fingers caressed her bare, smooth slit, stroking from her wet entrance to her clit. The volume of Karen’s moans mounted as she squirmed.

Her pussy was bare - as were her legs - because she’d taken off her pantyhose after the second beer. She was shaved because she always shaved for Chad; he liked her that way, and what Chad wanted, Chad got - especially when he asked so nicely.

As for being "good and wet," she was more than that - she was dripping. Had she been when he entered, or was it the struggle that got her all wet and dripping? She often fantasized at work, but she’d been way too busy with the Phoenix account today. She’d probably been bone dry when he’d grabbed her.

She could feel Chad’s fingers gliding in and out of her pussy, stroking her channel and her entrance and her clit, wetness smeared everywhere. She could feel rivulets of it running down her naked thighs.

He shoved his fingers in - two, it felt like - with intentional roughness, enough to make her moan behind the gag. Karen could feel - as could Chad - that she was far wetter on the inside than on the outside. That was a sure sign that her arousal had been sudden and powerful.