I burst through the front door, every nerve ending ablaze from a day spent wrestling with desire. My shoes skid off the hardwood as I stalk across the entryway, hunger twisting in my gut—but it isn’t food I crave. In the kitchen, steam rises from the pan, but my mind burns with thoughts of him.

Earlier today in the conference room, Aaron’s cobalt eyes drilled into mine, that cocky half-smile pulling heat straight to my core. I gripped the edge of the table so hard the wood groaned, my mouth gone dry, my pulse pounding in my ears. Now I stand here, the scent of garlic and tomato forgotten, every inch of me throbbing for his touch.

My blouse clings to hard peaks that ache for his fingers—longing to trace the curve of my breasts rather than a damned wooden spoon. I taste the bitterness of anticipation on my tongue, imagining his strong hands pressing me back against the counter, his tailored shirt riding up over flexing biceps. My thighs are already slick with want.

Screw dinner. My need is an inferno demanding release. I slip into the living room, tearing off clothes in frantic tugs until I’m exposed to the cool air, goose flesh rising on fevered skin. My nipples stand to attention, painful with longing. I yank open the ottoman, my hands closing around the glass dildo—its smooth tunnel calling to me—and the jeweled anal plug, wicked promise glittering at its tip.

I crash onto the couch, legs splayed wide for the fantasy of Aaron, though every pulse in my body conjures Aaron’s name. My pussy weeps, swollen and hungry. A single finger drifts over my clit, and I gasp as electricity shoots through me.

“Fuck,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut, picturing Aaron kneeling at my feet, his hands braced on my thighs, that hungry mouth poised at my slick folds.

I slick the plug with trembling fingers, its metal chill biting my skin as I press it to my tight entrance. A guttural moan rips free when I push it home, the jewel nestling against my flesh. I curl two fingers deep in my wet heat, the contrast of sensations making me ache louder.

“Aaron,” I groan, imagining his jaw tightening at the sight—I’m impaled, quivering, desperate for more.

With one hand, I coat the glass dildo in my own slick, then tease its head at my entrance. In my mind’s eye, it transforms into Aaron’s thick cock, hot breath fanning my neck. I slam it home in a single brutal thrust, screaming as it fills me.

“Oh God, yes,” I pant, hips pistoning, every thrust slamming the plug deeper, electric tremors arcing through my body. My free hand clamps around my breast, pinching my stiff peak until stars explode behind my eyelids.

“Harder,” I rasp to the phantom Aaron. I ram the dildo faster, the slap of glass against my flesh echoing in the room. I imagine his hands like iron on my thighs, prying me wide as he hammers into me. His low groans vibrate through me, each one fanning the flames of my need.

My thumb circles my clit in furious spirals, my body coiling tighter with each thrust. The plug and dildo work as a brutal duet, driving me madness-close to the edge.

“I've wanted you like this,” fantasy Aaron growls, voice thick with lust. “Wanted to hear you scream my name.”

My breath shatters, hips bucking in a final spasmodic curse as my orgasm detonates. My back arches, waves of pleasure crashing over me in endless ripples. I scream, “Aaron!” until my throat burns, my body pulsing around the dildo, the plug amplifying every quake.

When at last I collapse, trembling and drenched in my own release, I laugh in ragged gasps. Naked on the couch, ravaged by my own hand and the ghost of him—“Aaron”—I feel like a live wire, every inch hypersensitive.

I pull out the dildo slowly, my pussy gripping it one last time, then ease out the plug, whimpering at the delicious sting. My limbs go slack as I stretch out, fingertips grazing my skin, soaking in the aftershocks.

Would Aaron ever know the depths of my depravity? Would he recognize in my wild eyes the same hunger that darkens his gaze when he thinks I’m not looking?

A buzz from my pocket shatters the haze. Aaron’s name flashes on my screen, and my heart stutters. Did he sense me?

“Get a grip, Nikki,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I answer.

Aaron: What are you doing right now?

Heat floods my cheeks. My pussy clenches at the thought of confession, but I lie.

Nikki: Just finishing dinner. You?

Guilt pricks my skin as I pad to the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, wild eyes, hair in tangled ringlets. My lips were swollen from biting, and my nipples still peaked from my earlier rough handling. I look completely undone.

Aaron: Working late. Thinking about you.

My pulse hammers. I sink to the edge of the tub, breath catching.

Nikki: Oh? What kind of thoughts?

Three dots blink back at me.

Aaron: Not the kind I should have about a coworker.

My knees nearly buckle.

Nikki: I might be having similar thoughts.

He replies instantly.

Aaron: Want to know what I’m thinking now?

My mouth goes dry. The glass dildo’s outline prints on the counter behind me, evidence of my craving.

Nikki: Yes. Tell me.

Aaron: I’m picturing you today in that tight skirt, bending over the conference table. How I wanted to rip it up around your hips, strip you bare, and fuck you right there.

I slide a finger between my thighs, slick and swollen.

Nikki: What would you do to me?

Three dots flash again.

Aaron: I’d hike that skirt up, tear off your panties with my teeth, spread you open, and taste you until you begged for more.

My heart hammers; my finger moves faster over my clit. I bite my lip, daring to text back.

Nikki: I’d beg. I’ve wanted your mouth on me for months.

I can almost see him at his desk, tie loosened, hand roaming under the table as he texts me. I moan without thinking.

Aaron: Tell me what you’re really doing right now, Submissive.

His voice shifts. It’s not casual anymore. My breath hitches.

Nikki: Master, I just fucked myself with a glass dildo thinking of you. I’ve got an anal plug in, and I came screaming your name.

I hold my breath, exposed more than I ever felt before.

Aaron: Good girl. I knew you were lying about dinner. Show me.

My hands are shaking as I flip to camera mode, angling to capture my still-wet thighs, my peaked nipples, and my wild eyes. I press send before fear can stop me.

His response is instantaneous.

Aaron: Christ, Nikki. You’re perfect. I’m so fucking hard right now.

Relief and fresh desire surge through me.

Nikki: Are you touching yourself, Master?

Aaron: Yes. I’ve been stroking my cock since you confessed. Want to see?

I can’t breathe as his photo appears: thick, swollen, pre-cum shining at the tip, wrapped in his hand.

Nikki: Oh god, Master. I need to taste you.

Aaron: I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth tomorrow. After the 3 PM meeting—lock the door behind you.

My pussy clenches at his command, new wetness pooling between my legs. This is real. Tomorrow, Aaron will finally claim me.

Nikki: Yes, Master. What should I wear?

Aaron: That black dress. Hugs your curves. No bra. No panties. Easy access to what’s mine.

My pulse races as I whisper, “Yes, Master,” trembling with anticipation of what’s to come.