Chapter 10: Always on duty (WIP)
The lingering ghost of piss and pussy clung to Paul’s palate like a stubborn aftertaste, even hours later. Sunlight streamed weakly through the tall windows of his chambers, palid on the stacks of legal briefs and leather-bound tomes. The room smelled of polished wood, old paper, and the faint, expensive bergamot of his cologne – a deliberate attempt to scrub away the raw intimacy of Odette's bathroom floor. He shuffled papers, the rustle loud in the quiet room, trying to anchor himself in the mundane reality of tort law. The memory of her thighs clamping his head, the gush of her release, the humiliating command to clean… it all thrummed beneath his skin, a low current of shame and desperate excitement. He’d never been so utterly debased. He’d never felt so… used. And the terrifying part was how much he craved more.
The knock was soft, almost tentative. Before he could call out, the heavy oak door swung open. Odette stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the corridor's fluorescent glare. She wore a sharply tailored charcoal skirt suit, the skirt hitting just above her knee, paired with sheer black stockings and stiletto heels that clicked decisively on the hardwood as she entered. Her dark pixie cut was sleek, professional, but her green eyes held that familiar, unnerving spark of mischief.
"Paul," she greeted, her voice a low purr that instantly tightened his groin. She closed the door softly behind her, the latch clicking with finality. "Busy?"
"Just… reviewing the Cross deposition," he managed, his voice slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. "What can I do for you, Odette?"
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she prowled towards his large, mahogany desk, her hips swaying subtly. She stopped right in front of him, on his side of the desk. Her perfume, something musky and complex, cut through the scent of the room, overwhelming the bergamot. She placed her palms flat on the polished surface, leaning forward slightly, the stance deliberately provocative.
"Tu sais ce que tu peux faire pour moi," she murmured, her gaze dropping pointedly to the space between her legs, then back up to meet his startled eyes. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. "Right now."
Paul felt a flush rise from his collar. "Odette… here? Someone could—"
"Shhh," she silenced him, the sound sharp. "Bend me over your desk, Paul. I need it. And I need it now." The command brooked no argument. It was the same tone she’d used in the bathroom, the tone that bypassed his rational mind and spoke directly to the submissive core he could no longer deny.
His hands trembled slightly as he stood. He knew the risks. Chambers were shared; associates, clerks, other barristers could walk by. Henry’s office was just down the hall. But the sight of her, the scent of her, the memory of her taste, the undeniable proof of his own craving… resistance was futile. He stepped behind her, his hands finding the curve of her hips beneath the fine wool of her skirt. He pushed gently but firmly. Without hesitation, Odette bent forward at the waist, her upper body lying flat across the expanse of legal documents. The hem of her skirt rode up instantly, revealing the taut curve of her ass encased in sheer black stockings, the dark band of her lace-trimmed panties cutting across the swell.
"Take them off," she commanded, her voice muffled slightly against the wood. "And get to work. Don't make me wait."
Paul’s fingers fumbled at the delicate lace. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid the panties down her thighs, past her knees, letting them pool around her ankles. The sight stole his breath. Her ass was pale and perfect, the cleft deep and shadowed. Below, her pussy was already glistening, swollen lips slightly parted, a stark contrast to the darkness of her neatly trimmed hair. The air filled with her intimate musk, rich and demanding. His cock throbbed violently against his trousers.
His knees hit the carpet. He didn't think, didn't hesitate. He pressed his face into the hot, smooth skin of her inner thigh, inhaling deeply. Then his tongue found its target. Not her pussy, not yet. He pressed the flat, wet heat of his tongue firmly against her tight little arsehole. He laved it, circling slowly, applying pressure. She gasped, her body tensing, then pushing back against his face.
"Oh, fuck yes," she hissed, her fingers clawing at the desk. "Just like that. Eat my fucking arse, Paul. Get it nice and wet."
He obeyed, probing deeper with the tip of his tongue, fucking the tight ring of muscle with slow, deliberate strokes. It was filthy, degrading. He tasted salt and musk, the unique, intimate tang of her. He felt her muscles clench and relax under his ministrations, pushing back greedily. He could feel the heat radiating from her pussy, smell her arousal intensifying.
"Now," she gasped, grinding her hips. "My cunt. Lick my slick little cunt. Make me cum."
Paul shifted lower, dragging his tongue firmly through the valley between her arse and her pussy, collecting her wetness. Then he buried his face between her pussy lips. He speared his tongue deep into her hot, wet channel, tasting her essence – musky, tangy, addictive. He sucked her engorged clit into his mouth, rolling it, flicking the tip of his tongue over the swollen bud. He plunged two fingers deep inside her, crooking them upwards, finding that spongy spot. He fucked her with his fingers while his mouth devoured her clit.
Odette moaned, low and guttural, pushing her hips back hard against his face. "Harder! Oh god, suck it! Suck my clit, you dirty… unf! Make me cum!"
Paul doubled his efforts. He sucked her clit like his life depended on it, his tongue a frantic piston. His fingers pistoned inside her, rubbing relentlessly against her G-spot. Her moans escalated, turning breathless, desperate. Her thighs started to tremble violently. He could feel her inner muscles fluttering wildly around his fingers, the tell-tale sign.
A sharp, authoritative knock shattered the humid, intimate air of the office. Rap-rap-rap.
Paul froze. His tongue stilled on her clit. His fingers went rigid inside her. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through him. Odette went utterly still, her breath catching. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers.
"Paul? You in there?" Henry's voice, loud and cheerful, boomed through the door.
Odette reacted instantly. In a fluid, almost inhumanly calm movement, she pushed back slightly, dislodging Paul's face. She slid one hand back, fingers tangling roughly in his hair, pressing his face firmly against her inner thigh, hidden beneath the draped skirt that now covered him like a shameful tent. Her other hand smoothed over the desk, gathering scattered papers into a semblance of order. Her breathing hitched, then smoothed into something artificially calm.
"Come in, Henry!" she called out, her voice impressively steady, only the faintest tremor betraying her. The door handle turned.
Paul’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was pressed against the warmth of her thigh, his nose buried in the damp crook where leg met body, inhaling the overwhelming scent of her sex and sweat. His face was slick with her juices. His fingers were still buried knuckle-deep inside her, feeling the frantic pulse of her orgasm building, held agonizingly at bay. He dared not move, dared not breathe.
Henry strode in, a file tucked under his arm. He stopped short, seeing Odette bent over Paul's desk."Oh! Odette, hello. Didn't realise you were in conference." His eyes flickered with surprise, then mild amusement. "Interrupting?"
"Not at all, Henry," Odette said smoothly, shifting her weight slightly. Paul felt the subtle clench around his fingers, a ripple that traveled through her whole body. He pressed his face harder into her thigh, terrified any movement would betray him. "Paul was just showing me… ah… the revised clauses in the Henderson merger. Fascinating stuff, truly." Her voice hitched almost imperceptibly on 'fascinating'.
Paul remained utterly still, a statue of humiliation and terror. He could feel the wet heat of her cunt inches from his mouth. He could taste her tang on his lips. He could feel the tremors of her suppressed climax vibrating through his fingers buried deep inside her.
"Right, right," Henry said, sounding unconvinced but polite. "Awkward business, Henderson. Tricky clauses indeed." He walked further into the room, stopping near the desk. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, praying the skirt fabric covered him completely. He felt the slight vibration as Odette subtly ground herself back onto his face and fingers. A low moan threatened to escape him; he choked it back.
"Did you need something, Henry?" Odette asked, her voice strained with effort now. Paul felt her inner muscles clamp down hard, a fierce, involuntary spasm. She was fighting it, fighting the orgasm threatening to erupt right there with Henry three feet away.
"Oh! Yes, sorry. Paul, have you got the signed copy of the Astoria affidavit? Clerk needs it for filing before noon."
Paul’s mouth opened against Odette’s thigh, but no sound came out. He couldn’t speak. He could barely think. The pressure inside Odette was building, a palpable tension radiating through her body pressed against his face.
"I… I think it’s…" Paul stammered, his voice muffled and thick against her skin. He tried to lift his head slightly, but Odette’s grip in his hair tightened painfully, forcing him back down. "Top drawer… left," he managed to grunt, the words distorted.
"Top drawer left," Odette repeated brightly, her knuckles white where she gripped the desk edge. "Paul’s just… double-checking a reference for me. Deep in thought." She gave a small, forced laugh that sounded like glass breaking. Beneath the skirt, Paul felt her body give an almost violent shudder. Her cunt squeezed his fingers like a vise. She was impossibly wet, impossibly tight. She was going to cum.
"Right, got it," Henry said, oblivious, pulling open the drawer. The scrape of wood on wood was excruciatingly loud. "Ah, here we are. Thanks!" He pulled out the document. "Well, I'll leave you two to your… clauses. Deep thinking." He chuckled, heading back towards the door. "Carry on."
The moment the door latch clicked shut, Odette’s control shattered.
"Oh, FUCK!" she screamed, the sound raw and primal. Her body convulsed violently. Her hips slammed back against Paul’s face. Her cunt erupted, gushing hot fluid over his chin, his fingers, drenching his hand. The contractions were powerful, rhythmic waves that milked his fingers relentlessly. "FUCKING EAT IT! EAT MY CUNT NOW! DON’T STOP! MAKE ME CUM HARDER!"
Paul didn’t need telling twice. The terror instantly transformed into frantic, desperate service. He wrenched his face from her thigh and plunged his tongue back into her soaked, pulsing cunt. He lapped furiously at her clit, sucking hard, fucking her with his tongue as her orgasm tore through her. He pumped his fingers faster, deeper, riding the violent spasms. She bucked and writhed against the desk, gasping, crying out obscenities lost in the roar of her own release. Papers cascaded to the floor. A pen holder clattered over.
It seemed to go on forever, this brutal, public aftermath of a near-discovery. Finally, the tremors subsided. Odette slumped forward, panting raggedly, her forehead resting on the cool wood. Paul gently withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening. He rested his cheek against her trembling thigh, breathing hard. His face was drenched. His suit trousers were soaked at the knees. The air hung thick with the pungent scent of sex and sweat.
Silence descended, heavy and charged. Then, Odette began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle, vibrating through her body against Paul’s face. It grew, bubbling up into genuine, slightly hysterical amusement. She pushed herself upright slowly, turning to look down at him. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with adrenaline and triumph. She looked utterly wrecked and completely in control.
Paul looked up at her from his knees, his expression a mixture of dazed relief, lingering terror, and absolute awe.
Odette wiped a smear of her own wetness from his cheekbone with her thumb, then sucked it clean, her eyes locked on his. "Oh, mon chéri," she breathed, her laughter subsiding into a wide, predatory grin. "The look on your face… when the door opened…" She shook her head, still grinning. "Priceless." She reached down, ruffling his hair almost affectionately, her touch a stark contrast to the bruising grip moments before. "My dirty little secret. My very good, very filthy boy." She straightened her skirt, smoothed her jacket. Her composure was returning with unnerving speed. She stepped over him gracefully, her stiletto heel brushing his thigh. "Clean yourself up," she ordered, her voice regaining its usual cool edge, though amusement still danced in her eyes. "You look thoroughly debauched." she added, pausing at the door, her hand on the knob, the ghost of that wild laugh still on her lips.