Taming the Alter Ego
Mariella is a young woman who works hard and plays hard, putting all her effort into everything she does. She has a double life with which she is perfectly content, and successfully keeps her work life separate from her personal life--and it truly is personal.
Mariella knows how to keep her alter ego under wraps and has no desire to reveal the existence of Lady Isis. That is, until Tom arrives on the scene. One of the executives in the office where she works, she can't understand why he has such a strong and instantaneous hold over her.
Regardless of why it has happened, Mariella struggles to resist and wants to do nothing more than to share her secret.
18,000 words, 48 pages
Though still morning, Tom passed my office for the third time, glimpsing through the slats of the white blinds as casually as he could manage. This time, I caught his glance. It warmed me like a ray of light.
Often, I can tell he's there without looking up. His presence alone charges the atmosphere, though I hardly know him. He just does something to me.
My office was, effectively, the foyer of my boss's, Nicholas. A barrier he needed to cross to see his fellow director, which he finally did after his aimless stroll.
Tom silently passed me and I, in turn, offered no greeting. With hard fought restraint, I merely flick my gaze upward before looking back at my computer screen, seeing nothing as my fingers fly across the keyboard.
I savor his trailing scent before it dissipates, leaving me a teasing hint of him occupying the same space as me. Our connection was a strange one, possibly because in his two months at the company, we'd never been formally introduced. Neither of us took the initiative but regarded each other with civil silence. For a middle-class, white man in authority, he was unusually timid.
I was free to admire the way his square shoulders tapered to a lean frame, wrapped in a well-fitting black suit. I yearned to mess up his dapper look.
His dark hair perfectly suited his light tan, and I wanted to run my fingers through it. I wanted to grip the strands between my digits. To search his brown eyes, which I only ever got to see from afar.
The mere sight of him could snatch away my self-control, leading me to absentmindedly tease my black curls as I speculated on how his passion manifested. I liked to think that he was submissive--at least he would be with me. With the strength of my will and the power of my figure, his body and mind would yield to my desire.
I was careful to hide my status as a Dominatrix--Lady Isis--but I felt it worth revealing for him. I wanted to reveal my secret to test Tom's cool demeanor, see if he could be flustered from knowing the truth. I wanted to leave my mark on him, make him compare every other woman to me and be unable to find one better.
Picturing my lips against his, I could see his face cradled in my hands as passion took over and made my kiss demanding.
A faint sound drew my attention to my boss's door, but the expanse of wood revealed nothing and silence resumed.
I craved his voice, dissatisfied with brief snippets of overheard conversations. However, the wood and glass proved an effective soundproof barrier, forcing me to return to my imagination, my fingers unconsciously stroking my lips as I heard his voice in my head.
Imagining peeling off the armor of his tailor-made suit, a trickle of warm moisture caressed my walls and dampened my knickers. Squeezing my thighs together and sitting up straighter, I furtively glanced around.
The printer beeped and clicked ominously, but received none of my attention. How could I worry about that when I was trying to figure out how Tom had this powerful hold over me?
Men like him were my bread and butter, usually forgotten the moment they left my presence. Tom, however, was different. It was more than physical. I want to own and control his body. Be the object of his desire. The only woman who can give him what he wants and needs.
Few men got the honor of tasting my body--in any sense--but I wanted Tom to be one of the chosen.
Though my temperature climbed gradually, suddenly it's like I'm next to a furnace. Picking up my empty plastic cup, I abandon my desk for the cooler down the hall, wondering how he'd managed an unknown feat in such a short time.
I immediately drained the cup after filling it, but find it failed to help at all. My body heat continued to taunt, reminding me of my need for a man's touch--for his touch. Refilling the cup again, I did the same with another before leaving the kitchenette for my desk. I walked the route so often that I almost did it blindly, not seeing Tom until we almost collided in the doorway, startling me into an undignified gasp.
"Oh, excuse me. Sorry." His velvet voice proved to be an arousing comfort, encouraging me to grab him had I not been carrying two cups of water.
"My fault." Sidling past, my gaze drifted from his dark eyes to his crotch as the warm scent of his body surrounded me, immediately calming my shock.
Even with my back to him as I walked away, I knew he watched me. I felt his stare like a burn on my skin. The accidental encounter left me elated, as would any chance to get up close and personal with him. In the meantime, I had to be satisfied with the power of my imagination while sipping my water.
Materializing next to my desk, Nicholas snapped me out of my reverie. "You're in your own world," he smiled, a touch bemused. "Everything all right?"
"Sorry," I replied, shaking my head. "Everything's fine."
"Good. Tom and I are lunching. I'm expecting a couple of calls."
"No problem." My casual response hid the jealousy needling me, knowing they would drink, which would lower Tom's inhibitions. I could only imagine his personality when his defenses were down, true feelings and desires on display.
Predicting another sly viewing opportunity, I was on tenterhooks until lunchtime, counting on them meeting in the office rather than the foyer. Something about the way he'd looked at me made me sure I had a greater affect than he revealed.
As expected, Tom arrived at the allotted time, glancing through the blinds before concealing himself from my view with the doorjamb. I could have called out to acknowledge him--on behalf of my boss--but I maintained the pretence, saying nothing until Nicholas emerged and confirmed his departure.
"Okay, see you later." My focus remained trained on the doorway.
I caught Tom's lingering look, unmistakable despite a disguise attempted by an averted gaze. Not quick enough. I saw it and recognized he was either too shy or cautious to make a move.
Nothing would change if I left it to him.
Holding my breath as I imagined his thoughts, a deep exhale came with a pounding heart as I felt his touch. Simply dreaming about his caress had a powerful effect, making the contact real. The visceral sensation made my gaze drift down to my black pencil skirt, which felt like it had ridden up to leave me exposed to anyone who entered my vestibule.
My mind played tricks as my skirt was where it should be, hugging the curves of my hips and lying against my thighs. Though satisfied, I still lifted my bum enough to smooth my hands down its length.
The tight-fitting garment was a favored staple of my wardrobe, perfectly suited to show off the lower half of my hourglass figure. A beautifully round behind like mine deserved to be displayed at its best, not least when I knew it regularly attracted admiring glances. In fact, I was guilty of the same as I wasn't shy about studying the reflection of my naked form after a shower.
While stroking lotion onto my soft, soap-scented skin, I would check the curve of my cheeks as if my eyes belonged to those of an appreciative outside party. The way my generous hips tapered down to my thighs, I could tell why so many artists found inspiration in the female figure.
The movement of my hands stirred up the air, allaying misplaced concern because of my rather secluded position and causing the lingering scent of my vanilla lotion to rise to my nose. My location made a number of possibilities run through my mind. Tom could go unnoticed secreted beneath my desk, finding my skirt raised in preparation for him to nestle between my thighs. His imaginary version was bolder than his real life counterpart, wasting no time in seeking access to the core of my bliss.
Fingers crooked, he would pull aside the fabric barrier protecting the cleft between my thighs. I'd feel the heat of his cheek against my skin, his breath warming my wet slit with each heavy exhale and making me shiver.
I wanted him so desperately I could smell my own scent, my lace thong becoming damp with my juices. The material clung to my smooth labia, stimulating my engorged bud, tingling with nerves from a touch of friction. It begged for more, needing the firm stroke of a greedy tongue or the bulbous head of a stiff cock. However, satisfying that particular desire was impossible while I was at work.
Spreading my thighs offered a little relief, as if I had tricked my body into an expectation of wanton action.
It was far from enough. The arrival of the lunch hour made it even less likely that I would be disturbed, but I still expected someone to leap from the shadows. The nondescript, beige office remained unchanged. The fittings, immobile in their usual place, hid no spies.
My thighs moved as if not under my control, spreading apart until my skirt restricted it, revealing a sliver of the lace that topped my glossy black stockings. Adorning my lengthy pins with tights would have the same effect on the ensemble, but I preferred the delicate silken touch of stockings on my skin while secretly paying homage to my alter ego.
Gazing at my restless fingers atop the keyboard, flawless black fingernails glinting in the light, deliberation lasted mere seconds. With an eye on the door, I smoothed my palms over the skirt's material as if inspecting it, fingering the hem on finding an empty corridor.
Tracing my finger over the swirled design of the lace stocking tops beyond, knowing I could be caught in the forbidden act increased the thrill and quickened my heartbeat.
Picturing Tom slip them off pushed me over the edge, making me pull up the skirt entirely, revealing the rich brown of my skin beyond.
The clandestine exposure of my black lace thong allowed me to spread my thighs enough to use the seat of my chair as makeshift sex-aid, relishing the supple leather against my skin. Tilting my pelvis pushed my breasts forward, directed at the screen as if they wanted attention. Clinging to the edge of the desk, my nails audibly scraped wood as I demanded a service the chair didn't offer.
The pressure of need built inside me, strong enough to force my teeth to my lower lip. Pressing my fingertips to my impatient pussy gave me a delicious thrill. The slightest touch to my aroused bud enough to make me sharply draw breath as bliss closed in.
Vague noises drifted from neighboring offices, too quiet to create a reason to stop. The moist scent of my body rising to my nostrils dissolved any doubts before they arose.
Slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear, my skin prickled like my fingertips were ablaze, searing a path to my pulsating clit, brazenly awaiting the wanted approach.
The faint ring of a telephone reached my ear, the first time in several years at the office. My sudden acute hearing made my heart pound as if the phone was a warning of imminent discovery. My gaze drifted to the doorway, poised to avoid getting caught with my fingers in the honey jar.
An intense quiver rippled through me the moment my fingers connected with my eager clit, shaking a moan from my lips as my eyes fluttered closed. Thoughts of discovery faded from my mind as slivers of heat crept up and seized my entire midsection. Sinking deep and spreading wide, the sensation permeated my flesh and bones in a sensation of deep gratification.
The nerve endings of my engorged bud crackled with heat as my muscles contracted, desperate to grip something between their walls. Signs of my body's need continued, traveling around to make my rear passage clench.
Slipping into the slick groove between my folds, I writhed against my probing fingers, rushing headlong into a pit of bliss. Pressing my toes to the worn carpet, my heels slipped out of my black leather court shoes, the slender three-inch posts landing with a dull thud. The sound provided a single beat for the chorus of creaking leather from my shoes and the seat of my chair, seeming to complain of its struggle to hold me.
The caress of two fingers and the movement of my hips took me away, forgetting my location as I succumbed to the rippling sensations that made me sweat.
Moving my fingertips down through the slick cleft, I closed on my opening, making a quiver run through me with the slightest touch. The sharp gasp that jumped from my throat was unexpected. I laughed at the surprise I caused myself. A heavy shudder immediately followed as my fingers returned to my clit, satisfying its demand for attention.
Heat coursed through me like water from a high-pressure hose, bodily lifting me from my seat as I slammed my heels back to the carpet. Gripping the desk with my free hand, my damp palm prevented the chair from straying on the castors.
Taut muscles held my pose, which was not uncomfortable despite feeling unnatural.
Dropping back into the chair triggered the explosion, sending the chair rolling backwards as the ultimate peak of bliss slammed into me like a sonic blast. Reverberations undulating through me forced to bite my lip, preventing a cry escaping as the booming waves drew from my strength and left me spent. Still, a murmur drifted from my depths, the only sign of the orgasm that rocked me.
Warm moisture coated my fingers, stroked in a trail along my engorged labia as I withdrew them from the confines of my underwear. A faint guilty feeling swept over me, disappearing as quickly as it came as I curved my hand over my sheathed pussy. The pressure sent a quiver up my spine, seeming to feel the pulsation that drummed a beat through my body.
Perched on the edge of the seat, I found myself in danger of falling off as my body slowly revived from an exquisite climax. My frame slackened, leaving me just enough strength to lazily shuffle back into the seat and push my feet into my shoes.
Stifling heat kept me breathing heavily, somehow adding to my self-consciousness.
Raising my bowed head, I checked the doorway under the guise of stretching and took a deep breath of relief on seeing it empty. Disguising my satisfied smile and labored breathing, I dipped down behind my glowing screen and hoped no one would enter. Recovery came as I delighted in the damp heat of my juices seeping through the lace gusset.
Hearing footsteps, I hurriedly tucked my knees beneath the desk, feigning a blank mind by way of a blank expression. The sound dissolved without a soul having passed my door, making me giggle and looking down at my thighs beneath my hiked skirt.
An idea formed as I released my sated flesh to grip the armrest, tipping my pelvis to press down on the warmed leather. The sparks that crackled through me made continue to rock, feeling like I could pleasure myself all over again.
The ring of the telephone seemed unusually loud and jarring, shattering my concentration with the first note of its shrill alarm and dragging me back to reality. "Hello."
"Mari? You all right?"
Straightening in my seat and clearing my throat, I reassured my friend and colleague from three floors up. "Yes, sure." Blinking rapidly, I attempted to banish the swirling orgasmic haze with the strength of my will.
"Okay, you sounded a bit strange."
Faking amusement with a half-hearted chuckle, I struggled to pull down my skirt with the receiver still in hand, like she could see me through it. "No, I'm fine."
"Good. Want to go to lunch?"
"Er, yes. I've got one quick thing to do first, though. Meet you at reception in two minutes?"
"All right, see you soon."
The vague admission of an apparent chore validated my notion, preventing me from changing my mind about going through with it.
Fixing my gaze on the door, I lifted enough to drag the scrap of material out from beneath me, using the table as a support and shield. The black lace, damp and fragrant, glided smoothly down my thighs before protesting by hitching at my knees so I had to guide them down to my ankles.
Balling the underwear in my fist, sweat beads tingled on my forehead. I pulled my shirt away from where it damply clung to my back. Examining my hand, satisfied that the garment couldn't be seen, I kept it by my side during a short walk that seemed an epic trek.
Smoothing down my skirt, I stood and fought my trembling legs to march to the door. An adrenalin rush made everything vivid. My heart pounded audibly as I rapidly walked along the corridor.
The rich, sweet scent of my own body filled my head, making me sure that it trailed behind me like eau de parfum freshly applied to the warm skin of a soft neck.
Avoiding detection, I entered Tom's office without hesitation and gently pushed the door closed behind me. As I made a beeline for his fastidiously arranged desk, the knickers seeming to swell in my hand, pulsing as if they had taken on a life of their own.
Chaotically full of office equipment, the top left drawer was rejected. The few stationary items in the right counterpart made it the chosen one. Tucking them into the back of the drawer, the knickers would only be found when he fully pulled it open. Imagining his reaction made a frisson of excitement trip down my spine as I pushed the drawer closed with a gentle clap.
Only arriving at the door--a final chance to change my mind--I questioned whether I could really be so bold. For Lady Isis, it was a tame act, but this was me and I was at work. Gripping the door handle, I looked back at his dark-wood desk, picturing myself sitting knickerless in his chair, rocking my hips back and forth as if marking my territory.
Of course I'm brave enough, I thought.
Back in my office, my senses were assaulted by an atmosphere infused by sex. Switching my PC to standby, I slipped my mobile into my bag before throwing it over my shoulder.
My smile remained as I headed for the stairs, walking quickly as if fleeing the scene of a crime. I took a deep breath as an intense satisfaction settled in my chest. My plan of seduction had begun and I would only be satisfied when I knew that it worked and he craved me.