Executive Assistants' Boardroom Strap-On Power Play

I still remember the exact click of the boardroom door locking behind the last straggling executive. The wall of windows overlooking the city had gone from glittering daylight to a deep indigo haze, and the only illumination left was the soft amber glow from the recessed lighting strips above the long mahogany table. My heels ached after fourteen straight hours of fetching, smiling, and pretending I didn’t notice how my rival across the table had been eye-fucking me every time our bosses argued about quarterly targets.

Vanessa.

Thirty-two, sleek as a panther in charcoal pencil skirts and crisp white blouses that always managed to look both professional and obscene on her full breasts. Senior executive assistant to the COO. My constant shadow, my constant competition, and for the last four months, the woman who had turned every late-night email thread and shared elevator ride into something electric and dangerous.

Now we were alone.

I stood at the far end of the table, pretending to organize the last of the water glasses, when I heard the soft snick of the lock. My pulse jumped. When I turned, Vanessa was leaning against the heavy door, one perfectly arched brow raised, a slow, predatory smile curving her crimson lips.

“Finally,” she said, voice low and velvet-rough. “I thought those fossils would never leave.”

She reached into her sleek black designer tote and pulled out something that made my stomach tighten and my pussy clench at the same time: a thick, black silicone cock, veined and realistic, already attached to a sturdy leather harness. The sight of it—glossy under the low lights, easily eight inches and girthy—sent a rush of heat straight between my thighs.

I swallowed. “You brought that to a board meeting?”

“I’ve been carrying it for weeks,” she confessed, stepping closer. Her hips rolled with every stride. “Ever since you bent over in the copy room last month and I saw exactly how tight that little skirt stretched across your ass. I’ve jerked off in the executive bathroom more times than I can count thinking about bending you over this very table and fucking you senseless, Elena.”

My competitive pride reared up even as my nipples hardened painfully against my silk blouse. I could feel how soaked my panties already were; the crotch of my lace thong was clinging obscenely to my swollen lips.

I lifted my chin. “Big talk, Vanessa. Prove it.”

The air between us crackled. In two strides she was on me, mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that tasted like victory and expensive lipstick. Her tongue pushed past my lips, demanding, and I gave as good as I got, biting her lower lip hard enough to make her groan. Her hands were everywhere—squeezing my breasts through my blouse, yanking my hips against hers so I could feel the hard ridge of the strap-on pressing against my belly.

“Strip,” she ordered against my mouth, voice husky. “Right now. I want to see every inch of what’s been driving me crazy.”