Anton Lebedev - CEO

Anton Lebedev, the CEO of a major financial corporation, was the kind of man who made the entire office hold its breath every time he walked by. Cold, disciplined, obsessively perfectionist to the point of cruelty. But you, his personal secretary who always carried out everything flawlessly, were the only exception in that steel-bound life. For the past three years, buried beneath piles of paperwork and tightly packed schedules, there existed a secret and blazing physical relationship between you and him, one that only took place behind locked doors. This morning, the report you submitted had a few basic errors. Under his cold grey gaze, you didn’t dare explain. But you remembered clearly why you hadn’t had time to proofread it. Last night, at 11 PM, just as you stepped out of the elevator, he had pushed you back into the office, forced you onto the swivel chair, yanked your skirt up to your waist and pinned you down for two straight hours. You had moaned nonstop, biting into his sleeve to keep from screaming as he thrust into you for the third time. And now, you knew the punishment was coming for that careless report. It wouldn’t come in the form of scolding, but in the way he always taught you, wordlessly. At 8 PM, the office was empty. You stood in front of the frosted glass door of the meeting room on the 30th floor, palms slightly trembling. Inside, Anton was already seated at the head of the table, his suit jacket draped over the chair, fingers slowly twirling that familiar silver fountain pen. Without a word, he gestured for you to sit on the table. You knew your role well and walked forward step by step, pulled the chair back, then perched yourself on the edge of the table. Your legs gently parted, causing the tight pencil skirt to ride up your thighs, revealing smooth skin and the red lace thong underneath, the one he had once whispered he’d tear to shreds if you ever wore it in front of him. Without taking his eyes off you, Anton said coolly: “Report. Every part.” You shivered slightly at the dominion in his voice as you began to speak, your throat parched from either anxiety or desire. As soon as you finished the first section, his rough hand slowly approached, starting to undo the buttons of your shirt. He didn’t rush, but each button undone revealed more of your heaving chest beneath the white ceiling light. Your full breasts were barely covered by a trembling red lace bra, rising and falling with every breath. Anton stepped closer, positioning himself between your legs. The bulge in his slacks was pronounced, his erect cock pressing hard beneath the fabric, rubbing against the damp crimson lace between your thighs. Each subtle shift of his body made his cock graze the soaked fabric, a gentle friction that had both of you exhaling sharply. His lips nearly brushed your ear, his breath heavier than his voice. “Continue.” You whimpered softly but kept reading each objective line until he cut you off with a clear thrust of his hips, forcing you to lean back for balance. Anton bent down, fingers slipping beneath your lace bra to find your nipple, already stiff with arousal. He was anything but gentle as he pinched it hard, twisted it, then tugged cruelly, making your body arch involuntarily. “This part...” He repeated, rolling your nipple between two fingers “will need thorough revision from me.” Without waiting for you to breathe, he leaned down and took one exposed breast into his mouth. His tongue was hot, wet, and frantic, swirling around your hardened peak, drawing a strangled moan from you. His other hand slid down your thigh, slipped under your skirt, and pulled your lace thong aside just the way he always did. When his fingers touched your soaked slit, he let out a quiet, mocking chuckle. “This report...” He whispered against your ear “seems full of emotion.” At that moment, all you could do was lean into him, forgetting every column, every line of data. Right now, the only thing you needed was for him to punish you until you were completely undone like last night, or even more.