The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Miss Shelley?”

Christine started as the receptionist called her name. She thought about running. She didn’t have to answer. She could ignore the girl. She wasn’t the only person in the waiting room. There was another woman across from her, reading a magazine. She was much shorter than Christine but she was blonde as well and maybe the receptionist wouldn’t remember which blonde was Christine Shelley. Maybe the girl’s confusion would give her enough time to flee.

That would be the smart thing to do. Because what she was doing was so wrong. It wasn’t her. It was stupid and dangerous and Christine couldn’t believe that she wanted it. Being so turned on, at home, at work, by the idea of someone seeing her body, watching her skip out of her clothes one garment at a time, seeing her exposed. So wet, so aroused. She had to take back control. She could do that now. She could get up, walk out. Stop this.

She couldn’t stop this. It didn’t matter how many times she’d told herself she was stopping, she failed every time. The idea wouldn’t go away. It had lodged in her head, a constant itch. It didn’t matter what she did. It didn’t matter how many times she stripped off in that little meeting room or at home, slowly revealing herself. It didn’t matter how many times she came, alone at home or the instant the door closed after whoever she’d persuaded to join her. She always needed to do it again. To feel the relief as she removed one garment after another, knowing how much would be exposed if someone was looking at her. To imagine their eyes on her, their gaze sending electric bliss rocketing through her.

I have to stop.

But she never did.

Maybe, Christine told herself, maybe what she was here for would help. Maybe if she did this it would satisfy the urges. Maybe she’d be able to keep them under control.

She had to believe that.

Or she could still run. Now. Run, Christine told herself. She rose from the chair, gazed longingly at the door. She should go through it. She could.

She didn’t. Instead Christine turned to the receptionist and simply said “Yes?”

Stupid, stupid, Christine berated herself.

“This way, please,” the girl replied, indicating a corridor that led from the waiting room, its walls white and cheery. “Second door on the left,” the girl added.

“Um, thanks,” Christine managed, her voice catching as she opened the door.

There was a woman waiting for her in the room. Brunette, definitely attractive, a little older than her. White uniform and a professional smile. Christine blinked, tried not to think of where she was, tried not to look at the woman. The walls of the room were a pale peach, and a table stood in the middle of the room, like something from a doctor’s surgery, padded and white.

The floor was polished wood.

Christine swallowed nervously at that, the texture reminding her of the desk in the small meeting room. The desk she’d sit behind, naked from the waist down, as she spoke to Tania, to her colleagues.

It felt so good every time.

It would be better if they could see her take off her clothes.

She couldn’t do that.

“Miss Shelley?” the woman asked. “I’m Lisa. I’ll be your technician today.”

Lisa was telling her other things, asking her questions. Confirming what she wanted. Christine barely comprehended it. She knew that she was answering, somehow, but her attention was fixed on the table.

The table where…

The table she was lying on. Christine couldn’t remember getting on the table. Couldn’t remember undressing. But she must have. Because she was on the table. She vaguely remembered undressing. How good it had felt. It would have been better if Lisa had stayed in the room.

A towel was lying across Christine’s stomach. She was naked from the waist down.

Exposed.

Oh God.

Someone was actually seeing her. Yes, it was something the woman saw every day. Like doctors and nurses and all the rest. It didn’t matter to them.

It mattered to Christine.

It was turning her on.

Could Lisa see how turned on she was?

Christine was burning up in shame. The feeling mixed with the heat that roiled deep inside her. Twin flames, licking at the edges of her mind. Lisa’s eyes were on her. Maybe the woman’s view was clinical but she could see Christine just the same. The blonde’s lips quivered in need. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. She tried to tell herself that it was embarrassment, knowing all the time that it wasn’t.

Christine could sense herself moistening. Could Lisa see that? Humiliation shot through the blonde.

That just made it sweeter.

“This will sting a bit.”

It did, like a hot rubber band striking her skin, sharp and pure, as the laser killed her first hair. Then again and again, hair after hair. Dying, falling away, revealing her skin. Exposing her.

She was being more exposed.

If I’m bare under my clothes it will be like I’m exposed. That’s what Christine had told herself, when she’d decided to make the appointment. That it would be enough. If her skin was denuded under her clothes that would be enough to keep her urges under control. It had to be. She could tell herself that she was exposed every time someone looked at her. All of them, not knowing that her centre was bare, exposed.

The idea had turned her on so much.

That it was happening now was turning her on even more.

Oh God, why am I doing this?

“Tell me if you need to stop for a while,” Lisa announced.

Why would I want that?

A tinge of burnt hair reached Christine’s nostrils, the scent flowing into her, like the sweetest perfume.

Because of what it meant.

As every hair died Christine’s arousal spiked. It was so hard to lie there. She wanted to squirm. To thrash. To lift her hips up.

Offer herself.

She was offered. Lisa, this stranger, could see her. She was so exposed. The woman had to know how turned on Christine was. Was that unusual? Something she’d seen before? Lisa would have seen so many women like this. Maybe it didn’t matter to her.

Being like this mattered to Christine.

Sting.

Another hair gone.

Another piece of skin exposed.

Sting. Sting. Sting.

It was what Christine wanted. What she needed. Each sting was like a lover’s kiss, ghosting over her sensitive skin.

“This is turning you on isn’t it?” Lisa queried, her voice little more than a whisper.

Sting.

Christine didn’t know what to say. It was true, so true, but how could she tell the woman that?

Lisa would know anyway.

“I, I don’t usually say anything,” the technician continued, uncertainty lacing her voice. “But I just have to. I don’t know why.”

Expose me more, please, Christine’s thoughts were just a whimper. So small. Nothing more than an echo of her desperate need.

Christine felt a finger trace along the skin at her centre. Skin that was now bare, denuded.

Exposed.

She was so turned on.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Lisa asked.

Christine didn’t know whether the woman meant what she’d said, or what she’d done. Or how much she could see of Christine.

It didn’t matter, Christine didn’t mind any of it. She didn’t know why. It was so wrong. She shouldn’t like this. She wasn’t in to girls. She shouldn’t want to expose herself. But right then she’d do anything Lisa wanted.

Because Lisa could see her.

Sting.

Another hair died. Another and another. Christine could hardly breathe. She was sure that she was leaking.

Sting.

Sting. Sting. Sting.

It was like a lover’s tongue. Like a gloriously hard cock. Like everything she’d ever wanted.

Sting.

The sensations blurred into each other, the delicious pain from one hardly fading before the next. On and on. Christine imagined what it looked like, her hair dying, falling away, her skin coming into view.

Exposed.

It was so good.

“All done,” Lisa announced, the woman sounding as breathless as Christine felt.

Christine lay there. She looked at Lisa. Lisa was looking at her. But not at Christine’s face. Her view was fixed on Christine’s centre. Lisa’s lips were quivering.

“There’ll be hairs at different stages of the growth cycle,” There was a hitch in the woman’s professional delivery, her eyes so wide. “You’ll probably need about six to eight treatments in total to catch them all. But after that it’ll only need a treatment every six to eight months to, to.”

To keep them gone. To keep her exposed.

Like she was now.

Oh God. Christine could barely think from the need pounding in her head.

But it could be better. She wanted it to be better. She had to make it better.

Lisa could see her. But she couldn’t see all of her. The urge was coursing through Christine. The need. She peered into the technician’s eyes. Eyes that could see her. See how exposed she was.

Christine’s fingers found the buttons of her blouse. Heat was pouring off her. She undid the first button, then another. As each button fell free a jolt went through her, sweet and delicious. Only two buttons though. Just enough so that her bra could be seen. So that her breasts could be seen, as they lay nestled there.

She could do more. So much of her wanted to do more. But something told her that it wasn’t time.

Not yet.

Christine’s arms fell back to her side, simply lying there.

Exposed.

“Oh God,” the technician moaned, her fingers reaching out to glide over Christine’s bare skin, so sensitive from what had been done to it. “I shouldn’t.”

Christine said nothing. Did nothing. Simply lay there as the technician’s fingers brushed over her centre. Lisa was looking at her. It was so good to finally have someone see her like this. She slipped herself down the table, edging her centre closer to Lisa.

Spread her legs.

So Lisa could see more.

The woman fell to her knees between Christine’s legs, Christine’s hips thrusting up to meet Lisa’s mouth. The rasp of the technician’s tongue over her skin felt so good. But not because of the touch, no matter how wonderful that felt. That wasn’t important. Christine was exposed. Lisa’s eyes were on her. Drinking her in. Taking her. Lisa could see everything.

Christine’s fingers found the towel on her stomach. Pulled it aside. Fumbled with her remaining buttons as she squirmed under the technician’s attentions. She had to do this. Needed it. Her back arched as she fumbled behind herself for the catch on her bra. Pulled it up, her breasts springing free.

She heard Lisa gasp.

The woman could see everything now.

Christine came as the woman’s tongue thrust deep into her centre.

Lisa backed away from her, eyes wide. “I don’t. I never, I’m sorry.”

Christine wasn’t. Lisa’s eyes were fixed on her.

She only dressed herself after Lisa fled the room.

She made sure that Lisa would be her technician for her next appointment.

Outside the clinic Christine stopped, a hand rising to her mouth, tears forming in her eyes.

What have I done?

She’d let the woman make her cum. More than that, she’d offered herself. Christine could remember every moment. Shuffling down the table, spreading her legs. All the time under Lisa’s gaze. It had felt so good.

She could feel the urge, still there. The need to remove her clothes, every inch of skin itching where it was covered. She’d hoped having her pubic hair removed would help, extinguish that need. But it was still there, sharp and pure and as demanding as a knife. Christine could feel people on the street looking at her as she stood there. What would they think, if they knew? That under her professional skirt her centre was totally bare. There was a mad urge to show them. To pull her panties down, flip her skirt up, in the middle of the street. Rip the rest of her clothes off.

I can’t, she wailed.

No matter how good it would feel.

Hands trembling Christine made herself start walking. She wasn’t going to give in. With every step it was so tempting to stop. Expose herself. Part of her wanted to.

She didn’t.

Christine was so proud of herself that she hadn’t. It was a little victory, but it was still a victory. The urge was still there, but she’d fought it and won. Maybe she could beat this.

Christine was still telling herself that at work the next day. As she sat at her desk, hands clenching and unclenching, skin aching to be free of the clothing she wore. More than that, she needed the act itself. To take her clothes off. To feel them slip off her body. Christine glanced at the doorway of the small meeting room. The room was empty. She could claim it. She’d done it so many times now. It always felt so good.

Every chance she had, Christine would head on there, strip out of her skirt and panties. Feel the bliss as she removed each one. Then sit behind the desk. Imagine someone seeing her. How good that would feel. Use any excuse she could think of to get one of her fellow workers to join her, to come in and see her.

See me.

Christine’s lips quivered at the thought. So many of them had seen her. So many times. They didn’t know. But she did. Every time they looked at her a jolt of pleasure shot through the young woman. She was half-naked and they were looking at her.

And every time she’d cum as they left.

It would be so much better today, after what she’d had done at the clinic.

I’ve got to stop. I can stop. It was supposed to help me stop. Even with how good it felt. Even with the urge making her fingers itch, itch to take off her clothes, to expose herself, she knew that she had to stop.

Of course she knew that, she said it to herself every time she slipped her skirt and panties down her legs. Every time her body sang as she imagined someone’s eyes on her, watching her, seeing her. Every time she told herself that it was the last time. That this time would be it. Would be enough. That she would stop. That she had to stop.

And after every time she did it again. And every time it was so good.

Today it would be even better.

Christine had stared at herself in the mirror that morning. She’d never seen herself like that before. She’d carefully shaved her arms, her legs, her underarms. She’d imagined what it would be like if she had those hairs subjected to the laser as well. She’d stood there, totally naked, totally exposed.

And cum, just from being so exposed.

I won’t do it, she protested, looking at the room. The idea was crawling through her mind, a persistent, buzzing itch. Her skin was crying out, her fingers trembling. It would be so easy. Stand up. Go over to the room, Shut the door. Take off her clothes.

It would feel so good.

It was so close, so tempting. Like that last chocolate biscuit. So sweet, so dark. The one you wanted. The one you promised yourself that you wouldn’t have. But you wanted it. You wanted it so bad. Your lips were crying out for it and you could imagine the taste, your hand reaching out for it, the sensation as the sugar hit your tongue and the sweetness slid down your throat and your eyes fluttered from the taste.

“Are you okay Christine?” Tania asked from the other side of the dividers in the open plan office.

Christine realised that she’d been moaning. “Ah, yeah, um sorry.”

She could ask Tania to join her if she went into the room. She and Tania worked together on so many projects. And while Tania had seen her in the meeting room so many times her colleague hadn’t seen Christine like she was now, her pubic hair gone.

Christine could picture it. Her sitting there, naked from the waist down, Tania’s dark almond-shaped eyes on her. Tania not knowing what she was seeing. But Christine would know. She would know how exposed she was with Tania’s eyes on her.

It would be so good.

She could taste it.

“Can you meet me over there in a few minutes?” Christine blurted.

Oh God, why did I say that? She should take it back. She could. It would just be a few words.

“Sure,” Tania replied. Her colleague was used to them using the room now. Not that she knew why Christine was so fond of it.

I can’t. I can’t. Just tell her we can talk here.

But if she did that she wouldn’t be exposed. Her skin wouldn’t be naked. She wouldn’t feel her clothes leaving her body. Tania had never seen her like she was now.

Just this one last time, Christine promised herself. Maybe this would be enough. With what she’d had done at the clinic. With that, if Tania saw her, maybe it would be enough. Maybe she wouldn’t want to do it again.

It will feel so good. Maybe it would be good enough to satisfy whatever this craving was. To drive the urge away for good. The urge that was always there, pulling at her, never leaving her alone.

Christine rose from her chair, hurried over to the room.

Before she had a chance to think.

Closing the door behind herself she leaned against it. She didn’t have long. Tania would be here soon. Fumbling, her thoughts a blur, Christine slipped her skirt and panties off, as she revelled in the sensation. For a moment her eyes were fixed on her own centre, her skin glistening. One finger drifted across her bare skin, sparks erupting in Christine’s mind. She could stay there. In the middle of the room. Let Tania really see her. The fantasy danced in her mind. It would be so good. For someone she knew to see her.

I can’t.

But Christine knew that she could. It would be so easy. She didn’t have to do anything. Just stay where she was until Tania opened the door. Even as she knew what it would mean. She’d lose her job, her career, her self-respect.

But it would feel so good. She could imagine it. Tania seeing her. Christine standing, there exposed.

It was so tempting. Christine’s breaths were coming in gasps, her dry lips opening and closing. She could do more. Her hand rose to the top button of her blouse. Maybe she could be undoing the last one as Tania entered the room.

Maybe Christine would come the moment her colleague opened the door.

No!

With a wrench Christine forced herself to move. Sat down at the desk. Put her panties and skirt in one of the drawers. Tried to compose herself.

Waited.

Moments later the door opened, Tania standing there.

“What is it with you and this room?” her colleague asked, her brow furrowing. Christine was sure that other woman sniffed. Could she smell Christine’s arousal?

Oh God.

“Less distractions,” Christine replied, the lie sliding easily past her lips. And it wasn’t quite a lie. There were less distractions. Less things for Tania to look at. Less reasons for her to look anywhere other than Christine.

That was so good.

Christine could feel her colleague’s eyes on her. Even when Tania glanced down Christine could draw a line. From her colleague’s eyes, through Tania’s laptop, through the desk, to where Christine’s legs were. Where her centre was, open and exposed.

I’m exposed. A thrill ran through the blonde at the thought, ending in her pussy, her centre pulsing with need. Tania’s eyes were a skilled lover, Christine’s skin burning where the line of her colleague’s sight fell. She fidgeted in her seat. First she crossed her legs. Not because she was trying to cover herself up. That was silly. But because it made it better when she uncrossed them, edged her legs apart. Revealing herself. Exposing herself.

Christine gnawed at her lower lip, glowing pleasure shooting through her. She could feel it slipping down her thighs. She didn’t mind. It just let her know how naked she was.

It was so hard to concentrate on the work. She just wanted to sit there. Feel Tania’s eyes on her. Bask in it.

Take off more of her clothes.

She couldn’t do that, no matter how good it would feel.

But maybe there was something she could do.

“Do you think we can stretch the budget a bit further?” Christine asked.

Christine stretched out her leg so that the toes of her high heeled foot would show under the edge of the desk. She didn’t know whether Tania would see them. Maybe she could drop something on the floor and ask Tania to pick it up. With the way the desk was built all Tania would see would be Christine’s foot.

But Christine would know. Would know that there was nothing between her shoes and the hem of her blouse. That below the waist that she was naked, exposed. That if it wasn’t for the desk then Tania would be able to follow the line of her leg, up Christine’s calf, past her naked thigh, to the blonde’s centre, totally denuded now. Lisa had told her it would stay that way for months. Longer if Christine kept coming back.

Christine promised herself that she wouldn’t go back. Even as she had the thought she knew that it was a promise that she’d break.

Christine was breaking so many promises to herself these days.

The blonde pushed a pen over the edge of the desk. “Oops, sorry, that was clumsy. Could you pick it up for me?”

With a sigh her colleague leaned down.

Oh God, she can see my foot. Christine had to bite her lip to stop moaning in excitement. She tried to tell herself how wrong this was, how stupid she was being. But thoughts of her colleague’s eyes on the bare flesh of her leg was sending waves of bliss through her.

Tania placed the pen back on the desk.

“Is it a little warm in here?’ Christine asked, her hand undoing the top button of her blouse, telling herself to stop as she did. Failing.

“No,” Tania replied, looking up. Her eyes falling on Christine’s skin.

Oh fuck. Sparks shot through the blonde. It was so much better like this. Taking her clothes off in front of someone. So much less between her skin and the person looking at her.

The gesture was so innocent. People undid their top button every day. But Christine knew what it meant when she did it. She was almost slipping on the chair, her arousal pooling beneath her.

It was so hard to stop herself doing more. Her hand would go to the next button and she’d pull it back. Again and again. She wanted to undo it. She wanted it so much. But she couldn’t. If she undid that button she didn’t know where she’d stop. She couldn’t do that.

No matter how much the need to do it was blocking out anything else.

“I think that’s it, right? Tania asked at last.

Christine nodded, her hand fluttering at the second button on her blouse. She could undo it. Maybe think of some excuse to keep Tania here.

Outside she could hear their boss, Greg. “Thank you Miss Goddard, we’ll be in touch.”

“Who’s that?’ Christine asked, as innocently as she could. Anything to keep Tania in the room, looking at her.

“I don’t know,” her colleague shrugged as she rose from her chair. “Some new customer I think.”

Please, stay. It was a desperate thought, followed by a silent wail as she realised that Tania was leaving.

Her colleague looked back at Christine from the doorway, Tania shooting an easy comment on how they were finished on that work now.

Christine barely registered the words, biting her lower lip, struggling to hold back her orgasm until her colleague turned away, her crest drowning her as she stared at Tania’s retreating back.

What if she’d seen me cum?

Christine didn’t want to think about that.

Christine sat in the chair after Tania had left, staring at the desk. She had to make herself leave. It would be too risky to keep sitting there.

Oh no. God. She’d forgotten to ask Tania to close the door. She couldn’t stand up to put her clothes back on. It wasn’t the first time, but she’d have to be so careful as she shimmied herself back into her panties and skirt.

Or she could just stay there. She could even stay there until everyone left. Spend the whole afternoon half-naked.

The idea was making her drip, her nipples rock hard. Could she slip her bra off without taking off her blouse? Have those points pressing in to the thin fabric? Would anyone glancing in her direction realise what she’d done?

“Christine?” the blonde shook herself as her name was called, the sound penetrating her disjointed thoughts. “Are you in here again?” It was her boss, Greg. There was a frown on his face, adding to the lines the twenty or so years he had on Christine gave him.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied nervously. “Is that a problem?”

He was in the doorway. He was looking at her. His eyes were on her. First on her face. Then they flicked to the desk. He was seeing her computer. But Christine knew where the line of his sight went after that. Through the papers scattered about, through the wood of the desk.

Right to her centre. Where it lay, bare and denuded.

She edged her feet apart, heat washing over her centre.

Even though she’d just cum Christine could feel her arousal starting to boil again, her skin glowing as the line of Greg’s gaze slid over where her naked thighs lay.

Not that he knew.

But she did.

“You know you’re only supposed to use these rooms when you need them,” her boss huffed. “Which isn’t for a simple discussion.”

No. Christine’s stomach sank. Greg could tell her to stop using the meeting room. Fear trembled through her. If he did that she wouldn’t be able to head to the room when the need became too much. When she could barely keep her hands off her clothes. When her skin itched to be exposed. She wouldn’t be able to feel the joy, the relief, as her hand found the zipper of her skirt. As she eased the garment over her hips. As she slid her panties down.

Feel the bliss as she sat there, half-naked, a colleague’s eyes on her.

Please, no. Christine could feel sweat dripping down her back, cold and damp, over her naked arse, to mix with something much hotter that pooled underneath her. The thought of not being able to satisfy that urge was making her ill. Her hands were trembling.

“Just what is it you do in here all the time?” Greg asked, stepping into the room.

Christine thought he was going to stop in front of the desk. But he didn’t. He kept walking, coming around the side.

Oh God. Christine didn’t know what word should follow that. Yes or no. She could stop him. She had to stop him. If she didn’t stop him he’d see her. Which would be so, so, good, the thought making her breath catch as delicious need shot through her. But it was a dream, a fantasy. She’d only played with it. Poked the edges as she’d sat half-naked behind the desk.

This would be real.

Time slowed. Every step Greg took was like a heartbeat. Like the thud of some drum.

Christine just sat there.

Greg rounded the desk. Looked down at her.

Help me.

“I see,” he said.

Of course he’d say that. Because he could see. Why hadn’t she moved? She could have thrust herself forward, used the desk to hide how exposed she was. But she hadn’t. She’d just sat there. As if she’d wanted him to see her.

Of course she had. Isn’t that what she wanted? Someone to see her.

But not like this.

Embarrassment and shame flooded through her. But Greg could see that she had nothing on below the waist. He could see her.

Her arousal spiked, riding over the humiliation.

He could see her. Someone she knew could see her. Christine could barely think with the arousal crashing through her.

Desperately she tried to get her thoughts under control. She should do something. Cover herself with her hands. Push the chair forward, using the desk as protection. Say something. Make some excuse, however feeble.

She did nothing. Instead she simply waited. For Greg to demand an explanation. To tell her to get out. It was over.

Without a word Greg turned around, headed back to the door. Christine didn’t know what was happening, didn’t understand.

Greg closed the door. Locked it. Turned back to face her.

“You’d better take off the rest then,” he declared, calmly.

Christine’s head whirled. She couldn’t believe how relaxed he sounded. Couldn’t believe what he’d said.

Couldn’t believe how much she wanted to do what he’d told her to do.

This is it. If she did what he said then someone would see her. Not like Tania and all the others, who hadn’t know what they were seeing. There’d be no desk in the way. Not even like Lisa. Even though the woman had seen her naked it wouldn’t be the same. This was her boss. Someone she knew. Someone she saw every day.

Who saw her.

Who’d never seen her like this.

Slowly, her lips suddenly dry, Christine stood up. She could feel Greg’s eyes on her. On her legs. On her arse as she turned and pushed the chair in. Why am I doing that now? On her wet, dripping, centre as she turned to face him. She didn’t need to look at his eyes to know where they were focussed. She could feel them. Like a physical touch, her skin burning, waves of pleasure rolling through her.

Her hands flew to the second button on her blouse. Stayed there for a moment. She knew what she was going to do. Undo it. But she had a choice. She could simply undo it. Or she could put on a show.

The choice of doing neither never occurred to her. The need to take off her clothes in front of this man, to show him more of her naked skin, drowned out anything else. That he was her boss. That he was decades older than her. That she might be destroying her career. None of it mattered. He was here. She could expose herself.

It was all she wanted.

Maybe putting on a show would be best. She could sense how excited he was. Why wouldn’t he be? She was young and beautiful. Why wouldn’t he want to see her? Not as desperate as she was, but even so. Was that a bulge in his trousers? Christine was sure that it was. She could give him even more. Tease, tempt.

Not yet. A voice in her head told her no. It was her voice but it sounded so calm, so certain. Nothing like she felt. But Christine knew what the voice wanted her to do.

She undid the button. The next one and the next one. The release of each button was like a lover’s kiss. Shucked her blouse from her shoulders. Let it fall to the ground. Even without ceremony each movement sent waves of pleasure washing through her, blanketing out everything else. She was standing in front of her boss in her just her bra and high heels. He could see so much of her. With her hairless pussy he had to see how aroused she was, standing there, trembling with need. Maybe he thought it was for him. It was, but only for him to see her.

Her hands reached for her bra.

Greg’s eyes were fixed on her. That was what Christine wanted. What she needed. Her breasts ached to have his eyes on them. Hot pulses of need scorched through her as her hands found their way to her bra clasp. She didn’t fumble. It was such an easy gesture. Just a flick and the garment came undone. One hand, then the other, slowly easing the straps off her shoulders, letting it dip, just a little, the edges of her areola coming into view. Then she simply let the bra fall to the floor.

She was naked.

Exposed.

Someone was seeing her.

She was cumming, her hands clenched at her sides and her hips jerking back and forth. The wave was breaking over her and she could barely understand what was going on. Greg’s hands were on her, spinning her around and pushing her down until she was bent over the desk, her cheek and breasts pushed into the wooden surface. She could hear him fumbling behind her, the sound of a belt and zipper being undone.

Christine didn’t care, didn’t resist. He could see her back, her arse, she was naked and someone could see her, her pussy still clenching as the orgasm went on and on.

“God yeah, I’ve wanted this ever since you started here,” Greg growled.

And then he was inside her, hard and thick, Christine lying underneath him, naked and impaled on his cock, his thrusts driving in to her.

She could feel another orgasm building. Not from the delicious sensations from her pussy. They were oh so good, but they weren’t what was sending her screaming into another crest. She was naked, and he could still see her. That was all she wanted, all she needed, the pleasure crashing through her, her focus blurring.

“Yes, yes, yes.” It was her voice. Greg probably thought she meant she wanted him to fuck her. She wasn’t saying no. He could fuck her if he wanted. As long as she could take her clothes off for him, be naked for him.

For anyone.

He thrust into her again, one last time, hard. Her second orgasm exploded as she felt his cum spraying her insides.

Christine lay there, quivering with aftershocks, as Greg withdrew. She didn’t move, except to spread her legs a little wider. She could still feel his eyes on her. On her back, on her arse, on her dripping pussy which he’d just used so thoroughly.

She didn’t care what they’d just done. Even if she did Christine knew that it would have been worth it. Anything would be worth it if she could be exposed.

But however hard she’d cum, however good it had felt, it wasn’t enough. She knew that she’d need to do it again.

“Can I keep using this room?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Like you were just now?” Greg sneered. “Some half-naked office slut?”

Was that what she was? Christine found it hard to argue. She’d been half-naked. He’d taken her like some slut. She didn’t feel like a slut. Didn’t a slut just have sex because she wanted to? The sex hadn’t really mattered to Christine. Maybe it was just the price she paid to get what she wanted. But maybe it was what Greg needed to hear.

“Um, yeah?” she offered hesitantly. She didn’t want to think of herself like that. It was surreal. But she needed this. Needed to be exposed. Greg could stop her. Forbid her from the room. She quailed at the thought, almost physically ill. She’d do whatever she had to do, whatever Greg wanted, if that’s what it took to get what she needed.

“I suppose,” he smiled thinly. “But I think I’ll have to check on how you’re using it. Maybe every day.”

Every day? He was going to fuck her every day? She could say no. She should say no. If she said yes she would be no better than a slut. But the need was trembling inside her. Even now she wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off. Stand naked before her boss. Before anyone. Her fingers twitched, aching need running through her body. If he fucked her every day then that would mean she would be naked for him every day. She’d have her blouse and bra on when he entered. She could take them off for him. He’d fuck her after she did. Christine was willing to pay that price. Anything, her pride, her self-respect, her dignity. None of them mattered as much as the chance to be exposed.

“Okay,” she said.

The thought of what she’d just agreed to was almost enough to make her cum again.