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An Evening with the Webcam 13

The man sitting to my right-William, from the foreign investments division-turned to look at me. Had I moaned out loud? I wasn't sure. I shrank back, feeling like he could see my need, written all over my face, could see how desperately, frantically aroused I was. Another hot stab of embarrassment, and I prayed that I wasn't blushing. I felt exposed, as though I were sitting naked at the conference table; the feeling only increased my arousal, drove my nipples harder into the painful metal spikes. Could he tell? Could he see how frantic I was? Would he say anything to me? Hunger and shame battled inside me, and need burned deep within me.

Forget the stall. I wanted to go into the bathroom and strip bare, then lean brazenly over the sink and watch myself in the mirror as I took myself. I wanted to look my reflection in the eye as I came, so I could tell her what a whore she was as the orgasm ripped through me. I wanted to make her bring her dripping fingers up to her lips and take them in her mouth, and savor the look of distaste and humiliation on her face. I wanted to watch her fuck her mouth with her fingers as her other hand went between her legs, thrust into her, took her to orgasm again...

The other people in the conference room stood, and I realized with a start that the meeting was over. I glanced at the clock. Nine minutes until Robin's deadline; plenty of time. I rose, and headed for the door...

"Naina?"

I froze, my blood cold, and felt my heart skip a beat. Panic set in as my supervisor crossed the room toward me. She knows, she can see...

"Do you have a minute? I'd like a quick status report on your updated client list, if you don't mind."

I let out my breath; I'd scarcely even been aware I was holding it. "Sure!" The word came out half as a squeak. "In fact, if you like, I can email you a status report..."

"That's not necessary. Just give me the quick rundown."

I stood in the doorway talking to her as people crowded out around us. I gave her a quick and overview of my client list, and she seemed satisfied by that. I looked at my watch as she left.

Four minutes.

With the state I was in, having an orgasm in four minutes would not be a problem. I headed for the ladies room and pushed open the door, quivering with excitement.

Immediately, my heart sank. When the meeting ended, it seemed everyone had the same destination I did; the stalls were all occupied, and several of my coworkers chatted with each other as they waited.

I whimpered, dismayed, and looked at my watch. With little time left, I decided to abandon the bathroom on this floor and try my luck elsewhere. Sheer force of will prevented me from running to the elevator; I made myself walk instead, and tapped my foot impatiently while I waited for it to arrive.

Three minutes.

The elevator doors opened and I darted inside. I was alone in the car; I pressed the button for the cafeteria level and looked at my reflection. She looked back at me with hungry, sexual eyes. "Whore," I said under my breath, and pressed my hand against myself between my legs. She did likewise, and I watched her squirm with desire. "Wait for it," I told my reflection reproachfully. "Plenty of time."

The elevator dinged and the doors rolled open. I strolled through the cafeteria, nearly deserted this late in the afternoon, and opened the door to the restroom.

Two minutes.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm almost finished cleaning in here," the janitor said. "Just let me finish mopping. Won't take but five minutes."

I glared balefully at him, nearly ready to scream with frustration and need. I spun around and left, mind whirling. What now? Parking garage? Sit in my car? I wouldn't make it in time. Back to my office? Too risky. My body was aflame; my nipples ached, and a trickle ran down my leg. The elevator?

I crossed that thought firmly out of my mind. The parking garage, and the relative safety of my car, seemed like the best bet, though it was on the other side of the building. I nearly ran from the cafeteria and down the long hallway leading to the stairway that would take me to the second floor of the parking garage.

Time was up.

I whimpered, wondering if there would be consequences for missing the deadline. The garage seemed miles away; I half-walked, half-ran down the hallway, picturing myself sliding into the front seat of my car, spreading my legs...

I stopped suddenly and backed up. The door I'd just passed bore a small plaque reading "custodial supplies." I tried the knob, and it turned easily in my hand. Heart pounding, I slipped through it.

The closet was small, barely four feet wide and perhaps twice that deep, and lined on both sides by steel shelves. I closed the door quietly and flipped on the light.

My heart hammered. Oh, no, you can't be serious, you are not going to masturbate in the janitor's closet! What are you going to do if he catches you here? What happens then?

I unfastened the hem of my skirt and let it drop. I felt even more vulnerable, even more intensely exposed alone in this closet than I had in a conference room full of people. I bent over, leaning on one of the shelving units, and put my hand between my legs.

Two minutes overdue.

I slid my panties aside. From somewhere far away, the rational part of me screamed at me. No! Stop! Get dressed! What happens if you get caught?

My fingers penetrated the center of my warm, grasping wetness. I sighed out loud and closed my eyes. If you get caught, they'll probably call the police...

Now there was an interesting thought. Oh, yes, I could work with that.

My fingers moved within me as I thought about what might happen if someone had seen me slip into the supply closet, and building security decided to call the police. I imagined the door opening, pictured an officer of the law coming through and finding me here, half-naked, bent over a steel shelf, fingers in my snatch. I visualized the look on his face, imagined him ordering me to stop what I was doing.

In my imagination, I straightened slowly, humiliated, and turned to face him. I imagined my futile attempt to cover myself with my hands and hide the fact that my thin panties were almost completely transparent with wetness. As the fantasy unreeled, gripped my wrist, taking my hand away from myself. He took his handcuffs from his belt and locked them tightly around my wrist, the cold steel circling it uncomfortably. I bent my head in shame, and my eyes fell on his crotch, and I realized with horror that he was rock hard; his cock strained against his pants, and a small spot of wetness had formed there.

He turned me around, not gently, forcing me to face the wall, and I believed he was going to cuff my hands behind my back. Instead, he shoved me forward. I stumbled and caught myself on the shelf. Instantly, he pushed me down, bending me over, and locked the handcuff around my other wrist. He released me, and I tried to straighten, then realized that he had cuffed my wrists around the steel post of the shelving unit. I was trapped, cuffed to the shelf, unable to escape.

"Well, missy, looks like you're in a compromising position," he said, and chuckled. "A very compromising position. Looks like you're depending on my good will to get you out of this predicament."

Without warning, he yanked my panties down to my ankles, exposing my dripping pussy. I began to cry, tears of shame and fright streaming down my face. "Are you going to force me?" I sobbed, my voice quavering.

"Force you? Oh, no," he laughed. "I have something a lot better in mind. But don't you worry about a thing, missy. Wet and horny as you are, you are, you'll like it." I heard a scraping sound as he drew his night stick from his belt and showed it to me.

"No!" I pleaded, "No, please, not that!" I wept and begged and tugged uselessly at the handcuffs. "Please, please, just let me go, don't do this to me!"

He grinned widely and stepped behind me. I felt the end of the nightstick touch my inner thigh, very lightly, and run slowly upward. I sobbed uncontrollably, my pleas tiny, as the cool, hard nightstick moved further up my thigh...

Then, suddenly, overwhelming violation as he shoved the wide, unyielding stick deep into me. I screamed and struggled, not caring if anyone heard me, not caring who came to investigate.

He forced me roughly with it, no mercy, driving the rigid nightstick into me fast and hard as I screamed and writhed and tears streamed down my face. He laughed at my tears, and my shame and pain prodded him to force me harder, faster. "That's good, missy, you just take this big ol' nightstick up your snatch. I know what you need."

And then, in the greatest humiliation imaginable, my body betrayed me and I came, hard, pushing back against the nightstick just as I had against the butter. He laughed even harder and pushed it deeper. "That's right, missy. See? Told you I know what you need."

He yanked the nightstick out of my pussy, and I screamed at the pain. "Now just look at what you've gone and done," he said. "You've gone and got your come all over my nightstick!"

He brought it to my face to show me the juices thickly coating it. "You got this mess all over it. I reckon you better clean it up. Now lick it clean!"

I shuddered, wracked with disgust, and turned my face away. "No."

"Now missy, I don't think you realize the gravity of your situation here. I'm the only one who has the keys to those cuffs. The way I see it, that means if you don't want to make a spectacle of yourself on the six o'clock news, I think you'd better do what I'm tellin' you." He rested the end of the nightstick against my lips. "Now start lickin'!"

I pictured myself weeping with this fresh humiliation, utterly defeated, as I opened my mouth to comply. I imagined the hot tears on my face as I licked the nightstick, tasting myself all over it, and took the end of it in my mouth. I imagined him laughing as I ran my tongue over it, choking and coughing as I lapped up my come.
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