Page 13 of Cursed
Now, Sadie. Or everyone sees how desperate you are when you’re alone.
My hands tremble as I adjust in my chair, angling my body toward the corner. Heart hammering against my ribs, I slide my right hand beneath my desk, under my skirt. I keep my left hand on the keyboard.
I’m doing it.
Prove it. Tell me how wet you are.
I slip my fingers beneath the elastic of my underwear, expecting to need time to get aroused. Instead, I find myself already slick and swollen. The shock of it makes me bite my lip to stifle a gasp.
I’m... really wet.
I admit, typing with one hand, mortified by my body’s betrayal.
Circle your clit. Slowly.
I comply, my fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation is so intense I have to stifle a whimper. Every sound in the office—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, the hum of conversation—amplifies the illicit nature of my assignedtask. Each risk of discovery sends another spike of arousal through me.
I’ve never felt this sensitive, this responsive. The forbidden nature of the act, the fear of being caught, the humiliation of being forced to comply—it all combines into a potent cocktail that has me teetering on the edge embarrassingly quick.
I’ve got my cock in my hand right now. Stroking it while watching you squirm in your office chair, knowing you’re touching yourself for me.
My cheeks burn hotter as I try to maintain a neutral expression, fingers still moving beneath my desk. The thought of him watching me, touching himself while watching me, sends another pulse of shameful arousal through me.
How big are you?
I type with my free hand, immediately regretting the question. What am I doing?
Big enough that you’ll struggle to take it all. Thick enough that you’ll feel the stretch for days.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
But you won’t see it until the Hunt. Not until I catch you. And I will catch you. I’ll be the first to find you in that maze.
My fingers move faster against my clit as I imagine it. Being hunted. Caught. Claimed.
When I do catch you, I’m going to feast for hours on your sweet cunt.
Oh god. I shouldn’t be this turned on by his crude words. I’m a professional woman sitting in an office full of colleagues, not some character in a dirty novel.
But I won’t stop there. I’ll bend you over and fill that wet cunt next. Pound you until you’re screaming my name for everyone to hear. And when I’m done with that tight pussy, I’ll take that perfect ass too. I’ll claim every inch of you. Own every hole.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, my body trembling on the edge of orgasm from his words alone. I’ve never been spoken to like this. Never been wanted like this.
Will you let me do that to you? Will you surrender everything to me?
No.
I type back, trying to summon defiance even as my fingers continue their frantic circles against my clit.
I won’t surrender to you.
His response comes immediately, each word burning through me like an electric current.
Your consent is irrelevant. I don’t need your permission. When I find you in that maze, I’m going to take what I want regardless of what you say.
The taboo thrill of his words—being wanted so desperately that my protests mean nothing—sends me spiraling over the edge. I bite down hard on my lip to stifle my cry as waves of pleasure crash through me, my body trembling in my office chair. My thighs clamp around my hand as I ride out the intense orgasm, trying desperately to keep my face neutral trembling and not make a sound.
Interesting.
