My Boss Is Not Wearing a Bra
She called me into her office. I couldn’t look away.
The moment I stepped through the door, I felt it. The shift. Something about the air was different. Warmer. Thicker. Heavy with something I couldn’t name yet, but felt in my gut.
Her voice was calm, steady. “Close the door.”
I did.
She sat behind her desk, legs crossed, blouse unbuttoned just enough to draw the eye. I tried not to stare. Failed immediately. There was no lace. No outline of a bra strap. Just soft fabric draped over skin.
She saw me look. Didn’t flinch. Just kept going through the papers in front of her like it was nothing. Like she didn’t just pull the floor out from under me.
“Have a seat,” she said, not looking up.
I sat. Straight-backed. Over-alert. Hyper-aware.
“You’ve been doing well lately,” she said, eyes finally lifting to meet mine. “Consistent. Focused. Reliable.”
“Thank you,” I said, my throat drier than it should have been.
She stood.
Walked around the desk.
Now she was closer. And the shirt—the thin, silky white blouse—moved with her, lightly brushing her skin. Still no sign of anything underneath. My mouth went dry. My eyes dropped for just a second.
She noticed.
“You’re distracted,” she said softly.
“A little,” I admitted. No use lying. She already knew.
“Why?”
I looked at her. At the way her shirt parted slightly as she stood in front of me, hands on her hips. At the way her nipples pressed gently against the fabric.
She stepped closer. Bent slightly at the waist. Her blouse shifted lower. I caught a glimpse of the curve of her breast.
“Because you’re not wearing a bra,” I said, voice low.
Her smile was small. Confident. Dangerous.
“Good,” she said. “I wanted you to notice.”
I blinked.
She walked behind me. Her hand brushed my shoulder as she passed. Then again, slower, more intentional. Fingertips tracing down my arm.
“Do you know why I called you in?” she asked, voice near my ear now.
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I shook my head.
“I needed to see how much control you have.”
My breath caught.
She leaned in, her lips close enough to graze my neck. Then nothing. Just her breath.
“Stand up,” she said.
I did.
She circled me like a predator. Calm. Measured. Watching every twitch, every breath.
Her hands came to my chest. Smoothed over my shirt. Down to my belt. Then she stopped.
“Still in control?” she asked.
“Barely,” I said.
“Good,” she whispered.
She unbuckled my belt. Slowly. Then unzipped me, her fingers grazing over me through the fabric. I was already hard. Had been since I walked in.
She looked up at me. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“Every day,” I said.
She pulled my pants down just enough. Then my boxers. Just enough to free me. She looked at me for a long moment. Then dropped to her knees.
And when her lips touched me, I nearly lost it.
It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate. Slow. She took her time, her tongue tracing every inch, her mouth warm and soft. Her hands on my hips, steadying me as my knees nearly buckled.
She looked up while she did it. Her eyes locked on mine. Like she wanted to see everything I was feeling.
And I gave it to her. Every bit of it.
After what felt like hours and seconds all at once, she stood. Wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Still in control?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
She nodded. “Good.”
Then she unbuttoned her blouse, one button at a time.
Her breasts were bare, just like I thought. Full. Firm. Her nipples already hard.
“Touch me,” she said.
So I did.
With both hands, gently at first. Then more. My thumbs brushed over her nipples and she closed her eyes, breathing in deep. My lips followed, kissing down her neck, across her chest. She pulled me to her, grinding against me, letting out a soft, urgent sound.
Her skirt came off next. Tight black pencil skirt. No underwear.
She turned around, bent over the desk.
“Fuck me,” she said.
I didn’t hesitate.
She was wet, ready. I slid inside her and she gasped. My hands gripped her hips. Her nails clawed at the desk. We moved together, slow at first. Then faster. Harder.
She pushed back into me, taking me deeper.
The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Her moans were soft but real. Urgent. I felt her tighten around me, her whole body trembling.
She came hard, her voice muffled against her arm.
I wasn’t far behind.
I pulled her close, pressed deep one last time, and came with a growl that echoed in my chest.
We stayed like that for a moment. Breathing. Sweating. Quiet.
Then she straightened up. Fixed her blouse. Smoothed her hair.
“You’ll need to stay late tomorrow,” she said, not looking at me.
I nodded.
“Same time,” she added.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled. That same dangerous smile.
“Good.”
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