public teasing, vibrating toy, silent begging, dominant boss, office setting.
Janelle sat exactly where she was told—third seat from the left, directly across from Mirabel. The conference table was long, glossy, and way too crowded for how she felt.
Fifteen people. Laptops open. Projectors on. Papers shuffling.
And only one remote.
Hidden under the sleek wood, Mirabel held it in her hand like it was nothing. She didn't even look at Janelle. Not once. Her lips were painted with soft nude gloss. Her blazer was tight. Professional. Dangerous.
Click.
Janelle's eyes fluttered.
The toy buzzed low and deep inside her.
She coughed softly, hiding her gasp as she shifted in her seat, pressing her thighs together. Bad idea. The pressure made it worse. Her hand clenched into a fist under the table.
No one noticed.
Except her.
Mirabel finally looked up and smirked.
"Any objections to the updated financials?" she asked the room casually.
Everyone shook their heads, flipping papers and typing notes.
Janelle bit her lip, her face flushed. She had to speak. She was the assistant on this project. She had data. She had notes. She had
Click.
Her hips jolted. She tried to hide it. Failed.
Everyone turned as her water bottle clattered off the table.
"S-sorry!" she whispered, cheeks burning.
Mirabel's voice was sweet. "All good, darling. You okay?"
That "darling" was a knife under the table and Janelle knew it.
She nodded quickly, trying to act normal. Trying to breathe. Trying not to look at her boss's smug mouth or the damn remote casually tucked beside her sleek MacBook.
The vibrations stopped.
Relief.
Except Mirabel slid her foot under the table… and slowly ran her toe up Janelle's inner calf.
Janelle gasped.
The vibrations came back stronger.
"Janelle," Mirabel said aloud, "Can you explain slide seven?"
Janelle's throat closed.
"I uhm…" she looked at the screen. The letters swam. Her pulse was louder than her thoughts.
"Slide seven, darling," Mirabel repeated, her tone light, playful, evil. "Tell everyone about the increase in partner engagement."
The buzzing inside her didn't stop.
Janelle stood shakily, gripping the table's edge. Her knees nearly buckled. Her entire body was flushed, on fire, aching for release—but she couldn't. She knew she couldn't.
"Th-the data uh…" she swallowed, blinking fast. "Partner engagement… increased b-by twenty-two percent this quarter due to uhm… stronger m-market strategies a-and… client follow-up…"
Mirabel's smile widened.
"Well done."
The toy stopped.
Janelle slumped into the chair like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Her whole body trembled. Her panties were soaked. Her legs were numb. Her mind?
Gone.
The meeting dragged on for thirty more minutes.
By the time everyone clapped and left, Janelle was still sitting there, boneless, sweating, throat dry.
Mirabel stood, slowly walking toward her like a queen inspecting her prey.
"Come with me," she said quietly. "Now."
---
To be continued