It started as a dare. A stupid one.
Stay late. Slip into the executive suite. Sit in the CEO's chair. Touch yourself.
She laughed it off—until she found herself doing exactly that.
Now, here she was.
After hours.
All alone.
Lights low. City glowing behind glass.
The boss's chair was massive. Black leather. Power in physical form.
She straddled it backward, skirt riding high, fingertips already teasing under the hem.
He never stayed this late.
Except tonight, he did.
The door opened.
She froze—legs spread, face flushed, fingers still between her thighs.
He stepped inside, calm as sin. Suit jacket off. Sleeves rolled. Tie loose.
Eyes cold. Voice colder.
"You know this is my chair, right?"
She scrambled up, breathless. "Sir—I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"Don't lie," he cut in, circling her. "You came in here to get off. On my fucking throne."
She stood trembling, skirt clutched in her fists.
He leaned down. Brushed her ear.
"Did you think about me when you did it?"
Silence.
"Answer."
"...Yes."
"Good."
He grabbed the chair, turned it to face the glass wall. The city glittered outside.
"Sit," he ordered. "Just like before."
She obeyed—legs parted, face hot, heart pounding.
"Show me how filthy you get when no one's watching."
She slid a hand between her thighs, breath hitching. His eyes burned into her. He stood behind her now—watching. Unbuckling his belt.
"No panties?" he murmured. "Fucking knew it."
Her fingers circled her clit. Slowly. Then faster.
He stepped closer. His cock heavy in his hand, already hard.
"Look at you," he whispered. "Wet. Shaking. So desperate for cock, you fucked yourself in your boss's chair."
She whimpered.
"Beg for it."
"Please," she whispered.
"Louder."
"Please, sir. I need you. I need your cock."
He grabbed her hair, tilted her head back.
"Then open your mouth and take what you begged for."
She obeyed.
And he fucked her throat hard, pulling her head down on him, over and over.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it like a fucking good girl. Mess up your lipstick. Drool all over me."
She choked. Moaned. Eyes watering, cunt throbbing.
Then he pulled out, spun her around, and bent her over the armrest.
"You want to fuck in my chair? Then fuck in it."
He thrust into her hard—deep, brutal, claiming.
She cried out, gripping the leather.
"Louder. Let the whole building hear what a dirty little thing you are."
Every slap of skin echoed. Every thrust drove deeper.
His hand wrapped around her throat. His other circled her clit.
"Come on my cock," he ordered.
"Soak this chair in your filth. Make it yours."
And she did—screaming, spasming, collapsing forward as her orgasm tore through her.
He didn't pull out.
He fucked her through it. Harder. Deeper. Until he spilled inside her, growling, hips pressed to her ass.
Then silence.
Only their breathing.
Only the soft creak of the boss's chair under their weight.
He leaned in. Whispered at her ear.
"This chair's yours now, sweetheart. But only when I'm in it with you."