The Secretaries First Lesbian Experience

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Mr Larson rubbed his hand along the inside of her thighs and touched the wetness. “It looks like I am not striking you hard enough, Miss Farrow. I perhaps should have caned you after all. I will take care of this.”

Layla had finished serving a group of office workers when she noticed another customer waiting on his own. She caught her breath. Layla changed reluctantly into her bar uniform, refreshed her make-up, and made her way out of the office. Mr Larson was leaving the kitchen armed with a microwaved meal as she walked towards the exit. “Goodnight, Mr Larson,” she said. Yes, sir,” replied Layla, lying on her stomach on the bed. He commanded her to put her feet on the floor, and she obeyed. But you agreed. If you don’t respect yourself then why should I respect you?” he replied, fiercely.Once dressed she left the attic, taking the clamps with her, and descended down the stairs to the first floor and then the ground floor. Mr Larson was waiting in the hallway. Are you serious?” she whispered. “It’s not a pittance to me, and you offered. Why offer if you don’t mean it? You bullied me into our arrangement.” She wondered if he had thought about her. Whether he had masturbated to the thought of her. Whether he wanted to take her. Should I say something? Argh, what’s the point? I’m seeing him for the money—I don’t care what he thinks.

Previously, I’ve undertaken ‘exposure therapy’, which involves directly putting yourself in anxiety-inducing situations to find out the thing you fear is no big deal. It is soundproofed,” he said. “You can scream and cry, and no one will hear you.” He smiled at her alarm. “I mean that in the least creepy way possible.” Not a piece of paper, no,” he said sternly. “I mean the type of discipline that you will feel every time you sit down for a week. The type you will remember.” We are not a couple. I have no expectations from you other than your commitment to visit me each Wednesday. You may see whom you wish, and you are not to impede upon my personal life in any way. I may ask you to stay behind after work on occasions to punish you for your conduct in work, you are free to refuse this or renegotiate if it is not a Wednesday. Layla was thrilled to have left the bar job. She had hated it. She had hated how she never got a day off, she hated that she was always exhausted, and she hated that the penny-pinching Aaron took every error in her till—even when she confirmed she had added items by mistake and the money was right—from her wages. She felt no guilt in leaving Aaron down a member of staff, though she hoped it would not make life too difficult for her colleagues.She thought for a moment. She did not want him to hurt her, but she wanted to feel punished. She wanted to please him. “Ten strokes with the paddle, sir.” She ignored her thoughts, cleaned and dried herself, reapplied her make-up, changed into her uniform for her bar job, and left the toilets. She was relieved not to encounter Mr Larson before she left the office and pleased to get outside in the fresh air. Well, the city air, but at least the cool breeze on her face was refreshing. The work day ended and the work week, well, for everyone else at least. Layla had a full weekend of bar work to look forward to. Her only consolation was she didn’t start until the afternoon on Saturdays and Sundays and could enjoy some sleep after tonight’s shift was over. It was a stupid idea. Instead, she left and went to her usual coffee shop for a coffee and a panini before her bar shift.

It’s just your obsession with money.” His eyes flamed towards her. “I know you didn’t make what you said you did in tips, and you never refuse my offers to give you money. What sort of woman does what you do to pay off a pittance of debt?” I’m watching How to Get Away with Murder, still working on my sex party dilemma. There’s nothing like the topic of death to bring up its antithesis – sex – and there’s nothing like boredom to make the mind wander in wild and mysterious ways.

Female Misbehaviour (1983-92)

His expression softened. “Layla, just get in the car. Let me take you home and then you can hate me.” Mr Larson noticed her glistening thighs and reached his fingers to touch her. Layla bit her lip at the pressure of his fingers against her swollen clit.