subby secretary!Mikey x boss!reader inspired by this ask! He's so pathetic I love it >:)
“Hey, Miss? I finished filing those papers you asked for.”
Your secretary is sticking his head into your office, glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, brown hair untamed as usual. He’s looking at you earnestly, as he always does when he does a task for you. Like a puppy expecting praise.
You give him a nod and an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Mikey. Hey—are you busy?”
His eyes widen, as if surprised at the question. “Uh, not really, no. I was just going to start going through your emails.”
You nod at the chair across from your large, sleek desk. “Sit. Please.”
Mikey enters the room with the demeanor of a hesitant prey animal, eyes big and curious and fixed on you as he settles somewhat stiffly into the chair.
“Have I done something wrong, Miss?” The uncertain lilt in his voice is adorable.
You shake your head, and he relaxes. “No, no, not in the slightest.”
For a moment, you just look at him as he peers at you expectantly and curiously through those silly little glasses. God, he’s darling.
You lean back in your chair as you appraise him. “I just haven’t been able to help but notice the way you look at me,” you say in a measured tone, feeling a flare of satisfaction settle in your stomach as his eyes go wide.
“W-what?” He nearly squeaks out, cheeks going red. “Miss, I-I really don’t know—“
“Oh, I think you do, Mikey,” you interrupt, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when I’m ranting about a frustrating client? Like you’re fucking me with your eyes?”
He opens his mouth to protest, but you continue, unperturbed.
“Or how I’ve caught you staring at my ass or my tits—what, at least five times now?”
Mikey’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It’s all true, of course, but he thought he’d been subtle—the poor, naive thing.
You lean forward, elbows on the desk. “I should report you to HR for inappropriate conduct. But…”
Nervously, Mikey leans forward as well, hanging on your every word. God, it’s too easy.
Your lips curl into a smile. “But it’s too damn adorable to give up.”
You can tell he wasn’t expecting that. A scolding, sure. A reprimand, no protests. But this? Praise? His brows furrow in an expression that makes him look that much sweeter.
“I-I’m sorry..?” He stammers, hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap, long and perfect for sucking on. Your eyes flicker down to them before returning to his face.
“I’ll make you a deal,” you hum, leaning back agains, almost casually. “I take the wellbeing of my employees very seriously. And if this is an issue that is impeding on your ability to work, then I feel obligated to help you come to a solution.”
He’s just looking at you, wide-eyed, mortified, and more than a little turned on at the direct callout.
You let the silence hang in the air for a moment, tension building.
Mikey’s eyes go round in shock, lips parting even as words fail him. He blushes so hard he looks feverish.
“Ex—excuse me?” He chokes out, and you know you’ve got him just where you want him.
“If you want me so bad, come get off on my stiletto," you say, slow and velvety, gazing at him steadily. Daring him to leave, daring him to tell HR. You know he won’t.
For a moment, he sits there, just gawking at you. Then he’s stumbling to his feet and rushing to your side of the desk, pulling your chair out and spinning you around to face him.
You’re about to exclaim at the sudden positioning, but then he’s dropping to his knees before you, gazing up at you over the rim of those stupid glasses, needy and pathetic.
“God, do you really mean it?” he breathes out, crotch hovering just above your shoe, leg crossed over the other, stiletto a shiny black patent leather.
You nod once. “Yes. Get to work.” You lift your leg up a couple inches to press the toe of the shoe against his crotch, where he’s already straining in his nice slacks.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, all in a rush, before grabbing your leg by the upper calf and grinding his clothed erection against the patent leather of your shoe with a stifled whimper.
He loses himself quickly, hips rolling both fluidly and erratically in time with his harsh breaths and groans, stifled by his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
His eyes are squeezed shut, brows pinched and arched up. You swear he’s drooling.
You reach down to give his mousy brown hair a tug. “Eyes up here,” you rumble out, tone leaving no room for disobedience (not that he’d think of disobeying).
His eyes snap open, big and desperate for anything you’ll give him. He can’t stop rubbing the clothed head of his cock against the smooth material of your stiletto.
A small wet patch is forming on the fabric of his gray slacks.
“You have to be quiet,” you murmur down at him, looking disinterested, aloof (although inside you’re anything but). “Don’t want your coworkers to hear what a slut you are, do you?”
His hips stutter and he opens his mouth—to protest, to beg, who knows?---but you cut him off with a tug to his hair.
“If you talk back I’ll use your own tie to gag you,” you growl and that makes his mouth snap shut, eyes as round as saucers.
He bites his lip hard as he humps your shoe like the horny, pathetic mess you’ve always known he is. His hips are jerking now, and he’s soaking through his slacks, the poor thing.
You can tell he’s getting close when his whines and whimpers start pitching up, getting more breathless.
“You wanna cum?” you purr, holding his head up by the hair so he has to look up at you, face flushed and eyes dazed. “Speak.”
He nods frantically. “Y-yes, ma’am, I need—need to cum, please, I-I’ll be good, cum in my pants so I don’t me-ess up your shoe, just please, please, please—”
You bite back a smirk at his pleas, so shameless when reduced to a shivering mess of pleasure and desire.
“Go ahead,” you hum, stroking his hair. “Cum in your slacks like the dirty little boy you are, humping against my heel like a dog. C’mon, Mikey, maybe you can convince me to give you a promotion next time.”
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