pairing: 90s!damon albarn x black!fem!reader.
content: lawyer!reader. secretary!damon. secretary au. dom/sub dynamics. pet play? masturbation. oral sex. penetrative sex. fingering. sex toys?? sex toys in public. sub!damon. slightttt inspo from strwbryluvers secretary series. this a lot of nothing oh my god this is actually really shitty.........
song: i'm your man ( leonard cohen )
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who, due to the realization that his band was going nowhere, and he needed money, searched through newspapers until he found your small ad for a secretary; he assumed that being a secretary for an average, middle-aged lawyer, who required only typing skills, would be easy.
When he enters your office, he finds himself staring at you with wide eyes as you greet him, sitting at your desk with thick curls styled into an updo, and edges laid flat along your forehead. His words die on his tongue, leaving him standing silently in front of your desk until he refocuses. “M’here for the secretary job—from the paper.”
You sit up in your chair. “Oh, okay, well, do you have any experience being a secretary—for anybody?”
You continue to stare at him kindly. “Can you type?”
"You can start today," Damon notices the way you glance along his body. Your button-up and knee-length skirt contrasting with his large white polo and baggy jeans made him feel overwhelmingly underdressed. “I don’t know about your clothes, though. I prefer a more formal look, y’know? We can fix that tomorrow. Would you make me some coffee—kitchen’s only down the hall?”
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who comes back the next day wearing a pair of black trousers and a wrinkled, white button-up, his tie messily wrapped around his neck. He steps into your office, growing red when you chuckle at him. He watches you stand up, the chair sliding back a few inches with the roll of the small wheels. You approach him, hands lifting to fix his tie. “You didn’t iron your shirt before leaving?”
“Hm?” he furrows his eyebrows, looking at his button-up.
“It’s wrinkled. What did you do before, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Uh, I was in this band with some mates, but it was shit.”
“Not really a guitarist. I wrote the songs and did the singing.”
“You’ll have to sing for me sometime,” The way you smile at him makes his breath hitch, mixed with the acknowledgment of your proximity. His eyes draw themselves to the walls while you fix his tie. He couldn’t deny your attractiveness. It pained him, however, because he knew he’d be better off staying professional—if he could even do that.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who struggles at first. Incorrect appointment dates, client information, excessive typos in client letter, etc. It bothers you extensively, but you shove your annoyance away at the reminder that he’s barely been your secretary—he has time to change. You slowly correct with some things like “don’t put too much sugar in my coffee, please”, or “if you’re having trouble with the printer, I can help you,” as it took him unusually long to print things when you asked.
“You’re proofreading your letters, right?” You ask him as he takes your empty coffee mug. He freezes, still bent slightly and staring at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Just that I noticed your letters have typos, which is okay now and then.”
He relaxes and nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Just be more wary of them, please.”
He nods again before stepping out.
It was when the typos persisted that your frustration built. Everything else had sorted itself out, yet his typing almost deteriorated. You grow embarrassed as occasional questions or complaints roll in, and all you have as an excuse is that Damon’s new.
You step out of your office during the day to copy some files. The phone echoes loudly from his desk, and as you stand there, you catch how he answers the phone with a monotonous tone that could lull anybody to sleep.
You realize you can’t let it go unchecked.
One morning, when he enters your office, your cup of coffee in his hand. You meet him at the door, take the coffee from him, and tell him to sit in the chair in front of your desk. You lean against your desk, heel clinking against the wooden floor. “Damon . . . .”
He glances at your face, jaw clenching at your serious tone. “Yes?”
“I hold my reputation with my clients very highly. It’s hard for people like me to be so successful.”
His body burns with anxiety, a stern behavior replacing your usual amiability. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The letters you’ve been typing have several typos. I’ve received complaints from my clients. I know that’s not on purpose—surely?”
His lips part, tongue gliding along to wet them. He stammers. “No, ma’am.”
“And you sound so sad when you answer the phone. Damon—”
“From now on, you have to let me check them, and if you make a mistake, you have to retype it. If it continues . . . .”
“As for the phone, we’ll work on it.”
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who you take shopping after complaining about his wrinkled clothes. He enters your office to give you your morning coffee, but you sit there, staring blankly at him. You took the mug, remaining silent for a moment before you spoke up. "Damon?"
He hums, allowing you to continue. "Do you not have any other clothes?" He furrows his eyebrows. "Your shirt is always wrinkled. Do you not iron it?"
You roll your eyes. "When people come in, you are what sets their expectations of me; if they come in to see you in wrinkled clothes and a poor attitude, they'll think I'm a shitty lawyer—same with the phone."
You decide to take him out to buy him better clothes. If there were any clients, they’d call back later. You buy him bags full of clothes, even regular day-to-day clothes. Occasionally, you make him try some in, and he catches how harshly you stare at him. He can feel his skin simmer under your eyes, yet he tries to ignore it.
He feels bad that you're using your money on him, but you have to convince him that you don't mind, which he quickly becomes grateful for as he follows you into another store and sorts through clothes for yourself; you grab a short, black skirt and hold it out to him to ask, "Do you think this would look good on me?"
He glances at it, imagining you wearing the short skirt in the office. The way it would wrap around your thighs, or when you bent over, he would be able to see your ass. It makes his dick swell in his pants.
You drag him into a changing room and make him sit on the small bench. He watches as you turn around, back facing him as you unbutton your top. He swallows harshly, fingers tightly holding the bags. You hang the top on the small hook of the stall door before putting on one of the tight button-ups you grabbed. Damon curses himself mentally, eyes staring at you in the button-up, which has your breasts spilling from the top, the first few buttons left undone.
Your face contorts, eyebrows raising. "Does it look bad?"
He shakes his head quickly. "No, it looks fine."
"Fine, you look gorgeous."
You smile at his flushed cheeks. You reach for another item of clothing; he taps his foot against the tile, staring at the stack of clothes you grabbed, and realizes how long he'd been alone with you as his dick starts to get hard in his pants, and he has to adjust himself constantly.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who tries not to think of you inappropriately, but can’t help it when you creep into his mind after he comes home. He lay in bed, thinking about the sight of you in that tight button-up, or when you tried on a tight pair of trousers that accentuated your curves. He knew you did it on purpose, but he couldn't ignore it.
He lets his hand slip into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hard dick beneath the fabric. He groans, head leaning back as he thinks about you—you on top of him, your nails digging into his shoulders, and how you'd feel around his dick. "Fuck," his fingertip drags along a particular vein that has his hips jerking.
"Just like that," your breath brushes his ear while your hips roll around against his. He grunts every time your walls squeeze him. "So good for me," you sigh softly. His hands softly hold your hips, allowing you to take full control, and his eyes shut to focus on the way your velvety walls feel around him. It has his length twitching—really his hand is squeezing around his length to imitate what you’d be like.
Damon's skin burns at each brush of your fingertips, nails scratching his flesh in a way that brings shivers along his body. Your hot palms cupped his cheek, thumb dragging along his lip. "No, look at me,” His eyes flutter open at your demand, meeting yours. He groans, lips parting after you slam onto his dick.
Your pants mix, only pushing him to his climax. He lets your thumb push past his lips, wrapping them around your knuckle. Your nail presses his tongue down, dick throbbing. "Gonna make me cum, babe," you say.
Damon cums onto his hand with a loud grunt. His hips jerk into his fist until he settles, and he sits up slightly to rub his cum onto his boxers and roll onto his side to sleep, brain still thick with you.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who's talking to a client on the phone when you step out of your office. You refill your cup of coffee in the small kitchen and overhear him. You approach his desk, his attention moving to you. You let him finish as you lean against the desk. “Do you have to sound so sad? I’ve heard you before. I mean, are you trying to drive my clients away? Be happier. I'm not that bad of a boss, am I? Bought you all those clothes. It’s the least you could do.”
He can feel his dick twitch in his boxers, watching you bend slightly over the desk. “Just pretend it’s ringing. Try to sound more. . . brighter, for me.”
He lifts the phone to his ear and talks in a brighter tone, staring at your face as you watch him. You sit up, smiling softly at him. “See, talk like that every time, and I won’t have to say anything.” You cup his shoulder before walking away. He leans his head back, dick against his pants, which he can’t sneak to the bathroom for as a client steps inside.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who gives you one of his typed client letters. You look up at him with a small smile on your face and pull out a red Sharpie from your desk. He watches with labored breath as you read it, catching how your eyebrows furrow before you start to circle words. You slide it toward him. “Rewrite it,” you say firmly. “Then, come back.”
He hears you step out of your office. He assumes that you're only coming out to get coffee, but instead, you approach his desk, standing next to him and watching as he types the letter. He glances at you, swallowing anxiously. "Don't mind me," you say. "Keep typing."
He types the letter slowly to avoid mistakes until your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the skin. He pauses for a few seconds, heart racing beneath his chest at your proximity. The rustle of your clothes echoes in his ear as your face is inches away from his.
Damon's breath hitches as your voice reading the paper occupies his ear, accompanied by the click of the typewriter. His concentration transfers to your hands that slide along his chest. Your fingers are inches from his growing erection when you ask, “Is this alright?” He pauses again, taking a deep breath and humming. “Words, Damon. Is this alright?” you repeat.
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows harshly. His lips part, tongue dry. “Yes, ma’am.”
Your lips curl into a light smile. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
He’s silent for a minute while your palm encompasses his bulge. “I didn't tell you to stop typing," you mutter in his ear.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who types sluggishly distracted by your half on his erection. His hips lifted into your palm, dick straining against his trousers. He twitched in his boxers at the way you read the words in his ear. The feeling of your radiating heat and voice in his ear was enough to make him cum, not mentioning the way your hands were dragging along his bulge.
"Think you could cum from this?" you ask, and he forces himself to part his lips and shove out a "yes, ma'am".
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, whose stare at the paper and the keys through a dazed gaze, muffled whimpers spilling from his lips. His hips lift from the leather chair to meet your palm. Damon forces his eyes to remain open, his lower body aching in desire. Unfortunately, he presses the wrong letter, a loud whine pushing past his lips when you pull away, orgasm fizzling away. He leans his head back, groaning while you sit up. He turns to you, staring at your face with wide, blue eyes and furrowed eyebrows. "What—"
His skin shivers at the way you smile at him. "Good boys don't cum after they make mistakes."
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who types the paper hastily yet carefully in hopes that if he gave you a letter with no mistakes, you'd let him cum. When he returns to your office, he watches, holding his breath, as you read the paper, sliding it back to him when you are done. "No mistakes," you smile. "Put it in an envelope, will you?" He takes the letter with a frown, thinking about the moment for the rest of the day.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who starts to purposely mess up his letters for your reaction, only to be disappointed when you only make him rewrite them. You know what he's doing, but you let him get his hopes up. Eventually, he gives up and returns to unintentional mistakes.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who comes into your office after hearing you yelling on the phone, presumably to an opposing lawyer at they you constantly defended your client. He notices that the time that you usually eat lunch is approaching, so he enters the kitchen and looks for the small bag that you bring every day for lunch. When it's not there, he goes to your office to see you sitting at your desk, angrily flipping through files.
You look up at him when he says your name. "Yes, Damon?"
"You're not eating lunch?" he asks, approaching your desk.
You let the file lie on the desk and slide away slightly, reaching to pinch the bridge of your nose. "I am. Just busy," you look at him again. "Would you get my lunch from the kitchen?"
His eyes furrow, lips parting. "Um," he starts, "it wasn't there."
You scoff. "Of course. I probably forgot it at home." You sigh. "It's fine. I'll just go out instead."
Damon watches as you stand up and grab your purse. He feels bad that you had been stressed—even if that was just part of your line of work—especially after the way you'd sucked his dick until he came in your mouth, which he still thought about days later.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who stops you as you walk around your desk and makes you step back onto the edge, to which he grips your hips to keep you from falling. "No," he says, receiving a look of confusion from you. "I can do it. Just tell me where . . . ."
"Damon—" you sigh. He glances at his hands on your hips, accidentally squeezing. You push yourself to sit slightly on the surface, his hands still holding you. "Sure."
"You've already spent most of the day yelling into the phone," he says and slides his hands to the desk, palms lying flat on the wood.
"Oh," you glance at the wall behind him, your fingers tightening around the purse strap.
"Just feel bad, s'all," he mutters, letting his hand slip beneath your skirt. He knows you notice the way you stare at it and spread your thighs slightly. His tongue darts to swipe along his parted lips, and his eyes raise to your face. He can feel his face grow hot at the way you stare at him. His fingers press into your upper thigh.
He almost pulls away until you say, "You're not gonna tease your boss, are you?"
Damon lets out a small groan at your words but pushes forward, thumb pressing against your clothed clit. You hum, eyes closing softly. He can feel how damp your underwear had quickly gotten against his fingertips. A subtle ache stirs at the contact with your hips rising at his touch. You glance at his face to see his blue eyes, which watch your face intensely.
He circles your clit until you whine about how long he's taking, your underwear clinging to your wet slit. He would've mocked you, laughed at you, if you weren't his boss, so he lowered to his knees, staring at your face as his fingers hooked beneath the elastic waistband. You watch him pull them down until they're wrapped around your ankles.
His erection throbs after you spread your thighs for him, mouth almost watering. His nimble fingers lift your skirt to your waist, revealing your glistening cunt and plush thighs to him. His lips attach to the inside of your thigh, nibbling and kissing the bare flesh. His dick strains at your hum as he switches to the other thigh. His tongue glides through your folds at the echo of your groans, fingers lacing with his blond hair.
You hum. "So good for me. Do that again."
He follows by running his tongue up your folds again, drinking your moans. Your syrupy slick is sweet on his tongue, pushing him to lick your pussy indulgently—almost for his own benefit rather than to please you. He wants to drown in your cunt, shoving his face into your thighs. He presses his tongue into your hole, leaving you gasping above him.
Your thighs flex around his head, heels digging into his back, and making it ache. His head bobs with the push of his tongue. He chases the melody of your moans, the way you whimper his name.
You gush on his tongue, your clit throbbing with arousal and lack of attention aside from the light brush of his nose. Your face heats with the constant pop of his lips when he pulls away from kissing your sopping slit. His whines after you tug on his hair make your stomach flex with hot desire.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who sucks your aching clit while his two fingers push into your cunt, glistening with your slick. He curls them each time, pulling moans out of you that made his dick harden in his boxers.
Your walls close around his finger as they bully into your push, making your hips jerk to chase them. It has him humming around your clit, almost making it ache more. The previous stress from before disappears with each stroke of his fingers, which brush deep spots that have you crying out, mind blank. "Just like that, fuck, Damon," you tug his hair, pushing him into your cunt. He moans at your praise and pulls away to lay his tongue flat against your clit.
He glances up at you, arousal swirling in his lower stomach at the way your face contorts in pleasure, knowing that it was because of him—you were praising him.
His fingertips press deep inside you, curling until your hips jerk into his fingers. Heat settles in your lower body, your orgasm being tugged with each curl of his fingers and each suck of your cunt. He pulls away from your clit with a pop to drag his tongue along your puffy slit. It leaves you overwhelmed, desperate to cum.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who has you gushing around his fingers with his name falling from your lips. He kisses your inner thigh, fingers slowing their pace inside your cunt until you squirm. While you're still recovering, he slips his fingers into his mouth to suck your juices from them.
"Damon," you say softly for him to look up at you. You roll your ankle as a sign for him to drag your underwear back on, which he realizes and does. He pulls your skirt down, straightening it when you slide off the edge of the desk, and grabs your purse from the ground after you dropped it, focused on the way he fucked you with his fingers.
You rest your hand on his shoulder and lean to kiss his cheek. "You always go out for lunch; you should come with me, I don't mind."
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who sits beside you as you meet with a client. You're listening to the client while he's writing details down on the notepad. He'll glance at you, take note of how your thighs squeeze together, and your teeth are buried in your bottom lip. He almost chuckles, fingers fidgeting with the small remote to the vibrating panties you let him control. You let him do it on the condition that he turns it down when you need him to.
He agreed eagerly; you almost changed your mind, but he didn't abuse the privilege. He'd turn the vibration up until your body grew taut, jaw clenched to keep your moans in. He watched you raggedly breathing as you barely listened to the client talk. When you were going to talk, you tapped his knee for him to turn it down. Every time the thought of disobeying you made his dick twitch, stuffed in his trousers, but he decided against it and turned the vibration down.
You nod to avoid showing how close to coming you were, lower stomach coiled tight about to burst. Your eyebrows scrunch slightly, anything the woman in front of you said is going to waste in your dull mind. After she stops talking, you reluctantly tap Damon's thigh, but he doesn't, raising the vibration impossibly higher.
Your heart almost sinks, but you're distracted by the dull heat in your lower body that is increasing quickly. Your mouth opens, and you half-expect a loud moan to escape. Instead, Damon lowers the vibrator to the lowest setting, your orgasm fizzling away.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who accompanies you to a dinner with other lawyers. He sits beside you at the table, which is filled with food, listening as you explain who each person is. He notices the visible disdain you show when you mention a woman named Allison (or something like that—he didn't pay much attention), who ends up sitting next to him while you step away to go to the bathroom. His low expectations of her are shattered after having a brief conversation with her.
He doesn't miss the way you glare at her. "You've already met Damon then?" You flash her a half smile. "He's my secretary."
He felt heat rush to his face from your simple sentence—plain truth that he was your secretary. But, the emphasis on that gave the impression that he was yours, which made his skin flush.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who doesn't think anything of his interaction with the other lawyer until the next day when you ask him about it. You sat on the edge of his desk, watching as he organized and stapled a stack of paper you gave him. "Damon?" you ask. He glances at you and hums. "What were you and Allison talking about yesterday?"
"Oh, she just said that she was looking for a new secretary," he says.
"Really?" He could tell by your tone that you were unimpressed—almost annoyed. "Did she offer you a job or something?"
You sigh. "Are you considering it?"
"Well, I'm sure she didn't tell you that her last one quit. She treats her secretaries like shit. She yells at them, insults them, and pays them terribly."
He's confused about why you felt the need to tell him that, and he didn't realize that it was your way of convincing him not to quit working for you—that it was your way of begging him to stay.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who stands beside you after you call him to your office, a coffee mug in his hand, the steam swaying the air as he sets it on your desk carefully. You grab a packet of papers to give to him, but before you let him grab them, your hand wraps around his tie, tugging lightly and forcing his forehead. His breath hitches as he inches toward you; he watches you wrap the tie around your knuckle with widened eyes before you pull again, and he grunts. "Get on your knees for me," you say.
He follows your words, quickly lowering to his knees, heart racing with anticipation as his dick starts to ache slightly in his pants. His knees burn from pressing into the hard floor, but he listens as you speak, telling him, "I want you to crawl. Can you do that for me?"
His skin burns at your touch as your hand slides beneath his chin, fingers pressing into his cheeks. You tilted his head to meet your eyes. He can feel himself throbbing against the material of his boxers. "Yes, ma'am," he forces himself to speak. He's pleased with himself when you smile at his words.
Your hand slides away to lower the packet of papers to his face. "Open," you hover the papers between his lips until he closes them around the white sheet. "Need you to copy these; come back just like this."
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who follows your directions crawling with the dull taste of paper in his mouth until he reached the copier and stood up as he gathered the papers. He groans quietly after becoming aware of his growing bulge. The machine takes its agonizing time, so he lowers his palm to the erection, feeling limited relief.
He returns to his crawling position when he stands outside your open door. He crawls into the room, face flushed under your intense glare. You take the papers from his mouth and pat the top of his head. “Good boy,” your fingers thread through his head. Damon watches you through wide eyes, knees burning against the hard floor. His jaw clenched beneath your fingers, which grasped his chin, raising his head so you could stare at his face. “Should get you a collar, shouldn't I?”
He nods pathetically. You pull away and return to your work. “You can go, I guess.”
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who rushes to the bathroom afterward, tugging his painful erection from his trousers. He strokes him hastily, whining feeling inside the stall. His face burns from the ghost of your contact, his body stinging with desire. He should be embarrassed, heavily thinking about you, clothes sticking to his sweaty skin, and barely muted moans spilling from his lips. Instead, he bucks into his fist until cum spurts onto his fist and knuckles. He pants, eyes squeezed closed until he relaxes.
❤︎ ໋𓈒 Damon Albarn, who doesn't realize why you’d done any of it until he remembers your conversation earlier that day—about his job offer. He curses himself and debates whether he should bring it up again.
He waits around the time that you usually leave to enter your office. He peeks into the room to find you gathering your things. You glance at him, eyes widening. “Damon?” You sit up. “I thought you left already. What’s up?”
He steps inside, slowly approaching you; he could feel his heart rate spike momentarily, glance at your body before staring at your face. "I just . . . I hope you know I’m not gonna work with another lawyer—if you’re worried about that. I like working here."
Your movement slows as you listen to him, face softening. You flash him a reassuring smile. "I know. I'm not worried at all. Why would you think that?"
"This morning . . . it just felt like you were trying to convince me not to work for her, which I'm not—"
"Damon, it's okay. It's late; you should go home and sleep."
He stares at you for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, but he listens and returns to his desk as he prepares to go home. He can't stop the thought of your possessiveness however. Surely, you knew that he wasn't going to leave. He likes working for you, and he has no intention of changing his mind any time soon. Even if you don't think about him the way he does—late at night when he's in bed and can't sleep, mind thick with the thought of you
vaporwave
ellievsbear
pixelskylines
jbbartram-illu
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
dededos
2087
annaxmalina
yousharknotpass
