Kang No-eul (Guard 011) x Fem!Reader *Office Edition*
Summary: You're 19. She's 30. She's your boss.
Warning(s): Smut, Age gap, Fingering, Vibrators, Edging, Teasing, She corrupts us, Public humiliation, Strap-ons, Manipulation, She's mean in this
Fresh out of high school, barely a few months into your so-called gap year. While everyone else is off at college making bad decisions and posting on Instagram, you’re here—sitting in the too-quiet lobby of a company you’d never even heard of until last month.
The internship was a last-minute thing. A friend of a family friend pulled some strings. It’s unpaid, unofficial, and you're not even sure what they expect you to do—but it sounded impressive enough for your parents to back off, and that was enough to say yes without hesitation.
Now, you’re here five days a week. Waking up too early, dressing too formally, carrying coffee and printing reports and trying your best to look like you belong. You don’t. But no one’s said that out loud yet, so you keep showing up.
Most people don’t even look at you. They smile—tight, distracted—and keep walking. Some of them forget your name and you’re glad they do. You keep your head down. You take notes. You stay out of the way.
You hear about her before you ever meet her.
She’s high up there. Director of Strategy. Thirty. Everyone says her name like it carries weight. Like it means something you’re not important enough to understand. When she passes by, conversations stop. Eyes follow her like they’re not allowed not to.
She's wears a perfectly tailored suit and heels that echo down the hall before you ever see her. Her voice is always low and calm, like she doesn’t need to raise it to be listened to. And she never smiles—not the way other people do. Not like it’s polite. No-eul only smiles when she means it.
You're standing by the copier, waiting for a stack of reports. Your blouse feels too stiff, your blazer’s a size too big, and your skirt—though technically within the office’s dress code—hits a little higher on your thighs than you realized this morning. You keep tugging at the hem absentmindedly, hyper-aware of how bare your legs feel under the office lights.
You chew your bottom lip, glancing at the clock, heart fluttering from caffeine and nerves—and when you look up, she’s there. Down the hall. One hand in her pocket, the other holding her phone. Head tilted slightly, eyes unreadable.
She’s watching you. Not casually. Not passively. Her gaze settles on you like it’s testing something. Like she’s pulling you apart and putting you back together in her head.
You drop your eyes instantly. Pretend to fix your blouse. Tug your skirt a little lower. Trying not to shake.
From that moment on, it starts to happen more often.
Passing by in the break room. Catching her at the edge of meetings. Little moments where she says your name slowly, deliberately, like she wants to see how it feels in her mouth.
You try to convince yourself it’s nothing. You’re new. You're imagining things. You’re just an intern. But there’s something in the air when she’s near. Thick. Electric. Like the moment before thunder breaks. Like something’s about to happen—and you don’t know if it’ll save you or ruin you.
It starts with an email. One line. No greeting. No punctuation.
You stare at it longer than necessary and Reread it about three times. It’s probably about a file. Or scheduling. Or something stupidly mundane. But still—your fingers tremble a little when you tuck your hair behind your ear and head towards her hallway.
The door’s already open when you get there. She’s sitting behind her desk, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through something on her phone. Her expression doesn’t shift when she sees you. “Close the door,” she says without looking up.
You do. The click of the latch feels too loud in the silence that follows. You stand there awkwardly, heart thudding in your chest, waiting for her to say something else. You don't know what to do with your hands.
She slowly sets her phone down, finally looking at you. Her eyes drag over you—slowly. From your collar to your waist, down your legs, then back up again. “Come here.”
You take a few hesitant steps closer. She gestures to the chair in front of her desk and you sit folding your hands neatly in your lap and hoping she doesn’t notice how hard you’re trying not to squirm.
She doesn’t speak right away. Just watch you. Like she’s studying something.
“You’ve been here… what, three weeks now?” she says finally, voice smooth and low. She tilts her head. “And already causing a distraction.”
You blink. “I—I’m sorry?”
Her lips curve. Barely. Not a smile—something smaller. Sharper. “I don’t think it’s intentional,” she says. “But that skirt you’re wearing today…” Her eyes drop. Resting on your thighs. Lingering.
Your breath hitches. You try not to shift in your seat. You don’t dare tug at the hem now.
“I wonder if you know what you look like when you stand by the copier,” she murmurs, voice so calm it almost sounds like kindness. “Or if you’re just used to being looked at.”
You open your mouth to respond. Nothing comes out.
Her gaze stays on you. Heavy. Unrelenting. “Stand up.”
Your heart skips. “I—what?”
You hesitate—but you do it. Slowly. Legs unsteady. You stand in front of her desk, hands brushing your thighs. She leans back in her chair, lips parting slightly as her eyes move over you again. This time slower. Bolder. Silence stretches. Then—
“You’re dismissed,” she says simply.
Just like that. You blink again, confused. Flustered. You’re not even sure what just happened but when you turn to leave, you swear you can feel her eyes on the back of your legs all the way to the door.
The next morning, you get dressed slower than usual. You tell yourself you’re just tired. That you’re not thinking about her. Not thinking about the way she looked at you yesterday. Not thinking about the way she told you to stand in front of her like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You pick out a longer skirt this time. Less fitted. Something safe.
And then, right before you leave, you change. Back to the other one. The slightly shorter one. You don’t think about what that means.
At the office, everything is normal.
People rush around with laptops and coffee cups. No one looks at you twice. You smile. You nod. You do what you always do—stay out of the way.
You don’t see her all morning.
But you feel her absence.
It’s ridiculous, but you keep expecting her to appear. To walk past. To glance in your direction. Nothing. Hours tick by. You start wondering if maybe yesterday didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was just being… strict. Professional.
Maybe you're imagining everything.
Then—just after lunch—you feel it. That shift in the air. You don’t even see her at first but you just feel it…like your skin knows before your eyes do.
You’re walking down the hallway, heading back from the break room. You round a corner—and there she is.
Leaning against the glass wall outside one of the conference rooms. Arms crossed. Phone in hand. Alone.
She glances up. And just like that, the moment stretches. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smile.
Her gaze moves from your face down to your thighs, slow as ever, and then back up again shamelessly. When your eyes meet, something flashes behind hers. Something sharp. Something hungry.
She doesn’t say anything. She just raises one eyebrow—barely—and tilts her head in the direction of her office. Then she turns and walks away. She doesn’t check to see if you’ll follow. She doesn’t need to.
You don’t have to think twice. You just move. Your shoes click softly on the polished floor as you trail behind her, a careful distance that still feels too close. Every second your pulse hammers louder in your ears, drowning out the office chatter around you. She doesn’t look back. Doesn’t break stride. Her heels keep a steady rhythm, confident, untouchable.
You want to say something but your throat tightens, and all you manage is a quiet, desperate hope that you’re not making a mistake.
She slips into her office and closes the door behind her without a word. The room smells faintly of leather and something floral, sharp and clean. No-eul stands near the window, back to you. The city sprawls outside, distant and indifferent.
You wait, unsure what to do, barely daring to breathe.
Then, slow and smooth, she turns to face you and steps closer. Her eyes lock onto yours—no smile, no words—just a look that says everything. You inhale sharply, heart pounding as her warmth presses against your skin in the heavy silence. A hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly along the edge of your skirt, testing. Without a word, her hand retreats and she steps back.
After a long beat, her voice cuts through the quiet—low, clipped, and final. “Stay.” You nod, unable to do anything else, your heart racing as the silence wraps around you.
A few moments of tense silence pass by while she just stares (eye fucks) at you. Her nod is the only permission you need and you take a shaky breath and turn toward the door. Your footsteps feel loud in the stillness as you cross the room. At the door, you glance back once. She’s already looking out the window again, her posture calm, unreadable. You close the door softly behind you, heart still racing.
Back out in the hallway, the air feels different—thicker, charged and you know this is only the beginning.
A few days pass with barely more than stolen glances between you and No-eul. The tension hangs thick in the air. She watches you sometimes, her gaze sharp and calculating, while you find yourself caught, unable to look away. Words are scarce; the silence says everything.
The next day, you choose your outfit carefully—or so you think. You wear a crisp white collared shirt, but it’s one or two sizes too small. The fabric strains slightly over your breasts, the buttons threatening to gap open with every breath you take. Your black skirt is short, just like before, hugging your legs and ending high on your thighs. As you enter the office, you can almost feel her eyes burning into you from across the room, the air thickening with unspoken desire and challenge.
You catch her gaze the moment you step into the office. It’s slow, deliberate—like she’s inspecting every inch of you, from the taut buttons threatening to burst on your chest to the sharp line of your skirt riding just a little higher than usual. The usual hum of activity fades into background noise as her eyes hold you captive.
You try to keep your composure, adjusting the hem of your skirt under the desk during meetings, your fingers trembling just slightly. Every time you glance up, she’s watching—calm, unblinking, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, as if daring you to see how long you can stand under her scrutiny.
No words pass between you, but the tension coils tighter, wrapping around your nerves like a silent promise. You know this day will end with something—though what, exactly, you can’t yet say.
Later that afternoon, the office has mostly emptied. You’re still at your desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unable to focus as your skin tingles under the weight of her gaze. You didn’t even realize she’d come in until you catch the reflection of her silhouette in the glass partition behind you.
She’s standing just behind your chair now, close enough that the heat radiating from her makes your breath hitch. Without a word, her hand brushes the shell of your ear, trailing down the side of your neck with deliberate slowness. You freeze—too stunned to move, too aware of every small movement.
Her voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the quiet like a blade. “You think dressing like that will let you hide?” She presses closer, voice thick with possession. “I see you. All of you.”
Your heart hammers, throat tight, unable to do more than nod.
She leans in, lips nearly grazing your ear. “Tomorrow, you’re coming to my office first thing. We’re switching things up. You’ll be my assistant.”
Before you can respond, she steps back, smooth and calm like nothing just happened—except everything did. Her eyes lock onto yours one last time before she turns and leaves you trembling in the quiet room.
The morning comes faster than you expect. You wake up with a knot twisting deep in your stomach, your mind racing over what “assistant” really means. You stare at your closet, fingers trembling as you pull out pieces—nothing feels quite right.
In the end, you settle on something unexpected: a sleek black turtleneck that hugs your frame, paired with high-waisted tailored trousers that elongate your legs. It’s different from the usual skirts and blouses—more mature, sharper—but you want to prove you can rise to the challenge.
Your reflection stares back at you—edgy, confident, but still trembling beneath the surface.
At the office, you head straight to No-eul’s office, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the usual ambient noise. The door is already open, and she’s waiting, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable.
She doesn’t waste time on small talk.
“You’re here,” she says, voice low and deliberate. “Good.” She gestures to the seat beside her desk. “You’ll be taking notes, managing my schedule, and handling anything I don’t have time for.”
Her eyes flick over you, appraising. “I’ll be watching you. Always.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.
The room feels smaller somehow, tighter—like the air itself is closing in, pressing down on you. But beneath the weight, there’s a strange thrill. You’re exactly where she wants you.
You sit down in the chair beside her desk, the leather cool beneath you. It’s closer than you ever imagined—so close you can smell the faint scent of her perfume, a sharp mix of jasmine and something dark, intoxicating. The room feels smaller, the space between you charged with unspoken rules and unyielding power.
She hands you a notepad and a pen, eyes sharp and calculating as she flips through her calendar. “Take notes. I expect everything to be precise.” Her voice is low but commanding, leaving no room for error.
The hours stretch out, punctuated only by the subtle sound of her heels clicking across the floor or the rustle of papers. You steal quick glances at her—her focused expression, the curve of her neck, the way her fingers tap rhythmically on the desk. Every small movement is a reminder: you’re hers now, under her watchful eye.
At one point, she reaches over and lightly brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is fleeting—almost accidental—but it leaves your skin buzzing. You catch her gaze, and for a heartbeat, her eyes soften just enough to make you question if this is all real.
Then she clears her throat and returns to business. “Don’t get distracted.”
Later, when you fumble slightly over a meeting agenda, her sharp gaze pins you instantly. “Focus,” she snaps, voice cool and unyielding.
As the day winds down, she stands and walks around the desk, stopping just behind you. Her presence is overwhelming—close enough that you can feel the heat of her body, the steady rhythm of her breath.
“Tomorrow,” she murmurs into your hair, voice low and dangerous, “I expect better.”
You swallow hard, heart pounding, knowing you’re already completely caught.
The next day, you arrive at the office with a mix of nerves and anticipation tangled in your chest. The weight of her words from yesterday lingers, and you find yourself glancing toward her office more times than you can count. You’re now in your usual skirt and blouse that never fails to catch No-eul’s attention.
Mid-morning, while you’re organizing some files just outside her door, it swings open without warning. No-eul steps out, her presence sudden and commanding. She locks the door behind her with a soft click and gestures sharply. “Come with me.”
You follow her down the hallway, heart pounding so loudly you swear she can hear it. She leads you into a small, rarely used conference room. The door closes with a definitive thud, and suddenly, the world feels smaller—just the two of you, close and raw.
No-eul doesn’t speak immediately. She studies you, eyes dark and heavy with intent. Slowly, she steps closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off her body. Her voice is low, a husky murmur that brushes against your ear. “You were quite distracted yesterday.”
You try to steady your breathing.
“This,” she says, fingers lightly grazing your wrist, “isn't a place for mistakes.” Her touch lingers, deliberate and possessive. “Show me you can handle it.”
Before you can answer, her other hand slips to your waist, pulling you just an inch closer. Her gaze is locked on yours—demanding, intense.
Her fingers brush your waist—just a quick, deliberate touch that sends a jolt through you. She pulls back instantly, eyes locking with yours like she’s daring you to beg for more. Then, her hand flicks once against your hipbone—light, sharp, impossible to ignore—before she steps back, a slow smirk curving her lips.
“Focus,” she murmurs, voice low and commanding.
The moment is over before it fully settles in, leaving you breathless and wanting.
You’re both back in her office. You sit beside her desk, the notepad balanced carefully on your knee as you jot down notes from the meeting No-eul runs with practiced precision. Her laptop screen glows softly, the faint voices of the online meeting buzzing through the room. She sits rigid and composed, eyes trained on the screen.
But beneath the professional facade, her hand slips quietly from the desk’s edge, sliding down your thigh. Her fingers rest lightly on your bare skin, just above the hem of your skirt. The touch is brief—a soft, deliberate graze that sends a pulse of heat racing through you.
You freeze, heart pounding, biting back a breath as her fingertips trace a slow, teasing line just beneath the fabric. Her eyes flick toward you for a split second, sharp and knowing, before returning to the meeting. Your skin tingles, every nerve alert, as you try to stay composed with her not wanting to disrupt the important meeting.
As the meeting wraps up, she withdraws her hand slowly, the absence of her touch almost as sharp as the contact itself. Her gaze lingers on you a moment longer before she closes her laptop with a soft snap.
you suddenly snap back—heart racing—as you realize you barely wrote down anything from the meeting. Your eyes dart to your empty notepad.
No-eul’s eyes snap to you, sharp and piercing. “You didn’t take notes,” she says flatly, voice low but edged with ice.
Your throat tightens. “I—sorry, I was distracted.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Lock the door.”
Your legs feel like water as you stand, walking stiffly to the door, reaching with trembling fingers to turn the lock. The soft click feels impossibly loud. You turn back to face her, your chest rising too fast, lips slightly parted.
She crooks a finger. “Come here.”
No-eul turns her chair slightly and grabs your wrist, tugging you effortlessly into her lap—spreading her knees so yours fall between them. You land hard, barely balanced, notebook still clutched in one hand. “Sit still.”
her hand goes under your skirt causing you to gasp.
You part your thighs and she doesn’t wait. Her fingers hook beneath the hem of your skirt, tugging your underwear aside until the soaked fabric presses tight to one side.
There’s no hesitation—just the quiet, controlled glide of her hand between your legs as her fingers slip through your slick folds and push inside.
You gasp—but it’s quiet, strangled behind your lips as her fingers curl slowly, deliberately, knuckles pressing deep.
“You’ll finish those notes now” voice firm.
You scramble to grab your pen from the desk while remaining on her lap, fingers fumbling as your mind races to recall everything from the meeting.
You’re already trembling. You grip the pen like a lifeline and lower it to the page. It takes everything in you to focus on your handwriting. Your hips twitch, but she locks her arm tightly around your waist, holding you still like it’s nothing—like she’s not inside you at all.
Her breath brushes your neck. “Faster.”
You grip the pen tighter, messy words spilling across the page, your body tightening with every thrust of her fingers. She’s careful with her pace—steady, excruciatingly slow, keeping it subtle enough that no one would ever guess what’s happening behind the office door.
Your hips start to roll forward instinctively, chasing more, but she tightens her grip. “Don’t move,” she hisses into your ear. “You’ll take what I give you—and nothing more.”
You nod, panting, desperate.
It feels like hours. Her fingers keep working inside you, deep and curling, her palm flush against your soaked cunt as your thighs tremble harder and harder. The notes are nearly done—your writing barely legible now, soaked in sweat and smudged ink—but you do it.
You finally finish and turn your head toward her slightly, eyes wide, lips parted, silently begging but she’s already made her decision.
Her fingers still inside you, she exhales slowly. “No.”
“You don’t come,” she says, quiet and cruel. “Not today.”
Then, as if it’s nothing—she pulls her fingers out slowly, smooth and wet and fucking patient.
You whimper, body aching, thighs trembling violently from the edge she’s left you on. She tugs your underwear back into place, presses a light kiss behind your ear, and then speaks like it’s a simple afterthought. “Clean yourself up before someone sees you shaking.”
You do exactly that, the ache between your legs nearly unbearable, your soaked underwear rubbing with every step you take as you return to your desk like nothing happened.
And she doesn’t touch you again. Not for the rest of the day. Not a brush of her hand. Not a glance that lingers. She leaves you in that state—wrecked and raw beneath your clothes, your body crying out for something she won’t give you.
You sit through meetings. You organize files. You respond to emails. And through it all, the pressure builds—tight and unbearable and untouched. You don’t know if she’s punishing you or training you but by the time the office begins to empty, your thighs are still slick, your nerves frayed, and your heart straining with want.
The office is quiet when you arrive early—just like she told you to.
You close the door behind you, heart already pounding. No-eul sits behind her desk, as composed as ever, skimming through her tablet. She doesn’t look up when she speaks. “Lock it.”
You do without hesitation.
She sets the tablet down, then lifts her gaze to you—cool, unreadable, but something darker simmering underneath. “Skirt,” she says simply.
You hesitate, breath catching, but her eyes don’t move. That single word is a command. Not a request.
The fabric slips up your thighs until your underwear is visible. She reaches into her desk drawer, pulls out a small, sleek remote—and the toy that goes with it.
“Take off your panties and come here.”
You do, slowly, heat rushing to your cheeks as you hand them to her. She folds them once and tucks them neatly into the drawer without a word.
Then she kneels in front of you—not tender, not sweet—and slips the vibrator inside you. Her fingers are cool and practiced. You try not to moan, try not to move, but your legs tremble just a little.
When she stands, her hand smooths down your skirt like nothing happened. She steps close, her breath against your ear. “You’re going to keep it in all day. You won’t come. Not until I say.” Her voice is soft, razor-sharp.
“If you do, I’ll punish you. If you whine, beg, or even look at me the wrong way, I’ll turn it off and leave you wet and useless.” She presses the remote into her palm, not even hiding it. “Now go sit down. We have a 10 a.m. call.”
You sit beside her, back straight, thighs pressed tightly together beneath your skirt. The vibrator inside you is silent—for now—but the weight of it, the presence, is enough to make your breath shallow.
No-eul is perfectly composed. Her laptop is open, and the call is already connected. A panel of blank faces stares back through the screen. Executives, analysts—people you’re supposed to be taking notes for.
You barely hear the introductions over the roar in your ears.
Then, without a word or glance, No-eul presses a button on the remote in her hand.
The vibrator buzzes to life inside you—low, steady, almost gentle. But it’s enough. Your breath catches, your pen trembles slightly against the page. You clench your thighs instinctively, only for the vibration to feel worse somehow. Too deep. Too close.
No-eul doesn’t even look at you. She’s talking numbers. Strategy. Flipping through slides with one hand while the other rests calmly in her lap—thumb still on the remote.
You steal a glance at her. Her expression is smooth, blank. Professional.
And then—another pulse. Stronger.
Your legs twitch under the desk. You force yourself not to squirm, not to shift, not to whimper. You glance down at your notes and realize you’ve written the same sentence twice. Your hands are shaking now.
Another pulse—shorter this time, like a warning.
Your eyes flick to her. She meets your gaze for a half-second. Just long enough to raise one eyebrow—barely—and then she turns back to the screen like nothing’s happening. Like she isn’t forcing you to sit still and silent while she edges you through a goddamn meeting.
The meeting drags on.. God it feels like it's been hours. You try to focus—really try. But your legs are trembling now, jaw tight, fingers digging into your notepad just to keep steady. The vibration pulses deep inside you, rising and falling at her whim, never enough to satisfy—always just enough to drive you insane.
Then her thumb moves again.
A sharper buzz. Higher intensity. It jolts through you and your back arches a fraction before you catch yourself.
You clench your teeth. Force your face to stay still. No-eul doesn’t acknowledge it—not with a look or a word.
But then, right in the middle of a team leader's report, she turns slightly toward you. “I assume my assistant is keeping detailed notes?” she says aloud, gaze still on the screen.
The entire panel is looking at you now.
You force your voice to work. “Y-yes,” you stammer. “Of course.” Your voice wavers. The moment you speak, her thumb moves again—higher. Harder.
Your thighs tense. The pen shakes in your grip. You barely resist the urge to let out a sound.
No-eul nods once, slow and measured. “Good.”
Then—she leaves it on. No more pulsing. Just a steady, high vibration buzzing deep inside you, merciless and constant.
You’re sweating now. Breath shallow. Your knees start to drift apart, just slightly, like your body’s betraying you. You have to press your palms into the desk just to ground yourself.
She still hasn’t looked at you.
You’re unraveling next to her, and she’s sitting there—perfect, polished, like this is just another workday.
The call finally wraps. One by one, her colleagues sign off, their faces blinking away from the screen until it goes dark. No-eul clicks her laptop closed with a quiet finality, and the room falls into silence. The air shifts instantly—thicker, hotter, as if the tension that’s been building has nowhere left to go now. You don’t move. You can’t. The vibrator is still humming softly inside you, and her hand hasn’t left the remote. She hasn’t said a word since it ended and it stays that way.
A couple hours later, you're seated beside No-eul again—but this time, it’s not just the two of you. You’re in one of the larger conference rooms, surrounded by department heads and executives, the steady murmur of voices filling the space as people settle into their seats.
You try to keep your posture perfect. Try to look polished. Composed. But the vibrator is still inside you. And the remote is still in her hand. She sits close. Too close. Her thigh pressed against yours beneath the table, just enough for her to feel the tension in your muscles.
Someone across the table glances at you. “I’ve seen you around. You’re the new intern, right?”
No-eul doesn’t look at you but she taps the button.
The vibrator kicks to life—sharp, sudden, and deep.
You suck in a tiny breath, eyes wide, willing yourself not to flinch. Your voice comes out a second late, strained but polite. “I’m assisting with scheduling and reports for Ms. Kang.”
Another person chimes in. “How’s that going? She’s… intense.”
You can’t help it—your thighs twitch under the table. Your breath hitches again. “She—she’s been great,” you manage to say, your words too soft, your tone just a little too shaky to pass as normal.
Across the table, someone chuckles. “You look nervous. Don’t worry, she’s not that scary.”
But No-eul leans back slightly, her hand sliding under the table—resting casually on your knee, like nothing’s happening.
Then, just as quickly as it started—click. The vibrator shuts off. The silence in your body is violent. You’re left trembling, aching, your skin flushed and your breath shallow.
She just turns a page in her folder, cool and composed, while you sit next to her—on edge, soaked, and falling apart with no relief in sight.
Its late afternoon and most of the building has emptied—keycards beeping faintly in the distance, elevators closing, heels clicking down hallways that slowly fall quiet.
You’re at a different desk beside No-eul’s office, legs crossed tight, heart pounding in your ears. The vibrator inside you has stayed off for the last two hours—but the ache hasn’t faded. You’re soaked. Throbbing. Ruined.
You keep your head down, fingers twitching on the edge of a report you haven’t really read.
Then her voice cuts through the quiet. “Come here.”
You stand too fast. Try to play it calm. You don’t manage it.
Her door is open just enough for you to slip through.
She doesn’t look up from her chair until the door clicks shut behind you. Her eyes lift—cool, calm, but there’s something hungrier now, barely restrained behind them.
She doesn’t tell you to lock it but you do it anyway.
The second the lock clicks into place, she stands. The motion is smooth, deliberate—heels clicking on the floor as she circles the desk and closes the distance between you like a decision that’s already been made. “You’ve been good,” she murmurs, voice low. “Mostly.”
Then her hand slips under your skirt without hesitation, fingers brushing against your soaked cunt. She clicks her tongue once, slow and disapproving. “You’re a mess.”
You inhale sharply, body already shivering under her touch.
Your hands tremble as you reach beneath your skirt, pulling the slick toy from between your legs. You don’t know where to put it—until she takes it from you herself, fingers brushing yours in the transfer.
She places it on the desk.
That's all she needs to say before your chest hits the desk with a soft thud, hands splayed out over polished wood as you brace yourself, breathing shallow.
Behind you, No-eul moves with calm precision—no rush, no hesitation. The top drawer of her desk slides open with a click.
You hear it before you see it: the faint sound of buckles, leather shifting, something solid being unsnapped. Your stomach flips.
“You think I didn’t plan this?” Her voice is low, steady, as she fastens the harness around her hips. “That I didn’t know what you were from the second I saw you standing by the copier with that little skirt and scared mouth?”
You bite your lip, legs trembling.
“I’ve had this waiting since your first week,” she says, voice dipped in something darker now. “Just needed to see how long you’d last before begging.”
You feel her behind you—close, the press of something hard nudging your inner thigh as she steps between your legs. She pulls your skirt up with one smooth motion and pushes your back down further.
“Keep your hands flat,” she murmurs. “And don’t even think about pulling away.”
No warning, no teasing—just the sudden stretch of her strap pushing deep inside you, inch by inch, claiming everything she’s denied you all day.
You cry out, the sound sharp and broken, your fingers scrambling for something to hold onto.
She sets a brutal rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that shove your hips into the desk over and over, the edge of it digging into your stomach. Your legs quake beneath you, your whole body rocking with every thrust.
“This—” slam “—is what happens—” slam “—to bad girls who can't stay focused.”
You moan helplessly, the air knocked from your lungs each time she drives in. You’re a mess—eyes glassy, mouth slack, drooling into your own arm as she ruins you against her desk.
“Fucked dumb already?” she breathes into your ear, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back. “Haven’t even finished with you yet.”
You can’t speak. You’re shaking, clenching around her with every thrust, babbling soft, broken sounds that don’t even sound like words anymore.
She growls low behind you, fingers tightening in your hair. “Take it. You wanted this—every little glance, every skirt, every time you tried to play innocent. This is what you asked for.”
Every thrust pushes you farther into ruin—your legs shaking, your mouth slack, your skin slick with sweat. You don’t know how long she’s been fucking you like this, only that your orgasm’s been building for what feels like hours.
And then—her hand lets go of your hair and wraps around your chin.
She grabs your face and forces your head to turn over your shoulder, angling you to look at her. You’re blinking through tears, dazed, lips parted, and the moment your eyes meet hers—
She slams into you deeper. “Look at me,” she breathes, voice low and tight with control. Her eyes are dark. Hungry. Wild, but precise.
Her hips snap into you again—again—and you sob, jaw clenched under her grip. You’re so full. So stretched. Every movement sends shockwaves through your body.
“Don’t look away,” she growls.
You can’t. You’re gone. Mind melted. All you see is her.
Your lips part in a silent plea, your thighs trembling violently now, and she knows. She sees it.
“You’re going to come,” she whispers, voice suddenly sharp with command. “Right here. While you’re looking at me.”
Then she fucks you harder. Deeper.
Her pace relentless, pounding into that spot that makes your whole body light up. “Come for me,” she snarls, her voice right against your ear, hand still locked on your jaw. “Let me see you fall apart.”
You break with a cry—loud, choked, raw. Your body spasms around her cock, everything clenching so tight it feels like you’re going to snap in half. You see stars. Your vision goes white at the edges. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Her eyes locked on yours while you shatter.
Only when your legs nearly give out does she pull back slightly, hand still gripping your chin, her lips barely brushing your temple. “Good girl,” she murmurs. “That’s better.”
She leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. “You look so innocent like this,” she murmurs, voice low and thick with something dangerous. “So pure, so naive… and yet you’re mine to corrupt.”
Her fingers tighten slightly, grounding you even as your body trembles, and she pulls back just enough to watch you fully. “This is only the beginning,” she whispers, voice dripping with promise. “You’re going to learn what it really means to want—what it means to be owned.”
Her eyes darken with possession, and for the first time, you realize just how far you’ve fallen—and how far she’s going to take you.
Hope you girlies liked it! sorry if it's too long 🙃
LMK if y'all want a part 2 or if you have any other ideas for fanfics
