You are Ryan Settle, Rear Admiral, Lower Half, and you are currently sitting behind your Impressive Mahogany Desk, steeling your will to face the dark trials ahead. Folding your hands together and angling your head so the light slanting through the blinds reflects from your aviator sunglasses just-so, you focus on your office door.

"Come in."

The door seems to swing open on its own, revealing two buxom women you can't identify beneath their fedoras and shutter shades. They stride in confidently, striking a pose as they face you down.

“Admiral Settle,” Hyuuga says. “We heard you can play the accordion.”

“We're getting the band back together,” Ise exclaims. “We've got Kongo to play the xylophone and the cymbals and the cow bell and the...” she counts off on her fingers - “and stuff, so we need someone grumpy and dour to counter her chi and bring balance back to the band!”

A silence stretches between you.

“We're on a mission from God,” Hyuuga adds.

The silence grows, the room seeming to lengthen as space-time itself expands between you and the two shipgirls. They shiver as the aura presses into them, borne on the piercing glint of sunlight off your sunglasses.

“Is this-!?” Ise cries.

“Killing intent,” Hyuuga confirms grimly.

They lean into the wrath swelling from you like they're plowing into heavy waves, but then the rumbling begins, a savage growl so low and feral it seems to emanate from the air itself. You see their eyes widen behind their shutter shades as they finally give ground, pressed back by the swelling, monstrous cloud of pure dark hate rising from the wellspring of Settle. Pale-faced and shivering, they finally cross the threshold, the door closing of its own accord in their wake.

Your face falls into your palm even as the door clicks shut. The long shadows creeping up the wall indicate that the working day is over - even during wartime, people have to sleep. In fact, people sleep more in the wartime Navy than they did in the peacetime Navy, it seems. The ops center will be staffed at all hours, and on every nook and cranny of the base the Secret Squirrels labor on in a caffinated haze, safe in their cloistered dens, but for a while at least you've got this corner of the administrative building to yourself. Massaging away the headache the long, taxing day has stroked into thudding life within your skull, you fish around in the desk's lap drawer for that flask of brandy -

- a distant thunder that you feel before you hear, a familiar quaver in the floorboards as more stress comes roaring down the hall towards you. You've just enough time to bury your face in both hands and cram your thumbs into your ears before the office door -


- seems to blow open before the trumpeting power of that voice alone.


So. So Essex has been in your apartment. Which means it probably looks like the aftermath of a spaghetti grenade thrown into a swordfish maternity ward. You drag your hands down your cheeks, literally pulling a horrid face as you glare demons and devils at her.

Essex kicks your door closed with her heel and plants her fists on her hips. "I've been waiting all day to do something nice for the Dadmiral, only to find you here, SHUNNING your loyal adopted daughter, who does nothing but worry about you!"

"And blow up my apartment."

"That was an accident! I was baking!"

"Magnesium powder is not a fucking leavening agent, Essex."


"That you found in Hate's ro-"

"How was I supposed to know-"

"Why were you in HATE's room, you daffy-"

"AND!" she asserts, raising a finger into the air and adopting a closed-eyed Lecture Pose, "I've even made you breakfast in be-"

"FOUR AM, ESSEX!" you snap, your last nerve already fraying. "FOUR-FUCKING AM IS NOT THE TIME FOR FUCKING PANCAKES!"

"Every time is pancake time," she says with the confidence of the unassailably smug, if not the grammar. "ANYWAY!" she slams her fist into an open palm, her butt wiggling slightly - if she had a tail, she'd be wagging it. "Have you thought about my uh, you know, the..."

".... jets," you finish wearily.

She all but bounces on the balls of her feet, eyes asparkle. "Yes!"

You stare at her blankly, managing to avoid slack-jawed drooling only by conscious effort of will. An hour ago you might've rallied some remaining strength to explain to her - again - the impossibility of her request, but now all you can do is contemplate the utter futility of it, as well as the pouting that's about to ensue.

"Come oooooooon!" she wails, crossing her ams and stamping her heeled pump into the floor rug. "I'VE BEEN GOOD AND I HAVEN'T BULLIED I-19 AND I EVEN MADE YOU DINNER!"

"... Essex."

"Yes!?" That bubbly eagerness again.

"I know, I know I told you the last time we talked about this, that it would be the last fucking time we talked about this-"

"NO FAIR!" Essex almost yodels, scowl-stomping her way to your desk and slamming her hands down on your scratchpad hard enough to make your Go Navy pencil mug rattle. "DADMIRAL, YOU GIVE YOUR GIRLFRIENDS ALL THE FANCY PLANES, WHY NOT YOUR LOYAL AND ADORABLE DAUGHTER!?"

You loom up out of your chair like an old Chief roused to action by the siren-call of hate. Your pounding headache has reached a fevered tempo, and your sorely-abused patience is swiftly unraveling. "Do you even remember what a direct order is?"

"Do you even remember what a meal is!?" she scolds, already coming around the desk to grab your arm. She leans back, throwing her weight against you, dragging you towards the door. "Come on and eat already before it gets cold!"

The same line she uttered last Monday morning at 4AM, strumming that same chord of half-awake, barely-reasoned anger. Smacking her hand off your arm, you round on her with the instinctive authority of the Annapolis asshole born. "SECURE THAT SHIT NOW, SAILOR!"

"STOP YELLING AT ME, YOU JERK!" Essex shouts, lips quavering, eyes squinched and hands balled into fists on her thighs. "I J-JUST-"

Something thin and strained in your head simply snaps, and for a hearbeat all you see is red. Essex is still pouting and yelling when you reach out and seize her by the shoulders. Before she can even sputter, you've bent her over your knee. She squeals in pure surprise when you hoist her airborne, tucked under your arm like a package.

"LEGGOAME NOW! I AIN'T GOING!" she's roaring, hands and feet flailing wildly. "YOU CAN'T THROW ME OUT THESE ARE OFFICE HOURS, I'VE GOT DAUGHTERU RIGHTS, DAMN YOU!" Her gyrations are for naught; you've got her around the waist and her hips are far too wide for her to slide through your grip. Her flailing pumps precede you to the door, but as you approach she stretches out and braces her feet against either side of the doorframe. She's still bitching and crying and calling you everything but a white man, when your pounding headache and bubbling anger finally boils over.

"SHUT UP!" you bellow, and smack her on the ass hard.


At last, for one shining, shocked moment, there is absolute silence. She didn't even think to yelp.

"... B-BASTARD!" she bellows, hammering at your calf. "YOU FUCKING B- AH!" she squeals as you smack her again. The joy of finally shutting up her incessant, ear-splitting bitching and braggadacio is almost too much to comprehend.


"I SAID SHUT UP!" you bellow, winding up and smacking her wide ass with all your might, terminating her bitching with an abrupt shriek. "WHEN I GIVE YOU A GODDAMN ORDER, YOU LISTEN!" You smack her again, and again and again, spanking her just like you're beating a bongo drum tucked under your arm. Essex squeals with every blow, her black pumps kicking high in the air as she twists and squirms desperately, trying to pull herself through your grasp by her death grip on your calf.

"You have somewhere better to be, sailor?" you snap, cupping your hand slightly to match the gentle curve of her ass before smacking the next squeal out of her. "You wanted to stay so bad, so what's the problem!?" You let your hand linger a moment after the next blow, savoring the feel of her soft ass jiggling from the impact. After weeks of trying to get the most basic instructions through her thick skull or over her megaphone voice, the sheer satisfaction of punctuating your commands with an open palm across her ass is almost indescribable.

Essex makes one last mighty lunge for freedom, slipping further through your grasp - until her wide hips jam against your arm, like a cork in a bottle. Overbalanced, her torso's now dangling close to your ankles, her ass upturned to the ceiling. She's still squirming and pawing at your calf for purchase when you gently smooth her ruffled skirt out over her ass.

She freezes instantly as her new position dawns on her. "Wait, wait waitwaitwai-" the slap seems to wedge her tighter into your grip - this angle is absolutely perfect.

"Are you still talking back to me?" you growl, raising your hand again.

"NO!" she exclaims, her voice brittle and shaky. "NO NO I'M- AAAH!' she shrieks as you spank her again.

"See, that's called talking back," you snap, giving her a flat-handed smack across both cheeks. She kicks her heels up, gasping and twisting her hand in your pantleg. "You idiot." She kicks her legs down sharply as she pulls at your pantlegs, trying to pitch herself level, but you arrest her move by grabbing a good handful of her ass. “This is why I have to do this,” you say, giving her a firm squeeze. “Rocks and shoals is the only thing you seem to fucking understand!”

“They don't DO that anymore!” she wails plaintively, reaching back with one hand to pry uselessly at your groping hand, the other tugging plaintively at your pantleg.

“Is that why you've been such a brat!?” you snap. “You thought you could get away with it?” This time you swat her with an upward stroke, right where her buttcheek curves in to meet her thigh, making it bounce up and down in a most fascinating way. You take a moment to catch your breath - when did you start panting?

“You can't, you can't!” she's whimpering, trying to shield her rear with one small splayed hand.

“Try and stop me,” you suggest, swatting her other cheek with the same upward blow. There's a bright, melodious note in her yelp that wasn't there before. She shifts her shielding hand, her legs kicking wildly, but weak.

“I'll use my ship thing!” she cries with sudden vigor. “L-let me go or I'll- AH~!”

“And punch through the floor?” you note. “We're on the third story.”

“SINCE WHE-AH~!” she cries as you alternate cheeks again.

“Don't care about killing me? Don't care about what they'll say, what they'll do?”

“You should die, you old perv-AAAH!” she squeals again, heels kicking skyward as you give her a strong slap, her cheek bouncing up and down a few times.

“What did you just call me!?” you snarl.

“SORRYSORRYI'MSORRY-” she's wailing, her hand flailing away trying to cover her whole ass at once.

“You will be!” you promise, and start in on her again. She gives up her feeble defense, gripping your arm with both hands as her pumps windmill uselessly for a floor she can't reach. Her squeals and cries grow more ragged and breathy with each blow, and you start giving her three or four lighter taps, a few moments for anticipation, and then a sharper smack.

With no one to see it, you grin at the darkened office, a warm flush of pleasure spreading through your cheeks.

Nobody needs to know it, but you're having fun.

You slow the tempo as her struggles wane, leaving Essex panting for air, her legs dangling listlessly, shivering in anticipation of the next strike. Your upward swats have flipped her skirt up, revealing her pantyhose-clad ass and black panties beneath.

“You know how nervous the brass is about you girls,” you remind her. “We've been told to maintain discipline no matter what.” You grab her ass again and squeeze, enjoying the sensation of pantyhose sliding over soft skin, undampened by her skirt. Essex whimpers and trembles, reacting to what is unambiguously, undeniably a grope. “By any means necessary.”

A bone-deep shudder goes through Essex, and for a moment you almost feel bad - but you're not lying, either. She's pushing the limits, and if you don't rein her in soon, the brass will - and it'll be a lot worse for her, in the end.

Besides, it won't kill her if you cop a feel.

“I'm s-sorry, d-dadmiral,” Essex mumbles weakly. “I w-won't b-be b-bad, I p-p-promise-”

She whimpers as you squeeze her asscheek and lift, watching it bounce back as you release. “Essex-” she starts and stiffens when you clap your curved hand against her other cheek, as if testing a blow - “how do you properly address me?”




Is she actually....? She shivers violently when you grab her ass again, pulling her cheek aside to stretch the sheer pantyhose over her crotch -

- and sure enough, there's the telltale glistening, a slightly darker patch of her dark panties.

“Essex,” you almost breathe. “You're wet, aren't you?”

“Ships are supposed to be wet, you dummy, you big duh... uuuhhhh,” she begins to wail. “No, no, no, why are you looking!?”She reaches back with both hands, trying to push her skirt back over her ass, but without supporting herself on your arm she tilts even further forward, letting the fabric slip off her pantyhose and fall as soon as she's pushed it upward. “Don't look! DON'T! DO~oooh!” she trails off with a quavering wail when you slide your hand between her soft thighs to cup her mound.

“Hmmmm,” you breathe, feeling the dampness against your palm. “You are wet.”

Essex coughs as her breath snarls in her breast, her whole body shivering like a plucked string.

“This whole time?” you marvel. “All that dadmiral shit? All that misbehavior?”

“NO, NOAAAAAAH!” she squeals as your fingers find her swollen clit, evident even through panties and hose. She's locked her ankles together, trying to pin your hand between her thighs, but now all you need is a fingertip.

“You just wanted to be punished by daddy, huh?”

“Fuck yoOOH!” she squeals as you rub your middle fingertip in a little circle around her sweet spot.

“Fuck you, honey,” you growl as you give her the middle finger. You keep her hissing and gasping with that as you walk back around your desk, nudging your rolling chair away. Her trembling legs go limp when you pull your hand from between her thighs to sweep the random paperwork and crap off your desk with your free arm.

“Wha-?” she whines. “What are-” you take her in both hands and spin her around, slamming her into the desktop without letting her toes touch the floor (her bountiful bust cushioning the impact, of course.)

“Wh-what!? she whimpers, her cheek against your blotting pad, your hand gripping her nape to keep her down. “What are we going to d-do on the desk!?”

You lean in, letting your crotch and raging boner grind against her ass. “I think you know damn well what we're going to do on the desk, you naughty little bitch.”

A deep shudder runs through her that makes its way into the long, quavering sob she expels. “Nuh,” she manages to stammer, reaching back and trying to push you away weakly. “Nuuuh!”

Pulling open a side drawer, you rummage around and come up with an old USB-B cable once belonging to a printer you threw out six moves back. With the Navy's procurement system, you can never throw anything away. You lean against Essex to pin her hips to the desk, and bite your lip to suppress the groan as your boner rubs against her ample ass. For a moment you almost succumb to temptation, the overwhelming desire to keep her pinned here while you grind one out against her lovely rear -

- but you weren't born yesterday, and you've got the willpower to show for it. Reluctantly, you keep her pinned long enough to catch her wrists and fold her arms together, behind the small of her back, and tie them together.

“Settle,” Essex manages to choke out past her rapid, uneven panting. “Settle, p-p-please d-d-oOH!” Your hands land on her ass with a loud clap. You take a good handful in each, squeezing to your hearts delight.

“Now you're going to use my name?” you ask, that surly anger powering another smack to her ass. She tosses her head back as she yelps, short hair swirling wildly, before flopping back against the blotter pad, panting raggedly.

You lean in a little more, grinding against her ass harder as you grope her cheeks. “What's my name, Essex?”

“.... daddy,” she breathes weakly. “D-daddy.”

The fire in your loins seems to sweep through your head, the world swimming as your pulse hammers in your ears. Her ass is perfect, wide and soft and shapely, and grinding against it is shaking your self-control.

“Louder,” you almost pant, heart racing.

“D-daddy,” she manages, her voice quavering a bit as she lifts it.

You swat her - just a love tap, but she yips brightly anyways. “Louder!”

“Daddy!” she cries. “Daddy!”

You pat her rump. “Good girl.” Sliding your hands up over her hips, and the soft taper of her waist you hook your fingers into the hem of her pantyhose and tug it down, leaning away as you do for a better view. She tries to squirm until you widen your stance, your feet spreading her own till her hips hit the desk, legs spread. You snag her panties as you reach them, her soft skin straining for release as you draw the thin black hose off her. Her pale ass is red-tinged and warm from your ministrations, and then-

“Christ,” you breathe as her panties peel off her pussy, pulling wet strings with them. “You really want daddy to fuck you, don't you?”

She shakes her head slowly, whimpering, “bastard, you bastard, yoOOUH!” as you grab her by the pussy. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry - your cock is throbbing fit to burst, but finally, finally having this stubborn bitch melting like putty in your hands is too satisfying to give up just yet. You rub her slowly for a minute, warming her up, then press your middle finger lengthwise against her pussy. She quivers as it parts her swollen lips, nestling between them.

“What do you want, Essex?” you pant raggedly.

She can only murmur unintelligibly, so you give her another love tap to focus her attention - her pussy twitching against your finger as you do. “What do you want?”

“I- Daddy, please, Daddy...”


“Daddy!?” she gasps. “D-DADDY, STOP!”

You slip your finger in, drawing a long, shuddering moan from the buxom girl. Leaning over her, you bury your free hand in her short, disheveled hair and pull her head back. She starts silently when she feels your boner against her thigh.

“Daddy,” she pleads softly. “Please, please d-don't-” her voice breaks as you begin working her pussy, thrusting your finger in and out slowly.

You lay atop her,whispering into her ear, “Shhh, shhh, that's a good girl, that's a good girl,” as you stir up her pussy. Balls aching and loins afire, you keep it up for what seems like an eternity, her whimpering as her pussy squeezes your finger tightly. When she starts mewling with need, arching her back as she tries to push her pussy back onto your finger, you nibble her earlobe.

“AH!” she starts, shivering as you lick her earlobe a little. You stop thrusting, finger buried deep in her twitching snatch, and whisper - “What do you want, Essex?”

“Puh,” she pants, “Pluh - please,”

“What?” you hiss.

“Please - f-fuck - m-me!”


“DADDY!” she wheezes, bucking her hips against your finger, or trying to. “PLEASE! PLEASE DADDY!”


“F-fuck me, daddy,” she confesses quietly. “Please fuck me daddy, please, please, fuck me!”

You slip out of her and jerk your zipper down, your throbbing cock springing into your hand. You couldn't lift yourself off her if you tried, now, your need so great you feel dizzy. Her voice flutters melodiously as you stroke your tip up and down her slick snatch, pressing just enough to part her labia without penetrating. Her whole body's quaking now as she wheezes for breath, balancing on the precipice as you tease her.

You release her hair and clamp your hand over her mouth in one motion, pressing your lips to her ear.

“Filthy little slut,” you whisper - and penetrate her.

She screams out her orgasm into your hand, prickling pleasure burning in your balls as her snatch quivers and shudders on your cock. It's over in seconds, leaving her a quivering wreck, tears trickling down her cheeks to wet your hand.

You snigger in her ear. “Shameless... slut,” you pant.

She sobs into your hand, cunt squeezing you tightly.

“You like that?” you breathe, moving your hips slowly. She squeals into your hand, a shiver running down her spine - she's still oversensitive from the orgasm. Fishing around in the side drawer by feel, you find a microfiber cloth and bring it to her face. “Open... open... good girl,” you croon as she lets you stuff it into her mouth. “Don't want... anyone... to hear you...” you kiss her cheek - “cuz I'm gonna make you scream...”

You stand upright, pinning her head to the blotter pad with one hand, squeezing her big ass greedily in the other - and then you fuck her savage and raw, unable to restrain yourself one second longer. Hips smacking into her fat ass with each thrust as you bury yourself balls deep, lightning bolts of ecstasy shivering up your spine as you mercilessly pound her. She squeals piteously with every thrust, her tight little snatch stretching around your cock as you ram it home. Every smack on her ass sets off flashbulbs in your brain as she clamps down on you.

You've got her waist in your hands now, her shapely, lovely, well-spanked ass jiggling deliciously as you slam into her with mad abandon, her soaking-wet snatch sucking eagerly at your cock with every withdrawal. You can feel the climax quivering in your loins now, that aching swelling towards sweet release. Gritting your teeth against it, you savor the precipice for as long as possible, slowing your thrusts. Essex wails into her gag, wiggling her ass as much as she's able and squeezing you desperately.

“Submissive...” you breathe raggedly. “little... fuck kitten...” you give her a smack, using her spasm to tease you along on the edge of climax. “Beg for it!”

Your slutty little shipgirl sobs and moans and shakes her ass and does everything she can to encourage your efforts, legs trembling as she stands on tiptoe, trying to push back against your cock. You prolong her torture till you manage to back away from the precipice - and then you grip her waist in both hands and fuck her like a slave.

She cums, her entire body snapping taut - and cums and cums and cums, screaming into her gag as you drive her on and on and on, pounding her quivering snatch relentlessly. She bucks abruptly, heels kicking clear of the floor as she arches her back, her muffled voice strangled out in an instant. Her cunt clamps down on your cock and keeps it, clinging so hard that you freeze, balls-deep, and when her pussy starts to spasm again, you blow.

The world spins into a blur as your head explodes, all your stress and strain and everything seeming to gush out of you in one pure moment of eternal ecstasy, pumped one spasm at a time into your sassy, submissive little shipgirl.


You come to your senses sprawled in your office chair. Essex is still lying on your desk, legs spread, ass red, and pussy dripping your cum. She doesn't stir as you fish out your smartphone and take a few pictures, the shutter sound making no impression on her - it seems you've fucked her senseless.

“Essex?” Scooting closer, you pat her rear, but there's no response. Squeezing her ass, you pull it to one side and part her swollen pussy, sending a fresh trickle of jizz down her firm, full thigh. Your other hand's already exploring her leg, comparing her thigh to her firm, hose-clad calf-

- your cock is already twitching again.

And you haven't seen her breasts yet, have you?

You undo the straps of her heels (velcro?) and toss them aside. Her hose and panties slide with one easy motion, and then you're pulling Essex into your lap. Reclining in the chair, you cradle her head against your shoulder, plucking the wet cloth out of her mouth. Kissing her gently - forehead, eyes, cheek - brings her around slowly, eyelashes fluttering as she tries to focus on you. She makes to speak, but you catch her face in your hand and kiss her deeply, teasing and twining her tongue with yours as she moans into your mouth.

You part with a wet pop and nuzzle her nose, staring into eyes wide with adoration and longing and... and even apprehension. You grope one ample breast idly, and the quick gasp and blush from Essex tell you she's putty in your hands.

And she knows it.

“How...” she gasps, staring at you wide-eyed. “A d-dork like you... h-how are you s-so good!?”

You give her a sultry smile, brush your lips against her ear, and whisper -

“Hail Hydra.”

“.... eh?” she asks in disbelief as you start to unbutton her blouse.

“Denbts status...” you breathe against her neck, “paid.”

“... no,” she manages. “No way!”

You nibble on her neck, making her gasp and squirm as you open her blouse to reveal her brassiere-clad breasts. Working your way up her neck as she sighs and squeals, you finger the front-closure clasp - well, considering the velcro on her shoes, that's not a big surprise. The bra falls away to each side, her large, perky tits swinging free.

“But... but you!?” she wails as you lift her breasts gently. They're soft and heavy and perfectly teardrop-shaped, stiff nipples pointed up and outwards. She gasps sharply as you tease her nipples in your fingers, swinging her feet desperately - but she's too short to touch the floor. She lurches forward to escape, but you just cup her breasts in your hands and pull her back against you.

“Did I say you were dismissed, honey?”

“I can't! Not with... it can't be-”

“What's the matter?” you murmur against her clavicle between nibbles. “After all, it's not like planefag can write porn, is it?”

“Bu-aah!” she wails as you squeeze her tits and bite her shoulder firmly.

“So there's no way this could happen,” you murmur as you kiss your way up her neck, feeling her skin heating anew with a full-body blush. “No way-” you whisper in her ear before slipping your tongue in, rolling her stiff nipples 'twixt thumb and forefinger, “that he could write-” nibbling her earlobe now, “you getting fucked silly.”

Essex is lying completely limp in your arms now, her face and shoulders flushed, breasts rising and falling most interestingly with her heaving breaths. You're both very conscious of your throbbing cock pressed against her bare ass.

You pick her up and turn her around, lifting one leg over your head so she's straddling your lap facing you, legs draped over the arm-rests. Gripping her ass in both hands, you lift her, and ever-so-slowly, settle her upon your stiff cock.

She closes her eyes and turns her flushed face away from you, but you capture her with a caressing hand on her cheek, drawing her to you, and kiss her again, insistent and forceful. She's just giving in, slackening against you and moving her own tongue a little when you begin rolling your hips, firm and measured. She tries to squeal into your mouth, letting you deepen the kiss, your hand sliding off her cheek to grip the nape of her neck and press her lips firm against yours. Your other hand finds her breast, squeezing and stroking and teasing her nipple in turn.

Under that kind of assault, she can't last long. When she starts to shudder, you switch to short, fast thrusts, straight up, bouncing her wide ass off your hips. She moans into your kiss, eyes rolling back in her head. You give her a few seconds respite - and then begin rolling your hips into her again, her weak objections dribbling out as quiet sobs and hiccups. Sliding your hand up to massage her hair, you press her mouth against your shoulder.

“Shh,” you sigh to her. “That's a good girl. That's my good girl.” You start nibbling and sucking on the unmolested side of her neck, hands sliding and tickling and groping and occasionally slapping her ass. “Good,” you croon to her as she whines and shivers, “good. Ride daddy's cock like a good little slut...”

At last you can take no more. Gripping her ass firmly in both hands, you start thrusting in earnest, lifting her up and slamming her down to meet your rising hips. She can only wheeze with every thrust now, and when she finally cums she bites your shoulder instinctively-

- for a moment the world's just you and her, flying through space together as you pull her down on your erupting manhood, filling her to the brink.


The sun has set by the time you've both recovered enough to rise, your dark office all gloom and shadows. You make Essex wait while you turn the desk lamp on and collected her scattered garments.

“Are you going to untie me?” she asks plaintively.

“Hush,” you tell her, rolling up her pantyhose carefully. “Here. Step in.”

“But my panties-”

“Those are mine now,” you tell her. “Do as you're told.”

She obediently steps into her hose, letting you roll them up her legs, pulling the hem up to her waist a little firmer than absolutely necessary. She hisses as the sheer materiel is dragged over her sensitive spots. You guide her feet into her high-heels next, holding her calf firmly as you cinch the velcro straps. You have her step into her skirt and slide it up last, not missing the opportunity to feel up her legs and thighs before zipping it up firm around her waist.

“Now,” you say, “you are dismissed.”

“I'm still tied up,” she mumbles, flexing her arms to make the point.

“Wait till you get outside, then you can use your ship thingy whatever and snap it off.”

“And button up my blouse all the way and take those two folds out of my skirt,” she hisses. “You bastard.”

“I am,” you chuckle, taking her shoulders in both hands and leaning down to whisper in her ear. “But I'm a bastard that can write lewds.” You push her towards the door and give her a swat on the ass. “Git.”

She gets, taking small, precise steps, lest your cum soak through her thin hose and trickle down her leg. She'll have a long time getting home.

Maybe you should visit her next time.