| If you're under 18, don't read these stories. Skip or erase the file. If
you're over 18, you can officially decide for yourself.
The following is a work of total fiction containing scenes of graphic nc
sex. This includes elements of restraint and non-technical bondage.
Content is my own (Monocle), copyright 1999, (as are the typos, and
spelling & grammar errors), and any resemblance to persons or events living
or dead or already written is purely coincidence.
The reader is free and welcome to copy and circulate these within free legal forums, as long as this disclaimer is included and no
alterations to it or the content are made.
Hope you like it.
| __ |
|-Oo-| Glass Desk - M/F NC _|____|_
(O) o An executive secretly violates a prospective
/ > employee's under his desk during the | ~~ |
Glass Desk By Monocle
Mrs. Smith awakens enclosed in a dark glass box. Her chest lays on a
padded surface almost as wide as her waist, which comes up to just under
her breasts. A two inch wide extension passes up between them. Her full,
round hang unclothed and free on either side. Her wrists are
secured to each other with a soft but unyielding binding behind her back.
The pad is tilted slightly forward, so her head is below her raised rear.
Her lower thighs and knees are strapped and cradled on their own curved
pads, and splayed wide apart. A wide belt around her stomach secures her
lower back to the cool, smooth top surface of the box, while another firm
strap wraps around her back, and under her arms to attach to the small pad
extension near her sternum. Her bound hands rest in the wedge formed hy
her back and the glass top. Her lower legs are almost horizontal on their
pads, so she is almost kneeling, but bent far forward. She tries to move
her limbs and finds that every part of her body is secured snugly to the
contoured pads. Her struggles also make her realize that the various
surfaces are touching naked skin. Now she becomes aware of air currents
blowing on her exposed upper thighs, ass, and pussy.
Lights come on, and she can see through the smoked glass of the box wall
and top. She is in a lavishly appointed office, and a leather covered
stuffed chair faces her. She looks around, her neck the only part of her
body with freedom of movement, and realizes she appears to be encapsulated
in a large glass desk. An unfamiliar walks in, and Mrs. Smith calls
out for help. She can only see up to his suited chest, as papers and
panels on the glass desktop block her view of his face. No sound seems to
The walks around the desk and sits down behind it; behind her. With
a shock she feels fingers on her lips. With no preamble, they start
to rub and massage her. The touch is light and gentle, but also mechanical
and certainly without tenderness. She yells out in protest, but again, the
sound seems not to travel. Her flexing thighs and ass only quiver against
the hands' touch. The fingers are wet, spreading a warm oily substance
over her lips and pushing it slowly into her with one, then two, then
three fingers, until the digits can plunge in and out with little friction.
The sensation is base and humiliating to Mrs. Smith, but not painful.
Nonetheless she cries and sobs in unheard protest. Once the lubrication is
completed, there is a brief pause, and she can feel a chair sliding up
behind her, between her bound and spread thighs.
She jerks again at the contact of a hot, fat cockhead at her entrance. Her private muscles contract, and she screams in fear and
desperation, but no sound emerges from her small prison. For a couple
minutes nothing happens. The flared head rests against her opening, just
pushing aside her labia majora - the hard pressure at her now wet entrance
throbs, but otherwise does not move. Her sheer and absolute vulnerability
make her want to disappear into herself.
Then the door opens, and in walks Mr. Smith - his can see him
clearly through the one-way glass. This is his job interview. The
executive behind the desk is his boss-to-be - hopefully. The presses a
button on his desk and the window curtains open, letting natural light into
the room. He presses the one next to it as Mr. Smith sits down not two
feet from his imprisoned wife. This second button causes the framework
holding Mrs. Smith to slide backward within the desk. As Mr. Smith
settles down for the interview, Mrs. Smith is slowly impaled on the
executive's cock. It is long and thick, and stretches her wide as
the mechanism pushes her onto it. She screams at the first penetration,
but then simply gasps and inhales raggedly as she is filled beyond all
Beneath the increasingly stretched and stuffed sensations within her,
she dimly feels the hairy legs of the against her thighs and belly as
the cock bores ever deeper into her. Her ass touches, then presses into
his lower stomach, feeling the fabric of his suit coat and pressed shirt.
Her breaths come in short gulps as she adjusts to the cock now completely
buried in her. Her inner muscles contract spastically, unused to this
serious an intrusion. She moans helplessly and calls her husband's name.
The interview begins, Mr. Smith talking about his experience and ideas
for the company, as he had practiced with his in past evenings. He
works on appearing relaxed, legs crossed, and watches the interviewer for
signs and clues for leading the discussion. He's doing it just like they
had practiced together over the last week. On those times she had sat
behind the table, pretending to be the interviewer and grilling him, the
same way the now filling her is grilling her husband.
After the a short pause in which Mrs. Smith can feel the hard cock
throb and twitch inside her full-to-bursting pussy, the desk mechanism
begins rocking and sliding Mrs. Smith on the exec's cock. It moves slowly
at first, sliding her almost completely off the meaty pole, then pushing
her back on again balls deep. She wails as she is sunk again onto the
shaft. The pace quickens as the interview continues. She is pulled off
and pushed onto the stranger's cock with increasing force and speed, but
there is always a short pause between motions, when she is fully fucked and
pressed against the behind her. It is as if to remind her each time
how effectively she is being held for and used by this cock. The box
absorbs her cries and sobs. The lubricated motions of her up and down
the shaft produce no sound significant enough emerge from the desk. The
machine itself operates so quietly that there is nothing for Mr. Smith to
As she is drawn of the invading phallus once more, through tear-blurred
vision, Mrs. Smith notices one last feature of her confinement - a
curiously angled mirror in front of and below her. When she is mostly
withdrawn from the cock, the view shows only her torso lying on its pad and
her hanging breasts. As she is drawn once again onto the interviewer's
cock, her own face moves into the reflection, and she can see her own tear
stained and frightened eyes. Those eyes widen when she realizes that in
the reflection behind her, she can also see what can only be the face of
The behind the desk is poker-faced; absolutley nothing betrays the
debauch taking place below the desktop. Again and again, he disappears and
reappears from view as the desk now heaves her on and off his cock. She
can't help but watch mesmerized at the only available focus for her
torment. She feels him shift slightly in his seat as she is drawn off him,
and cries out in protest again as she is brought back onto him - his cock
pressing even deeper into her now. As she gasps for air, she sees her
reflection and his behind it. He is looking at her. Whether he can see
though that part of the desk, or simply knows where to look, Mrs. Smith
has no idea. But his eyes are cold and knowing, staring into hers. His
cock flexes in her pussy, and then he looks up to ask another question of
her husband. Mrs. Smith sobs and groans as the desk moves her again.
In the latter part of the interview, the desk begins to fuck Mrs. Smith
onto the huge cock savagely, without stopping at any one point. The flared
head spikes into her constantly, repeatedly. All the while, the behind
her betrays not even a tremor. She sees him look down at her twice more,
and each time, she shudders at the gleam in his eyes.
The interview comes to a conclusion, and the desk is fucking Mrs. Smith
onto the cock furiously now. Her breath comes in gasps as she is shaken
back and forth. Her sway and shake with the rough movement. Now
the interview is over, and Mr. Smith stands to shake the exec's hand. As
the interviewer raises his right hand, his left comes to rest on another
button on his desk. Mrs. Smith is shoved hard onto the cock one last time
and held there. As the two shake hands firmly, locking eyes, the
exec's cock swells and cums inside her, filling her with his semen. The
spurts of throb in time to the shaking of hands - she can feel the
sticky warmth slowly spread deep inside her. The glass prison swallows her
desperate screams as her fills with and swallows his seed.
Mr. Smith leaves, and in the next minutes the slowly deflating cock
slides out of his bound wife, allowing copious to start trickling down
her legs. She can see his face again through the mirror. He looks down
and smiles at her. She shudders. A hand gently pats her exposed bottom.
The exec hits an intercom button and his voice fills her small space.
"Congratulations Mrs. Smith, your husband is the right for the
job." Then, he adds, "We have a space in our company for you, too, but I'm
afraid the two jobs come as a matched set. He only gets his position if
you accept yours. I'll leave you to think about it while I get your
husband set up with the relevant paperwork. My assistant will explain
corporate policy to you, too, somewhat later."
The intercom switches off, and the face behind her disappears. After a
minute, Mrs. Smith feels more motion behind her. A thick, pulsing dildo
slides up her cum-slick cunt. Though slightly thinner, it is longer than
the exec's cock, and the head pushes up snugly against her cervix, while
the lumpy base is pressed into her labia and clit. It begins to vibrate,
spreading unwanted electric feelings up her spine. She moans in her silent
box. A second, lubricated dildo pokes at her rear entrance. Mrs. Smith
has never even considered anal sex in her life, and screams and struggles
weakly as her virgin ass is slowly invaded. This dildo is thinner, but
almost as long as the first, with wider and narrower parts, like a string
of small rubber balls. She moans and sobs with the feel of each bulbous
section stretching her sphincter and then being pulled all the way in by
her own contractions. She begins to feel like a stuffed bird. Once the
flared base of the second device is nestled between her asscheeks, it too
begins to vibrate. The double vibrations on within her most sensitive
areas oscillate wickedly, teasing and massaging her insides as nothing ever
The dildoes are locked into place behind her somehow, and before the
executive leaves, he presses a last few buttons on his desk. The curtains
close, the room lights dim, and one wall of the office opens up onto the
executive hallway, allowing Mrs. Smith to see into several other richly
appointed offices similar to the one she is in. She can see four more
glass desks, three of them with sitting at them whose faces she cannot
make out. All the desks are illuminated from within, each with its own
female captive. Each one of their faces is contorted in horror, or
disgust, or... passion, as one of the women clearly is in the throes of
Lights inside the desk-prison come on. Now she cannot see out, as it is
lighter inside than out. Mrs. Smith realizes that the one-way glass must
now work the other way and anyone in the other offices or hall that cares
to look would be able to see her. The realization is burned into her as
the desk mechanism begins moving her again, sliding her almost completely
off the fake cocks, her nose almost touching the glass front of the desk,
then driving her back, until both dildoes are buried to their fullest
within her. She grunts sharply, then shudders. The strong vibrations buzz
deep inside her. The soft protrusions at the base of her vaginal intruder
transfer them directly onto her sensitive clit.
A rhythm begins: the desk fucks her, the cocks undulate and vibrate
within her as she is displayed to the company's executive branch. There is
no way her body can resist the intense stimulation, try as she might. She
does not know how long it takes, as there is nothing with her to measure
time, but the relentless fucking and vibration eventually conquers her
body, and she comes violently on the dildoes. Her screams of forced
passion join others broadcast over the office intercom.
As her cries die off, her spasming and anal muscles can't help but
continue squeezing the rubber cocks. The movements of the infernal
contraption slow and stop, the dildoes coming to rest only half-in. The
vibrations slacken. Mrs. Smith breaths a ragged sigh of relief. Perhaps
it is over. She closes her eyes and prays it is. A slight sound draws her
attention, and she opens her eyes to look down below her, where a section
of the desk bottom is back. Behind that section, positioned under
her hanging breasts, are two funnel or plunger like devices, open upward.
There is nothing she can do but wriggle and protest weakly as the cups
slowly rise. Soon her are resting in the cups. They are slightly too
small, so her flesh bulges over the edges, looking from the side like
overfilled ice cream cones.
The cups are warm and wet with a slick fluid. When they press into her,
they begin a mild suction. Mrs. Smith's are drawn into the cups,
the textured interior of them rubbing her sensitive flesh. As her nipples
are drawn further in, randomly moving soft and wet objects tease them, very
much like hot tongues might. Her nipples and aureoles are alternately
suckled, licked and pinched.
Mrs. Smith barely has time to get used to the new sensation, for the
desk is now starting up again. First the vibrations increase to previous
levels - then higher. Then the desk resumes sliding. She groans
incoherently as she is fucked and by the machinery. Mrs. Smith's
overstimulated body trembles weakly as the assault on her sanity begins.