Three Pink Boxes, Part 2

Read part one of this story.

The following day, over breakfast with Wendy, Melinda said she’d avoided Mr. Carr since the lingerie incident.  She didn’t mention the kiss and the groping, which seemed private and embarrassing.  “He’s probably worried sick, said Wendy.  “Thinks you’ll report him or something.  She shoved the spoon into her cornflakes.  “Serves him right.  The pushy git.

Melinda stared at her untouched toast.  Was it possible her housemate was still hurting after her messy break-up?  Wendy’s old boyfriend, Harry, had been frighteningly dependent, telling her he couldn’t live without her, then sulking when she wanted to spend time with her friends.  Not only had this sapped them of their passion, but it made Wendy feel more like his mother than his flame.  Harry wept when she dumped him, grabbing her arm and begging, and Wendy, who believed she’d been a bitch to leave, still hadn’t forgiven herself.

“Mr. Carr’s just very direct, Melinda explained.  “I’m sure he wouldn’t push.

“Yeah, right, moaned Wendy.  “He’ll probably start buying you even kinkier undies.  Just as Melinda was picturing what form this brazen apparel might take, there was a shuffling noise from outside the front door.  “Either we’ve got mice again, said Wendy, “or some freak just left a thong.

In a moment, Melinda was at the door, pulling it open and¦yes!  There was another pink box on the step!  She brought it in, closing the door with her hip and the two girls gathered round as Melinda pulled off the ribbon, followed by the lid.  This time, he’d bought her a plain balconette bra in wine-red satin, with tiny, matching briefs and a black garter belt.  Also, at the base of the box, was a rolled up pair of stockings “ finer than any Melinda had worn.  On a white card, the message read, “I’m sorry about yesterday.  Wear these to the office with a pair of high heels.

On the way to work, the train’s vibrations coupled with the clingy briefs proved so arousing that Melinda felt dizzy.  The fabric pressed against her sex with every little movement, and when she crossed her legs, her stockings glided over each other, tempting her to touch herself.  She arrived at the office feeling luxurious, but took her seat as usual.  By the time Mr. Carr was leaning over her, checking her typing, she’d managed to adopt a cooler demeanor.

“When you’re done, said Mr. Carr, slamming a file onto her desk, “I need you to photocopy these invoices.  Then he walked away, briskly, shutting himself in his office.

Keen as ever, Melinda was soon at the photocopier, waiting as it spewed out copies of the minutes Mr. Carr had given her.  On the wall, a laminated sign told her what to do in the event of a fire, and the very thought of dangerous heat made her dream of Mr. Carr.  Her plan was to knock softly on his door and read his face when he looked up from his work.  If he smiled, she’d gently flirt.  If he glowered, she’d invent a reason for him to scold her.  But as she was waiting by the shuddering copier, she felt a breath on her neck, then a hand on her ass, then fingers undoing the bun in her hair before tracing the arc of her spine.  She arched back, as Mr. Carr put his lips on her ear, her dark hair falling round her shoulders.  “Do you have them on, Melinda?

“Yes, sir.

“You’d better not be lying.  And she felt his hand beneath her skirt, gliding up her thigh, pausing round the garter-straps, stroking the tops of her stockings.  Christ, how different he’d be from her former lovers, who’d fumbled and gasped for permission!  Mr. Carr let out a tiny moan and she felt his hard-on against her buttocks, while the machine spat out its final copy and rumbled to a halt.  “Oh, Miss Davenport, he whispered, running his hands over her breasts, cupping them, stroking them so her nipples tingled.  “God, I can feel those satiny things I bought you.  You shouldn’t be wearing them!  I’ll have to punish you.  And with that he spanked her three times in quick succession through her layers of skirt and lingerie.  She trembled a little, flushing.  She’d never been spanked before.  Why did it feel so good?  Surely it shouldn’t!  After the third strike, he let his hand linger on her buttocks, slowly circling, rubbing her skirt against her briefs.

She reached back, sliding her hand down his hard-on, massaging until he grabbed her hip; and suddenly he was forcing her against the photocopier, hitching up her skirt and spanking her through her briefs.  Oh, the perfect sting of those broad hands, as the machine whirred beneath her!  She was so wet she could feel her moisture dripping from her, making the silk even slipperier than before.  What if someone walked in?  What if they were caught?  Yet when she thought about it, she realized she didn’t care, and this made her giggle, wondering what had come over her.  She found herself thinking, So what if they sack me?  I’m having marvelous sex!

“Spank me more, she whispered.

And he did.

This is how they began, up against the copier, Melinda laid across it, as Mr. Carr took hold of her blouse and ripped it from her.  A couple of buttons pinged right off, and she cried out loud, as he wrenched the fabric from her.  Then, topless but for her bra, she felt his cock filling her, and found herself growling like a pleasured cat.  Over and over he pressed right into her, softly at first, so she had to beg for more; yet every now and then, he’d pull out of her, tell her she was bad, and spank her through the silk.  Clutching the copier, she’d find herself agreeing.  Yes, she’d been bad!  Yes, she should pay!  Next thing she knew, he’d be in her again, with his hand up the front of her blouse, fucking her with a slow control until she begged for roughness.  While her own fingers tensed against the machine, Mr. Carr massaged her through the cups of her bra, rubbing her breast as he grabbed her ass with his other hand.  “You look incredible, he told her, biting her neck.  “You smell¦incredible¦  As Melinda felt the beginning of the heat deep inside her, he burst into a frenzy, pounding her fiercely, as if he had to give her his every last inch and fill her to the brim.  “Oh, she cried out.  “Oh fuck me, sir!  Oh Mr. Carr.  And he moaned, falling onto her, making the copier lunge against the wall so that the blinding climax that robbed Melinda of all thought, was accompanied by a cracking sound like something breaking open.  By the time she’d come to her senses, Mr. Carr was chuckling, pulling gently out of her cunt, then pointing at a hole in the plaster.  “Oops, he whispered, grinning.  “Dear me, we’re reprobates.  He stooped and picked up the missing chunk of wall.  “Darling, we’re so bad we’ll demolish the office.

Melinda straightened her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair.  “Did we bring the house down?

She winked.


“You look different, said Wendy the next morning, filing her nails at the breakfast bar.  “Got a glow about you.  She raised an eyebrow.  “Holy crap.  You did it, didn’t you?  You went and fucked your boss!

Melinda flapped the air.  “As if.  Then she headed straight for the door and collected the inevitable pink box from the step.

“Not again, said Wendy.

“This time, said Melinda, “I’m guessing it’s lace.  As she headed for her bedroom to unwrap her gift, Wendy followed, calling,

“Petal, I’m concerned.  What if he’s insane?

Melinda gave her a knowing look before inspecting the pink lace corset.  “I suppose I’m beginning to realize it doesn’t matter what happens at work.  However it turns out, I’ll still get punished.

“Shit, said Wendy.  “How much trouble are you in?

Melinda held up the corset and smiled.

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