The ladylike way of saying "Please Fuck Me" Part 2
That smirk. That damning smirk.
It's something that you'd always try to hide. That small shifting in your seat each time they'd come in to the office and they'd know. The way you'd subconsciously press your legs together, even when knowing each stranger that wandered past you couldn't see beneath your desk. They couldn't see beneath your skirt. They couldn't see beneath your heat stained panties. The growing dark patch seeping across the small threaded triangle. The way each shift of your legs would tug at the fabric, pulling the smooth cloth to stroke ghostly over your swollen canine folds. The small shiver of pleasure you'd get from each inanimate touch. The way your toes would curl slightly, claws digging at the carpet silently beneath the heavy oak shield.
Sometimes you question why you'd come in to work. To debate mentally with yourself why you didn't call in sick. No one would question that you'd come down with a fever, especially with the way you've been acting the past few days. Flush cheeks that'd show easily through the short white fur of your muzzle. The way you'd pause around others to 'catch your breath'. They way you'd stumble walking past a select few in the office. But your tail would give you away. The blue furred traitor behind you. Each sweep of the curled husky tail not only frantically calling for attention, but effectively spread the growing scents hidden between your warm ruffled neathers. Broadcasting every little thrill that'd ripple through you. Each small reaction coming from you seemed to scream what you'd try so desperately to cover up. What made you bit your lip with each breath. Making you question your own sanity. Making you question your own job.
Perhaps sitting at the front desk greeting strangers wasn't the best occupation for you. Maybe it was the way you'd sit up straight a little too eagerly, puffing your chest out each time you'd see someone coming through the front doors. The way you'd to readily ask if there was "Anything I can do for you today?" Maybe it was because it was the way you were always more curious about what was beneath each stranger's slacks, then how they looked or what they'd say they'd need instead. Maybe The way you'd react even to the smallest look from a stranger. That male scent coming from the unknown man across your desk. Your eyes lingering far too long on parts of their body that seemed more in need of assistance. It was only fair if you caused it, you should fix it. But there you were. You were there to work. You couldn't say that. You could beg him for what he so obviously was endowed to help you with. Help him with. You were there to help him. Looking up at him with a frantic blush you see his face. And there it was. That damning smirk. That look that told him he knew. He could read you like a book. He could see right through the innocent mask you've kept for so long. Hiding any thoughts that've long since put up residence in your mind. Another small tremor rippling through you. The dominant sneer as he'd chuckle beneath his breath. Did he see you as desperate? Did he see you as pathetic? Did he see how easily you'd break? Did he see you as something that'd he'd let you see his cock, let alone taste it, feel it throbbing inside of you, pushing you to the ground, gripping onto your eagerly flagged tail before pulling you back onto him, feeling him sinking into you inch by inch, holding his power over you, the control, the dominance, the feeling of what he'd do to you before even knowing your name, before you knew his name, rutting you into the short carpet on the floor until your eyes would roll back, panting, clawing desperately at your sides, a smile plastered across your face before a small bead of drool leaked down the side of your muzzle, gasping into the ground, pledging submission, obedience, if only to feel him rut down into you one last time, hilting balls deep before he'd- The sound of his voice pulling your attention back up to the stranger across from you. Nodding hesitantly you'd try to busy yourself with paging his party. Breathing deeply again through your mouth until those thoughts lost their power. Your legs now shaking uncontrollably under the desk as you'd feel that damning evidence of just what a complete stranger could do to you, leaking down the inside of your thigh, dribbling down the curve of your leg before collecting into the fabric of your dress beneath you. Avoiding his gaze as you simply tried to stay focused on your job, On showing you had control. You had restraint. That ever guy that'd walk into the office didn't make you weak in the knees. That their scent alone would push any thought from your head. That'd make your mind a babbling line of incoherent thoughts all centered around who's cock might taste best.
Teeth sinking back into your bottom lip as you'd hear him walking away. A few frenzied breaths rushing through your nose again as you let your guard down again, breathing in the scents hanging heavily in the air. Unsure of how you'd make it through the day. Of how you'd be able to welcome the next stranger without looking at them. Without breathing. Without reacting.
Turning as the sound of a door opening caught your attention, seeing him one last time, pausing there, waiting for your eyes to lift back from below his belt to his face, only to let you see him.
...with that damning smirk shamelessly spread over his muzzle.