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12:53 video

October 16, 2025
Bondage in the Boss’s Office for an After Hours Affair! Waiting for my blonde bombshell colleague Lisa to glide back in her blue blouse, flip on the secret vibrator hidden in her drawer, and devour me through nylon while she pleasures herself right over my bound body!

The rough weave of the rug bites into my bare shoulders, but I don’t flinch. I relish it. The scent of old leather books and faint vanilla candle wax lingers in the air — Lisa must’ve lit it before she left to lock the front doors. Smart girl. We’re meant to be long gone from the office by now, just two secretaries tidying up after the bigwigs. But tonight, the power belongs to us.

Here I lie, spread-eagle on this ornate floral rug in the corner of the executive conference room — our secret sanctuary. My long silver hair fans out beneath me like a halo of surrender, strands tickling the small of my back. The ropes are tight — so deliciously tight — biting into my wrists and ankles, securing me to the four brass legs of the heavy oak table. Lisa used the old marlinespike knot she learned from that fetish workshop in Berlin. She’s meticulous. She knows how I like it — restrained, helpless, hungry.

My red satin blouse clings to me, soaked through with sweat and anticipation. The top buttons have been undone — by her hands, just minutes ago — and my full, mature tits spill free, dusky pink nipples pebbled in the cool office air. The lace edge of my sheer black pantyhose hugs my hips, the nylon stretched taut over my mound, glistening faintly under the dim glow of the banker’s lamp in the corner. She hasn’t touched me there yet. Not really. Just teasing flicks of her nails through the fabric, making me arch against my binds.

But the best part? The cleave gag wedged between my lips, splitting my mouth wide in a silent O. It’s thick — black rubber — and the straps dig into my jaw, forcing my tongue down, drool slicking my chin, dripping onto the satin of my blouse. My blindfold — that soft black bandana she stole from my own desk drawer — seals the world away. All I have now is sound. The creak of her heels on hardwood. The soft rustle of her blue blouse as she moves. The click of the vibrator powering on.
Oh God. The vibrator.

She knows I know she keeps it in her bottom drawer, tucked behind extra stapler cartridges and a dusty copy of The Office Admin’s Handbook. She thinks I don’t notice the way she lingers there sometimes, hand inside, lips parted, eyes closed for just a second too long. But I do. And tonight, I want her to use it. I want to hear her moan through her own fingers while she eats me out through these damn pantyhose. I want her to come with her thighs clamped around that silver shaft while I lie here — bound, gagged, offered up like some sacrificial MILF altar to her lust.

Her knees press into the rug beside my hips. I feel her breath first — warm, fluttering over my crotch. Then the cool glide of the vibrator’s tip, not on me — on her. A soft whimper. She’s teasing herself. Good girl. I strain against the ropes, a muffled groan vibrating in my throat. She chuckles — low, throaty, so un-secretary-like.

“You’re so wet already, Sandra,” she murmurs. “Even through the hose. I love how you glisten for me… like old-school glamour with a dirty secret.”
Then — finally — her mouth. Hot, wet, ravenous. She licks hard through the nylon, her tongue tracing the seam right over my clit. I buck — useless, so useless — but she pins my hips with her elbows, keeping me open, exposed. The vibrator buzzes again — this time pressed to her own crotch, hidden beneath her black office shorts. I hear her gasp, then moan into my thigh.