Restraining the Receptionist: ... the Receptionist, Book 2 by Juniper Bell

he did, I wanted him to start again. After all, what was the harm? He was going there in imagination only.
    “Well…” I cleared my throat. “Would you let them touch my breasts?”
    “I’d give them a chance, see how they behaved. Not just anyone gets to touch my Dana. Our Dana, I should say.”
    I winced at the reminder of the absent Simon. But I was too caught up in Ethan’s hypothetical scenario to be bothered for long.
    “Our Dana’s luscious nipples deserve nothing other than sweet tender care. Long, lingering suckles. Perhaps a man to each nipple, and one to jerk himself off as he watches. That should get you started, I’d say. You’d be making those adorable little whimpering sounds. But perhaps I’d begin to sense that you want more, that you need the grip of cold metal on your flesh.”
    The image made my belly clench with need. My nipples were as hard as the bench we sat on. I thought I would suffocate if this went on much longer. I turned a pleading look on him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of nipple clamps.
    This was way over the line, totally against our rules, but I banished that thought from my mind. I nodded, biting my lip. I didn’t care who watched as he reached inside my blouse and fastened the silver clips to my nipples. The sweet pain of it made me sag against him and sigh. Exquisite relief flooded me. I leaned against him as if he were a boulder. When I looked down, the clips were clearly visible through my blouse. But I didn’t care. Ethan would take care of me.
    He played with the clips, his hand down my blouse. God, the zings and jitters each movement of his fingers brought to life. In a cartoon, you’d see big yellow lightning bursts of “Zow” and “Yikes” around my boobs. My entire awareness seemed to come from my nipples. I barely saw the worn grassy paths around us, the busy pigeons. Even the sweaty men playing Frisbee blurred to a pleasant backdrop to our fantasy. I smelled a hint of ozone in the air. I imagined what a good drenching would do to the view of my clamped breasts. And that made me even more aroused.
    I rocked from one hip to the other, trying for contact with the cement under my ass. It kind of worked. I was able to get a little friction going through my underpants. Lucky I was wearing some. Plenty of my workdays involved no underwear at all. Today’s pair, made from pink rayon and purchased at my local K-Mart, felt nice and silky against the hard grain of the bench.
    But of course it wasn’t enough. I moaned in frustration.
    “You need something against your hot little clit, don’t you, luv?” Ethan’s conversational tone drew me back to the present. “If the Frisbee players were a bit closer, we could ask them for help. My receptionist is in need of some release, I’d tell them. You’re each welcome to take your turn, as long as you follow one simple guideline. For the privilege of touching my valued employee, you will each owe her an orgasm. And sorry, no penetration, that job belongs to me. Lift yourself up.”
    His sudden command broke through my haze. I pressed my hands against the warm cement. Was my arousal or the ninety degrees in the shade heating it up? When I lifted my hips a few inches off the seat, air rushed across my privates. And then a buzzing noise caught my attention. Ethan put something on the bench under me, then placed his hand on my shoulder to guide me back down.
    Heaven awaited my pussy in the form of a little vibrating toy that seemed to latch itself to my clit like a heat-seeking missile.
    “Jesus Christ.” I nearly screamed. Pigeons flapped around me in a flurry, drawing the attention of the Frisbee-playing men. They looked over. What did they see? Ethan with his hand on my shoulder, me with my head arched back, breasts pushed out, knees a little too wide for propriety. At least his hand wasn’t inside my blouse anymore.
    But truthfully, I didn’t care what they saw. That little toy was busy tormenting