The office felt colder after Jess left, her mocking tone still echoing in your ears as you stared at the boots she had so casually tossed onto your desk. The way she had peeled them off with that smug confidence, her white ankle socks exposed like a taunt, left you on edge. And those words: “Why don’t you clean them for me?” It was clear she was only joking—or at least pretending to—but the way she said it, how she knew exactly how to get under your skin, it left you feeling humiliated and powerless.
You tried to shake the thought off, but those boots still sat there, demanding your attention. The worn leather, the slight sheen from where they had hugged her legs all day. It was impossible not to think about the way she looked in that tight white dress, how her boots had completed the look of dominance she seemed to wear like a second skin. You could practically still hear the faint rustle of the fabric as she crossed her legs, the stretch of the dress against her body.
Your gaze drifted toward the door. Empty. No one was around. Your heartbeat quickened as the temptation grew. No one will know, you thought. Just a quick touch…
Before you knew it, your hand had reached out, brushing against the smooth leather. The texture was soft, yet firm, still warm from her body. You hesitated, then leaned in, the scent of the boots filling your nostrils—leather mixed with the subtle, musky remnants of Jess’s day. It was intoxicating, your thoughts swirling in a haze of forbidden desire.
You lifted the boot, bringing it closer to your face, inhaling deeply. The scent overwhelmed your senses, filling your mind with images of Jess—how she walked, how she looked at you with that cruel smirk, how she knew exactly how much control she had over you.
But just as you let yourself sink into that moment, you heard a soft, mocking laugh.
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