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From: "Monocle Oo" <monocle_o@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM}  RP (Monocle) Glass Desk - MF nc bond
Date: Wed, 17 Nov 1999 23:10:01 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Glass_Desk.txt" begin>
If you're under 18, don't read these stories.  Skip or erase the file.  If
you're over 18, you can officially decide for yourself.

   The following is a work of total fiction containing scenes of graphic nc
sex.  This story includes elements of restraint and non-technical bondage.

   Content is my own (Monocle), copyright 1999, (as are the typos, and
spelling & grammar errors), and any resemblance to persons or events living
or dead or stories already written is purely coincidence.

   The reader is free and welcome to copy and circulate these stories
within free legal forums, as long as this disclaimer is included and no
alterations to it or the content are made.

   Hope you like it.

   Monocle

   -----------------------------------------------------------____

   | __ |

   || ||

   |-Oo-| Glass Desk - M/F NC _|____|_

   (O) o An executive secretly violates a prospective

   / > employee's wife under his desk during the | ~~ |

   -----------------------------------------------------------Glass Desk By
Monocle

   Mrs.  Smith awakens enclosed in a dark glass box.  Her chest lays on a
padded surface, the pad is almost as wide as her waist, and comes up to
just under her breasts, where a 2 inch wide pad extends up between her
breasts.  Her full, round breasts hang unclothed and free on either side
and.  Her wrists are secured to each other with a soft but unyielding
binding behind her back.  The pad is tilted slightly forward, so her head
is below her raised rear.  Her lower thighs and knees are strapped and
cradled on their own curved pads, and splayed wide apart.  A wide belt
around her stomach secures her lower back to the cool, smooth top surface
of the box, while another firm strap wraps around her back, under her arms,
above her breasts to attach to the small pad extension emerging from
between them.  Her bound hands rest in the wedge formed hy her back and the
glass top.  Her lower legs are almost horizontal on their pads, so she is
almost kneeling, but bent far forward.  She tries to move her limbs and
finds that every part of her body is secured snugly to the contoured pads.
Her struggles also make her realize that the various surfaces are touching
naked skin.  Now she becomes aware of air currents blowing on her exposed
upper thighs, ass, and pussy.

   Lights come on, and she can see through the smoked glass of the box wall
and top.  She is in a lavishly appointed office, and a leather covered
stuffed chair faces her.  She looks around, her neck being the only part of
her body with freedom of movement, and realizes she appears to be
encapsulated in a large glass desk.  An unfamiliar man walks in, and Mrs.
Smith calls out for help.  She can only see up to his suited chest, as
papers and panels on the glass desktop block her view of his face.  No
sound seems to carry through.

   The man walks around the desk and sits down behind it; behind her.  With
a shock she feels fingers on her pussy lips.  With no preamble, they start
to rub and massage her.  The touch is light and gentle, but also mechanical
and certainly without tenderness.  She yells out in protest, but again, the
sound seems not to travel.  Her flexing thighs and ass only quiver against
the hands' touch.  The fingers are wet, spreading a warm oily substance
over her lips and pushing it slowly into her cunt with one, then two, then
three fingers, until the digits can plunge in and out with little friction.
The sensation is base and humiliating to Mrs.  Smith, but not painful. 
Nonetheless she cries and sobs in unheard protest.  Once the lubrication is
completed, there is a brief pause, and she can feel a chair sliding up
behind her, between her bound and spread thighs.

   She jerks again at the contact of a hot, fat cockhead at her pussy
entrance.  Her private muscles contract, and she screams in fear and
desperation, but no sound emerges from her small prison.  For a couple
minutes nothing happens.  The flared head rests against her opening, just
pushing aside her labia majora - the hard pressure at her now wet entrance
throbs, but otherwise does not move.  Her sheer and absolute vulnerability
make her want to disappear into herself.

   Then the door opens, and in walks Mr.  Smith - His wife can see him
clearly through the one-way glass.  This is his job interview.  The
executive behind the desk is his boss to be - hopefully.  The man presses a
button on his desk and the window curtains open, letting natural light into
the room.  He presses the one next to it as Mr.  Smith sits down not two
feet from his imprisoned wife.  The second button causes the framework
holding Mrs.  Smith to slide backward within the desk.  As Mr.  smith
settles down for the interview, Mrs.  Smith is slowly impaled on the
executive's cock.  It is long and thick, and stretches her pussy wide as
the mechanism pushes her onto it.  She screams at the first penetration,
but then simply gasps and pants as she is filled beyond all previous
experience.

   Beneath the increasingly stretched and stuffed sensations within her,
she dimly feels the hairy legs of the man against her thighs and belly as
the cock bores ever deeper into her.  Her ass touches then presses into his
lower stomach, feeling the fabric of his suit coat and pressed shirt.  Her
breaths come in short gulps as she adjusts to the cock now completely
buried in her.  Her inner muscles contract spastically, unused to this
serious an intrusion.  She moans helplessly and calls her husband's name.

   The interview begins, Mr.  Smith talking about his experience and ideas
for the company, as he had practiced with his wife in past evenings, legs
crossed, and looking at the interviewer for signs and clues for leading the
discussion.  On those times she had sat behind the table, pretending to be
the interviewer and grilling him, the same way the man now filling her is
grilling her husband.  After the a short pause in which Mrs.  Smith can
feel the hard cock throb and twitch inside her full-to-bursting pussy, the
desk mechanism begins rocking and sliding Mrs.  Smith on the exec's cock.
It moves slowly at first, sliding her almost completely off the meaty pole,
then pushing her back on again balls deep.  She wails as she is sunk again
onto the shaft.  The pace gradually quickens as the interview continues. 
She is pulled off and pushed onto the stranger's cock with increasing force
and speed, but there is always a short pause between motions, when she is
fully fucked and pressed against the man behind her.  It is as if to remind
her each time how effectively she is being held for and used by this cock.
The box absorbs her cries and sobs.  The lubricated motions of her cunt up
and down the shaft produce no sound significant enough emerge from the
desk. The machine itself operates so quietly that there is nothing for Mr.
Smith to notice.

   As she is drawn of the invading phallus once more, through tear-blurred
eyes, Mrs.  Smith notices one last feature of her confinement - a curiously
angled mirror in front of and below her.  When she is mostly withdrawn from
the cock, the view shows only her torso lying on its pad and her hanging
breasts.  As she is drawn once again onto the interviewer's cock, her own
face moves into the reflection, and she can see her own tear stained and
frightened eyes.  Those eyes widen when she realizes that in the reflection
behind her, she can also see what can only be the face of the interviewer.

   The man behind the desk is poker-faced, and not a single sign is given
to reveal the debauch taking place below the desktop.  Again and again, he
disappears and reappears from view as the desk now heaves her on and off
his phallus.  She can't help but watch mesmerized at the only focus she can
find for her torment.  She feels him shift slightly in his seat as she is
drawn off him, and cries out in protest again as she is brought back onto
him - his cock pressing even deeper into her now.  As she gasps for air,
she sees her reflection and his behind it.  He is looking at her.  Whether
he can see though that part of the desk, or simply knows where to look,
Mrs. Smith has no idea.  But his eyes are cold and knowing, staring into
hers.  His cock flexes in her pussy, and then he looks up to ask another
question of her husband.  Mrs.  Smith sobs and groans as the desk moves her
again.  In the latter part of the interview, the desk fucks Mrs.  Smith
onto the huge cock savagely, without stopping at any one point.  The flared
head spikes into her constantly, repeatedly.  All the while, the man behind
her betrays not even a tremor.  She sees him look down at her twice more,
and each time, she shudders at the gleam in his eyes.

   The interview comes to a conclusion, and the desk is fucking Mrs.  Smith
onto the cock furiously now.  Her breath comes in gasps as she is shaken
back and forth.  Her breasts sway and shake with the rough movement.  Now
the interview is over, and Mr.  Smith stands to shake the exec's hand.  As
the interviewer raises his right hand, his left comes to rest on one last
button on his desk.  Mrs.  Smith is shoved hard onto the cock one last time
and held there.  As the men two shake hands firmly, locking eyes, the
exec's cock swells and cums inside her, filling her with his semen.  The
spurts of cum throb in time to the shaking of hands - she can feel the
sticky warmth slowly spread deep inside her.  The glass prison swallows her
desperate screams as her cunt fills with and swallows his seed.

   Mr.  Smith leaves, and in the next minutes the slowly deflating cock
slides out of his bound wife, allowing copious cum to start tricking down
her legs.  She can see his face again through the mirror.  He looks down
and smiles at her.  She shudders.  A hand gently pats her exposed bottom.
The exec hits an intercom button and his voice fills her small space. 
"Congratulations Mrs.  Smith, your husband is the right man for the job."
Then, he adds, "We have a space in our company for you, too, but I'm afraid
the two jobs come as a matched set.  He only gets his position if you
accept yours.  I'll leave you to think about it while I get your husband
set up with the relevant paperwork.  My assistant will explain corporate
policy to you, too, somewhat later.

   The intercom switches off, and the face behind her disappears.  After a
minute, Mrs.  Smith feels more motion behind her.  A thick, pulsing dildo
slides up her cum-slick cunt.  Though slightly thinner, it is longer than
the exec's cock, and the head pushes up snugly against her cervix, while
the lumpy base is pressed into her labia and clit.  It begins to vibrate,
spreading unwanted electric feelings up her spine.  She moans in her silent
box.  A second, lubricated dildo pokes at her rear entrance.  Mrs.  Smith
has never even considered anal sex in her life, and screams and struggles
weakly as her virgin ass is slowly invaded.  This dildo is thinner, but
almost as long as the first, with wider and narrower parts, like a string
of small rubber balls.  She moans and sobs with the feel of each bulbous
section stretching her sphincter and then being pulled all the way in by
her own contractions as she begins to feel like a stuffed bird.  Once the
flared base of the device is nestled between her asscheeks, it too begins
to vibrate.  The double vibrations on within her most sensitive areas
oscillate wickedly, teasing and massaging her insides as nothing ever has
before.

   The dildoes are locked into place behind her somehow, and before the
executive leaves, he presses a last few buttons on his desk.  The curtains
close and the room lights dim, and one wall of the office opens up onto the
executive hallway, allowing Mrs.  Smith to see into several other richly
appointed offices similar to the one she is in.  She can see four more
glass desks, three of them with men sitting at them whose faces she cannot
make out.  All the desks are illuminated from within, each with its own
female captive.  Each one of their faces is contorted in horror, or
disgust, or...  passion, as one of the women clearly is in the throes of
intense orgasm.

   Lights inside the desk-prison come on.  Now she cannot see out, as it is
lighter inside than out.  Mrs.  Smith realizes that the one way glass must
now work the other way and anyone in the other offices or hall that cares
to look would be able to see her.  The realization is burned into her as
the desk mechanism begins moving her again, sliding her almost completely
off the fake cocks, her nose almost touching the glass front of the desk,
then driving her back, until both dildoes are buried to their fullest
within her.  The strong vibrations buzz deep inside her.  The soft
protrusions at the base of her vaginal intruder transfer them directly onto
her sensitive clit.  A rhythm begins: the desk fucks her, the cocks
undulate and vibrate within her as she is displayed to the company's
executive branch.  There is no way her body can resist the intense
stimulation, try as she might.  She does not know how long it takes, as
there is nothing with her to measure time, but the relentless fucking and
vibration eventually conquers her body, and she comes violently on the
dildoes.  Her screams of forced passion now echo from the office intercom.

   As her cries die off, her spasming cunt and ass muscles can't help but
continue squeezing the rubber cocks.  The movements of the contraption slow
and stop, the dildoes only half in.  The vibrations slacken.  Mrs.  Smith
breaths a ragged sigh of relief.  Perhaps it is over.  She closes her eyes
praying it is.  A slight sound draws her attention, and she opens her eyes
to look down below her, where a section of the desk bottom is drawing back.
Behind that section, positioned under her hanging breasts, are two funnel
or plunger like devices, open upward.  There is nothing she can do but
protest weakly as the cups are slowly pushed up.  Soon her tits are resting
in the cups.  The cups are slightly too small, so her flesh bulges over the
edges, looking from the side like an overfilled ice cream cones.

   The cups are warm and wet with a slick fluid, and when they press into
the tit-flesh, they begin a mild suction.  Mrs.  Smith's breasts are drawn
into the cups, the textured interior of them rubbing her sensitive flesh.
As her nipples are drawn further in, a randomly moving soft and wet object
teases them, very much like a hot tongue might.  Her nipples and aureoles
are alternately suckled, liked and pinched.

   Mrs.  Smith barely has time to get used to the new sensation, for the
desk is now starting up again.  First the vibrations increase to previous
levels - then higher.  Then the desk resumes sliding.  She groans
incoherently as she is fucked and sucked by the machinery.  Mrs.  Smith's
overstimulated body trembles weakly as the assault on her sanity begins.

   

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