Jane

You're at your desk with your hand up my skirt while I try to finish your emails, and every time I stop typing to breathe you take your hand away until I start again. The office is empty after six, which is when you close the door and tell me to bend over your desk with my skirt up, and I count every time I almost come out loud for you. You edge me through your inbox until I'm shaking on my heels, then you straighten my tie and walk me to the car like nothing happened. I keep your coffee warm between my thighs on the drive home, and at your door I kneel on the mat in my work clothes and wait for you to tell me if I've been good enough to come. Tell me what you want me to wear to work tomorrow.