Page 28 of Longing for Liberty

I didn’t usually make coffee for the Secretary. He had his in the morning before I even arrived, so I wasn’t sure what to do with the dregs when it was done. I pulled out the cup and looked at him.

“Do you reuse these?”

His forehead creased. “No. Toss them.”

Oh, my gosh. It was such a waste! I could make coffee for days from these grounds, and though it would be weak, it would still be incredible. And then we could throw the grounds into the garden. It took all my willpower to put the hot grounds into the trash.

When the cups were both filled on the counter, Fitzhugh asked, “Do you take milk or sugar?”

“Um…milk, maybe?”

“No sugar?” he eyes me with curiosity.

“Before, I only used a little cream. No sugar. I was watching my figure back then.”

“Well.” He pulled over a small crock and took off the lid, then reached into the refrigerator and took out the milk.

“You don’t need to count calories today.

” I watched as he poured milk into my mug, then a scoop of sugar, and stirred it.

It was beyond strange to have him doing this for me and then serving me the cup.

“Cheers, Liberty.”

“Cheers, Secretary Fitzhugh.”

“Amos.” We both raised our mugs a few inches, and he said, “Call me Amos.”

“Yes, sir…I mean…Amos.”

He raised his black coffee with whiskey to his lips and took a long draught as I raised mine carefully and sipped.

Oh. My. Good. Gosh.

I closed my eyes as the flavors danced over my tongue, and the slight burn of heat slid down my throat to my belly.

He gave that chuckle again, and I couldn’t hold back the huge smile that came to my face.

It felt foreign, igniting muscles that hadn’t been used in so long.

I let out a small laugh and covered my mouth again.

The Secretary took my hand down and stared at my face.

“Your smile is gorgeous.”

I dropped my gaze to my coffee, that feeling of guilt from earlier returning like a tractor-trailer with no brakes.

“Drink your coffee. It’ll be our secret.”

I took another sip, eyeing him over the cup before saying, “Thank you.”

He took a prewrapped sandwich from the fridge and left me to go back to the table.

I stood there leaning against the counter, feeling like a spoiled rotten, horrible person as I enjoyed every single sip.

It became immediately clear that I had zero tolerance for alcohol or caffeine anymore because I felt lightheaded, which would have never happened before.

When I finished and was putting the bottles away, I glanced at the labels and saw the dates.

Three years ago. Son of a bitch. Secret commerce for our governing officials.

How nice for them. I stood on my toes and shoved the bottles back onto the shelf as far as I could get them.

Then I washed out my mug and ate the rest of my breakfast as lunch, washing my hands afterward and rinsing my mouth at the sink.

It was time to sweep. I moved out of the kitchen toward the hall, but the Secretary stopped me with two words from where he sat.

“Come here.”

Immediately, all of the anticipation and nervousness rose to the surface like the thick part of the cream as I slowly moved to stand beside where he sat.

At first, he didn’t look up at me, so I glanced at his screen long enough to see a couple of headings in the charts: State Force Names and Numbers.

My mind swam with a ridiculous mild buzz.

His head turned, and mine swung toward him. He held my eyes as his hand reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, silver, and bulbous.

“I have something for you.”

He held it up, and I inhaled sharply. A butt plug? My abdomen clenched with nervous surprise. I’d never seen one in real life. Wait, he wanted to…oh my God.

I quickly shook my head, my whole body buzzing with nerves and something uniquely spicy that made me feel like I couldn’t stand still. “I can’t,” I stuttered. “I’ve never…”

He cocked his head. “We’re starting small. You enjoyed what I did to you.”

My body wiggled as I shuffled my feet, not meeting his eye. “It’s not allowed.” Sodomy and all that.

He wasn’t having my excuses. “Face the table with your palms down.”

I met his eyes with mild defiance, which quickly fizzled at the sight of his very serious face.

I slowly turned and placed my hands flat on the cool glass, my senses heightened, my chest rising and falling quickly.

Fitzhugh’s hands were hot against my legs as he slid my skirt up around my waist and tugged my panties down, having me step out of them before tossing them onto the table.

I felt his hands grasp my buttocks, squeezing both, and then suddenly the heat of his mouth was there, his tongue running from between my legs all the way up my middle.

I surged forward and cried out, not expecting such a sensation. He gripped my hips harder and pulled me to him, his tongue moving against me. I was torn between wanting to pull away from him and wanting to push my hips back. Another moan escaped me, and I was shocked by how good it felt.

When I was sufficiently wet, he stood at my side and pulled my hair down, pushing it off my shoulder to kiss my neck as he rubbed the silver plug against my hole, pushing it in the tiniest bit and then letting it slide back out.

Back and forth, back and forth, he rocked the tip of the bulb into me, but I was tight and resistant.

With his free hand, Fitzhugh took my face firmly and made me look at him. “Relax your body.”

I nodded and tried to. He kept my face in his hand, our eyes locked as he pushed the plug further, making me cry out as it popped in and my body adjusted around it. My mouth was open, breathing hard.

“Good girl.” He pulled me upright and tugged my skirt back down, then took my chin again to stare down into my eyes. “Now, finish what you were doing and come back to me.”

Finish what I was doing? What was I doing? He let go of my face and sat back down at his computer to work. I looked around, my body on fire as I tried to think clearly. Um…oh, yes! The stupid floors. I reached for my panties, but he stopped my hands.

“Not those.”

Okay, then.

I started toward the utility closet, but dear God, the plug inside me made each step feel like an erotic dance. My arms shook as I took out the broom and swept. Damn this man! Without any panties on, my inner thighs were getting slick.

Focus, focus, focus.

It felt like it took a decade to finish the floors.

Next, I took the fresh, warm sheets from the dryer and made his bed, looking over my shoulder every few seconds as if he might come in and ravage me where I stood.

Every time I started to imagine it, I shook the images away.

I’d never felt so edgy. It was impossible to figure out what he’d do next.

When I finished all of my work except making his dinner, I quietly and nervously made my way to his side, waiting for him to acknowledge me.

He closed his laptop and leaned back in the chair, looking up at me.

A full-body shiver raced over me, making his mouth quirk again. He slowly stood and loomed over me.

“Lift your skirt.”

I gave him a small nod before bending enough to grasp the bottom of the fabric and wiggle it up over my hips.

The Secretary reached behind me with both hands, cupping my ass and lifting me to sit on the cool edge of the glass table.

The plug hit with a clink sound. I sucked in a gasp as our eyes met, and he didn’t look away.

His face was so serious. Then he took the back of my head in one hand, and my upper back in the other, leaning me back until I was lying fully on the table.

I shuddered with the small breaths I was taking in and out.

Fitzhugh grasped my thighs and opened them, staring down between my legs.

I was absolutely trembling now as his eyes slowly raked up to mine, a feral hunger there.

“Unbutton your top.”

I did as he said and watched as he simultaneously unbuttoned his, and then he unbuttoned his pants. Unzipped. I let my uniform top fall open to each side. Was this really about to happen? The Secretary reached into his bulging boxers and pulled out his massively hard cock, which filled his fist.

“Push up your bra.”

I did as he asked, cupping both of my breasts and running my thumbs over my pebbled nipples for him.

He made a low sound of approval. And then he held underneath one of my knees, letting the other fall to the side as he fisted himself and rubbed his tip over my sensitive bud.

My back arched. This was happening. I lowered my arms to grip the edge of the table.

“What are you going to call me?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Amos,” I murmured.

“Yes.” Again, he rubbed his tip up and down, swirling around my entrance, and then back up to press against my bundle of nerves, making me squirm my hips.

“Liberty…” He aligned his body to mine.

My voice came out like a high-pitched breath. “Amos.”

“Watch me when I fuck you.”

He said fuck …

I made some accidental sound as I lifted my head and stared down while he slowly, so fucking slowly, pushed himself into me, each centimeter making me gasp.

I felt him watching my face as I watched his dick sliding until he was flush against me.

He took my other knee and lifted me closer to him so he could press harder and deeper.

My mouth popped open, and I fought for each breath as I let my head fall back.

He pulled out slowly and went again. I waited for Amos Fitzhugh to fuck me harder.

Faster. But he didn’t. It’s like he was teaching a master class in the art of patience. Control.

My body wiggled, circling, my hands gripping the glass harder.

With how slow he was going, I felt every inch of him filling me.

I’d never had anyone take me in slow motion before, and with the extra tightness from the plug in the back, my entire system was overly sensitive, coiling upward like a tightly bound spring. This was next-level torture.

So. Slow.

“Amos,” I whispered. “ Mmm …”

That cocky half-grin appeared for just a second until he was buried deep again.

This time, he pulled my thighs tightly to his sides, and while buried deep inside of me, his hips began to circle slowly.

Oh, fuck. I moaned again, practically panting.

Without pulling out even a millimeter, he circled harder, then gently bucked his hips upward.

“You feel even better than I imagined,” he said. The sound of his deep voice and the rhythmic upward rocking of his hips as he filled me so fully were like a match being lit. I wriggled against him, moaning and arching as the spring was released with a bang, bursting and pulsating.

“ Amos .”

He let go of my legs and grabbed my hips, pulling me in rhythm as he began to properly fuck me harder.

My throat let out a shouted moan as he groaned deep and grunted, pressing into me.

I felt him pulsating as he filled me. As I reached for his waist, my fingertips brushed the hard plastic of the gun handle, and my breath hitched with fear, quickly moving upward to feel the heat of his skin.

I held him there as we both came down, breathing hard, our bodies racked with tremors. His abdominal muscles flexed.

We stared at each other for a long moment as he began to soften inside of me, neither of us talking. I allowed myself to feel no emotion. Nothing. Just my satisfied body. Finally, he spoke.

He held up my panties. “Don’t put these back on until it’s time to leave. I want you to feel me on your thighs while you cook for me.”

I nodded, my throat not working enough to reply to his filthy request. Amos slid out of me and watched with satisfaction as some of his seed spilled out onto the table. He put one palm gently against my lower abdomen and grasped the jeweled head of the plug.

“Give a tiny push,” he commanded.

I did as he said, and he pulled the plug out, making me gasp again.

He set the plug next to my underwear and took my hand, pulling me into a sitting position.

Amos kissed me hard, and my arms went around his neck, holding myself up until he’d had enough of my lips and tongue.

Then he helped me onto my wobbly legs, and he tucked himself back into his boxers while I pulled my skirt down.

I cleaned off the table and the plug, then washed my hands and made his dinner.

As I boiled rice, I tried not to think about what had happened and instead focused on what I’d learned.

It wasn’t much, but I now knew there were no cameras in the penthouse.

That would come in handy if I needed to do any snooping while he was away, though the mere thought of it caused a sensation of panic to claw at my insides.

I would have to get used to working through that terror-instinct if I wanted to make this job worthwhile.

I was thankful he allowed me to clean myself before I put my panties and stockings back on and headed home, knowing we’d started something today that would likely not end well.

At least for me.