She was the kind of woman that made men nervous.
Sharp heels. Sharper tongue. Ran the whole damn building like a dominatrix in a power suit. Every man in the office wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. Untouchable. Cold. Obsessed with control.
But that night?
She lost it all to me.
I was just the janitor. Nobody important. Mopped floors. Took out trash. Watched her glide through the halls every day like she owned the universe — and maybe she did.
But the universe didn’t clean its own floors.
She stayed late that Friday. I was sweeping the executive wing when I caught her standing in her glass-walled office, palms on the desk, staring out into the city.
She looked… different. Tired. Lonely. Like she needed something she’d never admit.
I didn’t say a word. I just stepped in and started emptying the bin by her desk.
“You don’t need to clean here,” she said, without turning around.
“I don’t mind,” I said, letting my eyes drag up her long legs, her pencil skirt riding just a little too high.
Then she turned. Met my eyes.
“Is there something you want?” she asked.
I stepped closer. Close enough to smell her perfume — money and danger.
“You always walk around like no one can touch you,” I said. “I think you want someone to make you feel small.”
She didn’t answer. But she didn’t stop me when I gripped her by the waist and shoved her back onto the desk.
Glass rattled. Papers went flying.
She gasped, eyes wide — but still didn’t say no.
I ripped open her blouse, buttons popping everywhere, exposing that lace bra she wore under all that power. Her nipples were hard. Her thighs clenched.
“I’m not one of your little interns,” I growled. “I don’t give a fuck what you earn.”
She moaned when I slapped her ass. Louder when I pushed her skirt up and found her soaked.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “You needed this.”
She nodded. Whimpered. Begged.
I took her hard — bent over her million-dollar desk, her heels slipping, her voice raw from screaming. Every stroke made her shake. She came twice before I even finished, clawing at the polished wood like she was breaking.
And when I finally filled her up, she collapsed like a rag doll. Breathless. Ruined. Owned.
She didn’t say a word. Just adjusted her skirt, smoothed her hair, and whispered, “Come back next Friday.”
I smirked.
“Yes, ma’am.”